Chapter Five #2
Therefore she heard not a word of the following prayer; she felt not a thing when Philip joined her hand with Mr. Ellsworth’s and pronounced them wed; the psalm flew by, followed by whatever Saints Paul and Peter had to say about the matter.
And then it was ended and time to go back to the parsonage, but Maria was still thinking, If he would take money from the baron to pay for the lodgings in Pembroke Street, couldn’t he also have asked for a loan toward the jeweler?
The sexton scurried away as the wedding party emerged from the church, Jane whispering to Adela that “Mr. Ryson is disappointed there will be no bells rung, for he hoped for a tip from the groom.”
Was there ever such a wedding breakfast?
Where the groom must meet again those of his wife’s family whom he first saw under such trying circumstances, or be presented as a new brother to those who studied him with expressions ranging from (best) uneasiness to (worst) disapproval?
Maria, still a wooden block, was soundly kissed by her many family members, though the tears they wiped away were apologetic, rather than joyful.
And to Charles, accepting handshakes, his brother’s physical presence provided some comfort, but the situation was so awkward that even the irrepressible Austin was repressed.
Bride and groom could hardly look at each other, and the food lodged like glue in the throats of both, though Mrs. Barstow had taken pains with the wedding cake, stuffing it with dried fruit and covering it with icing.
All the wedding guests ate with a will, whether they had any appetite or no, because it gave them something to do, and all were grateful for the presence of children who needed looking after and answering and correcting, but altogether the morning was uphill work.
Because the bride’s mother was fighting tears, it fell to the good baron to fill the silences, laboriously initiating conversation and giving it a prod when it flagged, which was often.
“Mr. Ellsworth has found prime lodgings, very near Keele’s,” was one prompt. “Maria may come and see you every day, Della.”
“That will be pleasant, won’t it, Gerard?”
“Oh yes. Very. Our boys—and indeed our pupils as well—are quite fond of her.”
“Ma-ri-a! Ma-ri-a!” chanted Gerry, beating a spoon upon the table and joined by little Ranulph before their parents could restore order.
“I like you better not in crumbs,” said Ranulph to the groom.
“Thank you,” answered Charles. “I prefer myself that way too.”
Silence followed.
The baron tried again. “I suppose it will be a bit of a walk for you, Mr. Ellsworth, from Pembroke Street to New College?”
“Nothing much, sir. Perhaps a quarter hour.”
“What a boon, wouldn’t you say, Gauntlett letting you keep the fellowship another year?”
“Yes. A boon. That is just the word for it.”
Another silence.
Lord Dere turned to the groom’s brother. “You were recently elected to a fellowship yourself, were you not, Mr. Austin Ellsworth?”
Austin gave himself a shake and set down his fork. “Indeed, my lord.” (At which all the Barstows twitched, knowing the baron shrank from being “my-lorded.”)
He bore it valiantly this time, however, only hurrying to say, “What an honor.”
“Yes, my lord. My mother was very proud. She and my father were recently in Oxford to mark the occasion.” The mention of the Ellsworth parents was unfortunate, given their absence on this day, and everyone immediately wondered if they had been told of the wedding and refused to come, or if they had not been told at all.
“I—look forward to meeting them,” breathed Maria. “Mr. and Mrs. Charles Ellsworth.”
Benjamin forced down his bite of cold meat, wishing he could kick his brother for introducing this awkwardness. “And they you, Miss Barstow. That is—Mrs.—er—Mrs. Ellsworth.”
Such an address, in a family where happy marriages made spouses far less formal with each other than was usual, made her blanch.
“They—do know of me, then—Mr. Ellsworth?”
It was his turn to go white. Oh, dear. Should he start his married life with a lie?
Lie! Lie, you fool! Austin urged him wordlessly, widening his eyes.
“They do—” croaked Benjamin “—not. Yet, I mean. But I will write to them at the first opportunity.”
The smile Maria had pinned on her face slid straight off.
“Ah, yes,” blurted the baron, “such a busy time, when there is a wedding to prepare for.”
“Indeed. Indeed, yes. Very.”
“If—when you write to them,” she heard herself say, “I should like to add my greetings.”
“N-No doubt,” he answered, turning his head just far enough to look past the tip of her nose. “No doubt.”
Which was not, Maria noted, the same thing as saying that she might.
The deepest, quietest, horriblest silence to this point now fell. One so deep, quiet, and horrible that even the Weatherills’ Bumble Babykins could be heard sucking on his knuckles. One so deep, quiet, and horrible, that is, that even Mrs. Barstow was roused to action.
“Pray, what—what responsibilities will your new fellowship entail?” she threw at Austin desperately, catching him off guard.
“Oh—er—teaching. Teaching the youngsters. And—and—and there will be college governance—” Nervously, he took refuge in a generous gulp of Mrs. Barstow’s orange wine—not his first that morning—and drew courage from it.
“Those are the advertised duties, at least. How one earns one’s keep.
But—heh heh—from observing my brother, I suspect more time will be spent lounging in the senior common room, reading newspapers, eating, drinking, dozing, and troubling the Juniors.
” He gave a bark of a laugh, in which no one joined (least of all his brother), and quickly resumed eating.
Maria found she was now gripping the edge of the table with both hands, her simple wedding ring shining with a cruel gleam.
Oh, heavens! How little she knew about this man!
And how he must resent his fate, for it sounded quite delicious to spend one’s days thus, all one’s needs provided for and not a care in the world.
Not that anything could prevent him carrying on thus—at least for a year longer—should he choose to.
Suppose he strolled over to New College every morning and didn’t return until late in the evening, after taking dinner there?
There wasn’t a thing she could do about it, was there?
But no—he had said they might be friends.
Would he have said that, if he intended to spend every waking hour at New College, while she sat in Pembroke Street alone?
Unless—unless that was why he chose a place so near Keele’s.
So he might congratulate himself on how kind he was to her, ensuring she had her sister’s companionship!
The flower-adorned chaise Lord Dere ordered from the Angel Inn drew up soon afterward, and in the bustle, as if they had planned it (and perhaps they had), the men in Maria’s family surrounded the Ellsworths, talking more volubly and loudly than they had in the past hour, while she was whisked away by the ladies to the kitchen “to fetch a basket for their house-warming.”
Frances leaned against the door in case anyone should think of following them, while their mother gathered Maria to her.
“Dearest, I saw your face when Mr. Ellsworth spoke of his parents,” she said, “but you must make allowances. No man would be eager to admit how this all came about. He will prefer to tell them when you two have grown comfortable and begun to like each other.”
“But what if we never do?” whispered Maria.
“Pooh,” said Mrs. Barstow, but she worried at her lower lip. “You are both attractive, likeable, reasonable people, who will have nothing to lose and everything to gain by learning to care for each other. Let time and further acquaintance do their work.”
“But—but what if Mr. Ellsworth goes and spends every day, all day, in the senior common room at New College?”
“Mr. Austin Ellsworth exaggerates about the fellows’ idleness,” Frances declared.
“Yes,” agreed Jane, wrapping Maria’s linens in a clean cloth. “Philip was a don of Christ Church, and I’m certain he spent his time industriously and wisely.”
“It’s not how he might spend the time that I care about,” Maria protested. “It’s how much he might be gone. I mean, I don’t expect him to spend all day in Pembroke Street with me—that would be peculiar and uncomfortable—but how am I to make the best of things if he isn’t around for me to try?”
“I imagine if your—home—is comfortable, your Mr. Ellsworth might prefer to do his reading and eating and sleeping there,” her sister-in-law Sarah soothed.
“Yes, we will all call on you and help you if you like,” Adela promised, squeezing a bottle of wine and a tea chest into the basket alongside the linens.
“But you all have babies and your own duties, and Abingdon is too far for Frances to come often!”
“You know very well that if I begged Lord Dere, he would set up a regular coach route back and forth,” Frances laughed. “In the meantime, you must get a good servant. Has Mr. Ellsworth said anything about hiring one?”
Torn between laughter and tears, Maria told them of Mrs. Chop and Miss Pork and the maid, until all the Barstow ladies were in a similar state.
“Let us hope for the best, then,” Mrs. Barstow sighed, dabbing her eyes. “If they or the lodgings are unacceptable, I daresay something can be done.”
“But what if it’s the husband who is unacceptable?” Maria persisted. “Or me to him?”
“Then you can run away to Iffley,” said Frances, “when the furor dies down.”
“And start an altogether new furor,” Jane said dryly. “Mrs. Dere would explode.”
On that dismal note, Maria was kissed all round again and then led out of the kitchen to be handed into the chaise by her strange new husband.
Mr. Austin Ellsworth followed, crowding them when he climbed in on the far side of his brother.
Then the driver clicked his tongue to the horses, the chaise rocked into motion, and Maria’s new life began.