Chetwynd Calverley

“I’m right glad to see you here, Hartley,” he said, clapping him kindly on shoulder. “Without you, my good friend, I should neither have been master of this house, nor wedded to her I love. I told you then I would some day prove my gratitude; and I mean to do so now. I have got a nice comfortable farm-house, which I shall bestow upon you and your wife, and where Harry Netterville can live with you. He will have a post as steward. I shall be glad to have you all near me.”

“Heaven bless you, sir!” exclaimed Hartley, much affected. “You could not have conferred a greater kindness upon me, nor one I shall more appreciate!”

Mrs. Hartley was so overcome that she could hardly get out her thanks, but she did so at last.

We must now repair to Brackley.

As the day advanced, the old Hall presented a gayer appearance that it had done for many and many a year. The large court-yard was entirely filled with the tenants and retainers of the lord of the mansion – who henceforward would be represented by Chetwynd – their wives and daughters, some of the latter being very good-looking, and very well-dressed.

Among our acquaintances was Marple, the farmer, who had been present when Sir Leycester Barfleur was lost in the morass, and honest Ned Rushton, the keeper.

Already a brilliant assemblage was collected in the large room up-stairs, which was beautifully decorated with flowers, as were the drawing-room and the Hall. In fact, there were flowers everywhere.

At length the bell began to ring, the several bridal parties assembled in the Hall, and marshalled by Higgins and Norris, issued forth.

Preceded by a dozen young damsels dressed in white, who scattered flowers in their path, they then moved through the crowded court to the chapel, amid the audibly-expressed good wishes of the beholders.

Sir Bridgnorth and Lady Thicknesse took the lead, and her ladyship looked magnificent in her bridal array.

Then came Emmeline, escorted by her uncle, Sir Gerard Danvers, and followed by Chetwynd and Captain Ponsonby. She excited general admiration, as did Mildred, who followed on the arm of Mr. Talbot Hesketh, her mother’s first cousin. Close behind them came Captain Danvers and his brother Scrope. Lastly came Rose, charmingly and simply attired in white, and looking quite as pretty as the others. Attended by her mother, and leaning on her father’s arm, she was followed by Netterville and Tom Tankard. Laura and Clarissa were to act as her bridesmaids, but they had already gone into the chapel.

The little chapel presented an exceedingly pretty sight; but it was so full that very few of the tenantry could be admitted.

The chaplain was already at the altar, and his venerable figure completed the charming picture.

A few minutes elapsed while the several couples were being placed; but at length this preliminary proceeding was accomplished, and the ceremony commenced.

At this juncture the scene was exceedingly interesting, and long lived in the memory of those fortunate enough to behold it.

Rarely have two more beautiful brides than Emmeline and Mildred appeared at the altar – nay, we may say three, for Rose was little their inferior in beauty; and Lady Thicknesse, if she had not youth, had remarkable grace and elegance.

Grouped around were the bridesmaids, all of whom were young, exceedingly pretty, and charmingly attired.

Placed somewhat apart was Lady Barfleur, but being in deep mourning, she would not mingle with the group.

The ceremony proceeded, and the different couples were united.

Lady Thicknesse became Lady Bridgnorth, greatly to the delight of the excellent baronet. Chetwynd was made supremely happy by the hand of Emmeline. Nor had Charles Danvers less reason to be content, for in Mildred he obtained a treasure; while we doubt whether any one was happier than Harry Netterville, when he could really call Rose his own.

The ceremony is over.

We will accompany the happy couples – and they really deserve to be so described – as they cross the still crowded court, and pass through lines of bowing tenantry into the hall; but we will not join the throng in the drawing-room, nor sit down with the large party in the dining-room to the admirable breakfast prepared by Monsieur Zephyrus.

We will make passing bows to the beautiful brides; we will say farewell to our kindly Sir Bridgnorth, whom we rejoice to say still flourishes; we will bid adieu to Chetwynd and Charles Danvers, and wish them all happiness.

We will visit for a moment another table in another room, at which we shall find our blooming little Rose and her happy husband – now the happiest couple possible – her worthy father and doting mother; Tom Tankard and his father, who keeps him in order; Marple, the farmer; Ned Rushton, the keeper; and a great many more, all of whom are enjoying a most plentiful and excellent repast, at which, besides wine, there is no lack of good strong ale, a couple of casks having been broached that morning for the tenantry and general guests.

Our task is done.

THE END