The Five-Minute Marriage

  “Well, it is perfectly easy to give you an account of it all, Cousin Gareth—”

  “Naturally! I am quite sure of that! The stupidity was mine, first of all, in not realizing that you were a witch! You touched me with your wand—gave me a worse headache than I have ever suffered in my life before—and then popped me onto your broomstick and transported me—us—here. Where are we, by the by? It is exceedingly uncomfortable!”

  “It is not only uncomfortable, but exceedingly dangerous! We are on the roof at Chase, and, if you are able to do so, I believe we should move from this spot directly.” She added in a scolding tone, “The stupidity was certainly yours, in allowing your cousin Mordred to make you so inebriated!”

  “Oh, I was inebriated, was I?”

  “Disgracefully so!”

  “Did I say or do anything foolish?” he inquired with interest.

  “Oh dear me, no,” said Delphie with awful irony. “Only allowed Fitzjohn to entice you up to this perilous spot and then shoot his pistol at you, under the pretext of some silly wager!”

  “Oh—yes,” he said slowly, frowning. “Deuce take it—my poor head! It feels as if the thunderstorm were still inside it. There was a thunderstorm, was there not?”

  “One of the worst I have ever experienced. It was quite terrifying.”

  “Yes—it all begins to come back to me. Mordred arrived—said he had something of importance to divulge to me. I’d been feeling low-spirited—had had a drink or two—nothing much. Then we had a drink or two more.”

  “Indeed you had” she said with asperity. “From the look of the room, you had each imbibed about four bottles of brandy. It is not to be wondered at that your head aches.”

  “No—no—dash it, my dearest girl! Most of those were wine bottles.”

  “Mr. Penistone,” she said, ignoring his appellation. “I think we should try to climb up on the roof above.”

  “You should properly address me as Lord Bollington.”

  “I think we should try to move.”

  “No, why?” He tightened the arm around her.

  “Just now you said it was uncomfortable here.”

  “I have changed my mind. I think we are delightfully situated. The sun shines on us, the swallows are twittering—why must you be forever carping and finding fault? It is true that, as usual, you have a certain amount of grime on your nose”—he removed it, with a careful finger—”but otherwise I have no complaint to make regarding my position—not the least in the world.”

  “Oh,” she said, laughing, “you absurd creature! Come along—we must bestir ourselves!”

  “Both my arm and my foot have gone to sleep. I am quite unable to move them!”

  “Then you should shift without delay—they are probably frostbitten, and will presently fall off!”

  Moving herself out of his grip with considerable difficulty, she scrambled up the sloping roof against which they had been reclining, and turned, when she was seated on its peak, to reach a hand down to him. He was looking up at her with a good deal of amusement on his face.

  “Cousin Delphie, what have you been doing? Every stitch you have on appears to be both wet and filthy—your boots are covered in mud—your hair is in rat’s tails—and your face looks as if you have been climbing chimneys!”

  “I have been climbing chimneys,” said Delphie. “Come along!” He caught hold of the hand she reached down, and allowed himself to be pulled up, wincing as he moved his head. Seated beside her on the roof ridge, he held her hand to steady her, while she clambered up and over the parapet onto the wide expanse of flat roof beyond. When she turned around she saw that he was swaying and looking rather pale.

  “Gareth! Quick, take my hand!”

  “Thank you; it was but a passing touch of vertigo,” he said as she assisted him to follow her. “Ah, this is certainly better”—as they stood on the flat leads, a safe distance from the edge. “Most refreshing, in fact—a charming prospect!”

  From this eminence they could see a considerable distance over the surrounding countryside, and the green sheep-studded pastures near at hand. The sound of bleating came faintly through the sun-warmed air.

  “What the deuce is that doing up here?” said Gareth, frowning. He had just caught sight of his pistol, which was lying in a puddle at no great distance. He crossed to it and picked it up.

  “What is that? How strange—it is not water, but oil,” Delphie said, observing the rainbow hues of the damp patch where the pistol had lain.

  “Neats’-foot oil!” said Gareth, suddenly and blankly. “What was that you were saying about a duel?”

  “I told you! You and Mordred were fighting a duel.”

  “A fine sort of duel!” he said, inspecting the pistol. “It is not loaded.”

  “How strange! I am sure his was—I saw the red spark when he fired it. You are sure you are not wounded?”

  “I suppose, come to think, this graze on my arm must be from a bullet.”

  She exclaimed as he bared a red, furrowed graze, which, under his shirt sleeve, she had missed the night before.

  “But what is that oil?”

  “Uncle Mark used to say—when he was in his cups—that he had oiled the spot where Lancelot was to stand on the roof. I think Mordred must have taken a leaf out of his book—slipped up here beforehand and done the same thing.” He looked about and said, frowning, “Where is Mordred, then?”

  “Elaine Carteret somehow followed him onto the roof. She—she thought he had killed you. When he was stooping—searching for something—she pushed him off the edge—”

  Without answering, Gareth walked to the edge and looked over.

  “Gareth! Pray take care!”

  Anxiously she followed him and looked down. Among the close-set pattern of the lily pads they could see a larger clear space; something appeared to have disturbed them and pushed them apart.

  “Come away from the edge!” Delphie said, shivering.

  He did so, and then put his hands on her shoulders, looking down at her gravely.

  “And where were you, when all this was going on? How come you to have arrived at Chase in the midst of all this?”

  “Oh, well, it—it is a long story! But I chanced to learn that both Mordred and Elaine had plots against you—and that they had quarreled—I believed it possible that he might wish to get rid of you—murder you, perhaps—as she wished to marry you—and indeed I saw him setting out for Chase looking exactly like a Fiend! So I—so I followed. And when I arrived, I found you both in the library—he was urging you to some wager—”

  “Yes, I remember now. He told me that he had a valid claim to the title. His father, he said, was after all a legitimate son of Grandfather Lancelot, who had married Prissy Privett. I said in that case he was welcome to the title—I wanted nothing that did not come to me by right. But that did not suit him—he said, why not fight for it, fight a duel like grandfather and Uncle Mark—?”

  “That does not sound as if he were very sure of his claim,” said Delphie.

  “So we came up onto the roof—I remember his telling me to take off my ring. Where is it?” he said, staring around.

  “I think Elaine took it down.”

  “Oh—well, it does not signify. After that, I remember nothing. I do not remember your arrival at all.”

  “I am not surprised!”

  “Was I uncivil?”

  “Oh, no—not in the least. I believe you thought I was an apparition.”

  “And then you followed us up here—”

  “—Hoping to dissuade or somehow prevent you from fighting. But I was too far off. So then—so then I looked to see if I could find where you had fallen—”

  Her voice trembled a little as she remembered how she had felt at that point. “And then I saw your body—”

  Moving his hands down from her shoulders, Gareth took her into a close embrace. She put her own arms tightly around him, and thought, How natural this feels!

  “And then
you spent the night beside me, making sure that I did not fall off,” he said, resting his cheek on the top of her head. He added, and there was a smile in his voice, “I wish I had been awake, after all!”

  Her chuckle was muffled against his shoulder.

  “So did I! You were snoring horribly! Now I know the worst about you!”

  “You have known that any time this last six weeks! I am uncivil, misogynistic, overbearing—” He held her at arms’ length, looking her in the eyes, and said seriously,

  “I love you. You know that?”

  “I-I believe that I do.”

  “But do you love me?”

  “Oh, good gracious! How can you conceive of such a notion? Why, I came to Chase—walking five miles through a downpour, I may say, because that odious Mordred made off with my carriage-followed you up onto the roof—clambered over I do not know how many obstacles—dragged your lifeless corpse back from the chasm’s brink—all from motives of the calmest—most phlegmatic—neutrality—and altruism—”

  The last words came out of her in jerks, for he was shaking her. “Oh, you little wretch! How often have I not longed to wring your neck! Or at the very least to do this—”

  And he set his lips on hers.

  After some time, Delphie said,

  “Gareth?”

  “Yes, my angel?”

  “Do you not think we ought to get down off the roof?”

  “Why? I should be happy to spend the rest of my life up here!”

  “You might be so, but I should like some breakfast. Besides, I can hear horses down below—I believe a carriage is arriving.”

  From where they stood, it was not possible to see the drawbridge or the main court, so, with some difficulty and several false starts, they retraced their way back to the original door from which they had come out.

  “How we ever found our path through this maze in the dark—and in a thunderstorm to boot!” said Gareth. “But Mordred was brought up at Chase. I suppose he knew the roofs from a child.” However, when they tried the door, their plans received a check. It appeared to be locked; no amount of shaking, banging, or rattling would shift it.

  “I suppose Elaine did that,” Delphie said thoughtfully. “Hoping perhaps that I should fall off the roof in the dark—or die of starvation—or some such thing.”

  “The puzzle is,” said Gareth, “how she found her way up here. For she has never been to Chase.”

  “She said her nurse told her—I wonder where they are now.”

  “Downstairs, perhaps, asserting her claim to be the true Miss Carteret.”

  Delphie then bethought herself to tell Gareth about Lady Bablock-Hythe’s expulsion of Elaine, and how this had led to the quarrel with Mordred.

  “It is all most singular,” he said. “I had long since decided she was the false pretendant, but we still have no clue at all as to who she is, or why my uncle Mark should have supported her from infancy.”

  Delphie was visited by inspiration.

  “Could she not be a child of his?”

  He burst out laughing.

  “Begotten in his fifties—not if I know my uncle Mark! Besides, who could the mother have been?”

  “Oh—well—how should I know?”

  “A most improper suggestion, Lady Bollington!”

  “Good gracious,” she said, blushing. “How strange it sounds. I had forgotten.”

  “That we are married? I had not, however; in spite of your tearing up your marriage lines—spitfire that you are!”

  Rather shyly avoiding his glance, Delphie moved away around a gable, and made her way to a parapet, which, being three feet high, offered reasonable security.

  “Oh!” she cried, looking down. “I can see into the main courtyard. And—good gracious—there is my mother walking across the grass! With Mr. Browty! And Lady Bablock-Hythe. How very singular. “Mammal” she shouted down. “Mamma! I am here on the roof with Cousin Gareth, and we are locked out. Can you send somebody to release us?”

  Whether Mrs. Carteret, so far below, fully understood the purport of her daughter’s request seemed doubtful, but at least the people in the yard were now aware of the fact that the roof was inhabited, and presently they heard the rattle of bolts inside the door, and it was opened by one of the footmen, panting and apologetic.

  “Lor bless me, sir—my lord—can’t think how it came about—very sorry indeed, I’m sure—if we’d a had any idea—we’ve been hunting high and low for you, sir—my lord, and Miss, too—Mr. Fidd was that put about, wondering what had become of you, and Mr. Mordred too—”

  “Never mind that now, Cowley,” said Gareth. “We were shut out by accident. All we need now is dry clothes and some breakfast.”

  “Yes, sir—right away, my lord! The young lady’s valise has been taken to the Blue Chamber and—and there’s company below, sir, arrived unexpected.”

  “So I apprehend. But we are in no condition to receive them immediately. Let them be taken to the dining room—or wherever is convenient—and served with some refreshment.”

  They descended the narrow stairs. At the foot a flustered housemaid—Meg—led Delphie away to a chamber: not the one she had shared with Jenny; this was in better trim. Here, at last, she was able to remove her damp and draggled clothes, wash her face, and brush out her untidy hair. After swallowing a cup of chocolate and a roll (brought by Jill) she put on her sprig-muslin, which was the only other dress she had brought, and, feeling decidedly more the thing, ran down the stairs and into the dining room, from where she heard voices issuing.

  What was her astonishment, on entering this room, to find a considerable party assembled: not only her mother, Mr. Browty, and Lady Bablock-Hythe, but also Jenny Baggott, Mr. Swannup, and Una Palgrave with all her children.

  Fidd was moving about, serving the adults of the party with glasses of sherry, and the children with lemonade and sweet biscuits.

  “Good heaven!” said Delphie, pausing on the threshold in amazement. “How can this be?”

  “Oh, my dearest child!” exclaimed Mrs. Carteret, coming swiftly to embrace her. “Such tales as we have been hearing from Miss Baggott. If I had had the least notion that you were in danger—Miss Baggott told us all about Mr. Fitzjohn and that wicked creature—I declare, it is just like The Orphan of the Wilderness!”

  “And it has all ended just as well, Mamma! Gareth and I are alive and hearty. But I am afraid you must have found it a dreadfully tiring journey?”

  “Oh, dear no! We stayed the night at the Angel, in Maidstone—a most comfortable inn. It was Mr. Browty’s idea.”

  “When we got back to Brook Street, you see, and found Miss Baggott and Mr. Swannup there,” began Mr. Browty—

  “—So worried and anxious as we was about you, Miss Delphie!” cried Jenny. “We couldn’t abear to think what might be happening with them Hyenas—”

  “So Mr. Browty kindly said, ‘Why not let us all go down and see,’ ” said Lady Bablock-Hythe.

  “And he axed me and Sam to come along in case Sam was needed as a witness—”

  Gareth came into the room, dressed with propriety and elegance. He, too, paused in the doorway, looking rather startled. Delphie hastily made the necessary introductions.

  “But where is that nasty Mr. Fitzjohn?” cried Jenny, looking around disappointedly.

  “We—er—fear he may have fallen into the moat, Miss—Baggott,” said Gareth.

  Jenny turned slightly pink.

  Meeting Delphie’s eye, Gareth added in a murmur, “I have given orders to have it dragged. There seems to be no sign of Elaine.”

  “And her—t’other Miss Carteret?” said Sam Swannup.

  “Oh dear—we certainly do not want that disagreeable girl,” said Mrs. Carteret plaintively.

  Una’s children had surrounded Delphie and were giving her joyful greetings.

  “Hallo, Cousin Delphie! Isn’t this famous! Mamma said we might as well all come down for the funeral—Papa is coming later, in a separa
te carriage—do you think Uncle Gareth will allow us to row on the moat? May we explore the house?”

  “I am sure you may!” said Delphie warmly. “Go wherever you please! Only—excuse me a moment—I wish to hear what Fidd is saying!”

  Fidd, coughing politely, had remarked in an apologetic manner,

  “Er—ahem—I can perhaps provide the answer as to the whereabouts of the young lady as called herself Miss Elaine Carteret. Chancing to encounter the young lady and her Ma in the upper floors of this house, I very soon sent them to the right-about. Of course if I had known that they had incarcerated you, miss, and Mr. Gareth, upon the roof all night long, I should not have been so lenient; as it was, since they were anxious to depart, I paid off the driver of the hired carriage and allowed them to make use of it and him; I believe they set out in the direction of Dover, Mr. Gareth.”

  “And a good riddance,” said Gareth briefly. “If they have the ring, they may keep it!”

  A chorus of questions and exclamations broke out from other quarters of the room.

  “You sent them away, Fidd? But why? Who were they? You said the young lady and her Mamma? Pray explain yourself!”

  Fidd coughed again, deprecatingly.

  “Why—as to that, Mrs. Carteret, ma’am—the young lady was certainly Mr. Mordred’s cousin, that was true enough. Perhaps, ma’am, you remember a wet nurse you had, at the time Miss Delphie was born, named Lucy?”

  “Good heavens—yes, I do,” said Mrs. Carteret faintly.

  “That Lucy, ma’am, was the younger child of Prissy Privett—er—by an unknown father. Mr. Mordred’s father’s half sister, that is. She was brought up at Chase but—er—at a youthful age she contracted an unfortunate alliance with a sergeant of fusiliers called Durnett, and run off to London after him. On his abandoning her, which happened almost at once, I understand, being left unprovided for, she applied for the position of wet nurse in your establishment, ma’am, and then, I apprehend, rewarded you for taking her in by pinching Miss Delphie’s birth certificate. She then wrote a lying tale to Mr. Mark, saying as how her child was Miss Delphie & as how you had died in childbed. She knew she was safe enough to do that, acos she’d often enough heard you say, ma’am, that you’d never have anything further to do with your family!”