The Story of Antony Grace Part 66

"Old Bailey--"

"William dear!"

"Before a jury of her fellow-countrymen, or,--I say, Ant'ny ain't that wrong?"

"What?" I said, laughing.

"Oh, it ain't a thing to laugh at, my lad. It's serious," he said, taking off his hat and rubbing his head, exhaling, as he did so, a strong smell of hair-oil.

"What is serious?" I said.

"Why, that," replied Revitts, "I ain't sure, in a case like that, it oughtn't to be a jury of matrons."

"Oh do, pray, hurry him along, Master Antony," cried Mary piteously.

"Whatever is the matter with you to-day, William?"

"I'm married," he said severely.

"And you don't wish you weren't. William, don't say so, please,"

exclaimed Mary pitifully.

"I don't know," said Revitts stolidly. "Go on, Ant'ny."

He went on, himself, towards the Vinery, Mary following with me, and looking at me helplessly, as if asking what she should do.

The sight of the great bunches of grapes in such enormous numbers seemed to change the course of William Revitts' thoughts, and we went on pretty comfortably for a time, Mary's spirits rising, and her tongue going more freely, but there were no more weak, amiable smiles.

At last we entered the palace, and on seeing a light dragoon on duty, Revitts pulled himself together, looked severe, and marched by him, as if belonging to a kindred force; but he stopped to ask questions on the grand staircase, respecting the painted ceilings.

"Are them angels, Ant'ny?" he said.

"I suppose so," I replied.

"Then I don't believe it," he said angrily. "Why, if such evidence was given at Clerkenwell, everybody in the police-court would go into fits, and the reporters would say in the papers, 'Loud laughter, which was promptly repressed'! or, 'Loud laughter, in which the magistrate joined.'"

"Whatever does he mean, Master Antony? I don't know what's come to him to-day," whispered Mary.

"Why, that there," said Revitts contemptuously. "Just fancy a witness coming and swearing as the angels in heaven played big fiddles, and things like the conductor blew coming down. The painter must have been a fool."

He was better pleased with the arms and armour, stopping to carefully examine a fine old mace.

"Yes, that would give a fellow a awful wunner, Ant'ny," he said; "but it would be heavy, and all them pikes and things ain't necessary. A good truncheon properly handled can't be beat."

Old furniture, tapestry, and the like had their share of attention, but Revitts hurried me on when I stopped before some of the pictures, shaking his head and nudging me.

"I wonder at you, Ant'ny," he whispered.

His face was scarlet, and he had not recovered his composure when we reached another room, where a series of portraits made me refer to my guide.

"Ladies of Charles the Second's Court," I said, "painted by Sir Peter Lely."

"Then he ought to have been ashamed of himself," said Revitts sharply; and drawing Mary's arm through his, he hurried me off, evidently highly disapproving of the style of bodice then in vogue.

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE.

WILLIAM REVITTS IS ECCENTRIC.

The dinner we had at the inn was not a success. The waiters evidently settled that we were a wedding-party, and charged accordingly. Mary tried hard to keep Revitts from taking any more to drink; but he said it was necessary on a day like that, and ordered wine accordingly.

He drank slowly, and never once showed the slightest trace of intoxication; but the wine also produced a strange irritability, which made him angry, even to being fierce at times; and over and over again I saw the tears in poor Mary's eyes.

Ever and again that bigamy case--real or imaginary--of which he had heard as we came down kept cropping up, and the more Mary tried to turn the conversation, the more eager he became to discuss it. The wedding-day, his wife, my remarks, all were forgotten or set aside, so that he might explain to us, with a vast amount of minutiae, how he would have got up such a case, beginning with the preliminary inquiries and ending with the culprit's sentence.

We had it over the dinner, with the waiters in the room; we had it in _culs-de-sac_ in the maze; and we had it over again in Bushy Park, as we sat under the shade of a great chestnut; after which Revitts lay down, seeming to drop asleep, and Mary said to me, piteously:

"I do believe, dear, as he's took it into his head that I've committed big-a-mee?"

The words were uttered in a whisper, but they seemed to galvanise Revitts, who started up into a sitting posture, and exclaimed sharply:

"I don't know as you ain't. I never cross-examined you before we was married. But look here, Mary Revitts, it's my dooty to tell you as what you say now will be took down, and may be used as evidence against you."

After which oracular delivery he lay down and went off fast asleep, leaving Mary to weep in silence, and wish we had never come away from home.

I could not help joining her in the wish, though I did not say so, but did all I could to comfort her, as Mr Peter Rowle's moral aphorisms about drink kept coming to my mind. Not that poor Revitts had, in the slightest degree, exceeded; and we joined in saying that it was all due to over-excitement consequent upon his illness.

"If I could only get him home again, poor boy, I wouldn't, care," said Mary; and we then comforted ourselves with the hope that he would be better when he awoke, and that then we would go to one of the many places offering, have a quiet cup of tea, which would be sure to do him good, and then go back home, quietly, inside the omnibus.

Revitts woke in about an hour, evidently much refreshed and better, but still he seemed strange. The tea, however, appeared to do him good, and in due time we mounted to our seats outside the omnibus, for he stubbornly refused to go within.

He did not say much on the return journey, but the bigamy case was evidently running in his head, from what he said; and once, in a whisper, poor Mary, who was half broken-hearted, confided to me now, sitting on her other side, that she felt sure poor William was regretting that they had been married.

"And I did so want to wait," she said: "but he wouldn't any longer."

"Are you two whispering about that there case?" he cried sharply.

"No, William dear," said Mary. "Do you feel better?"

"Better?" he said irritably. "There isn't anything the matter with me."

He turned away from her, and sat watching the side of the road, muttering every now and then to himself in a half-angry way, while poor Mary, in place of going into a tantrum, got hold of my hand between both hers, and held it very hard pressed against the front of her dress, where she was protected by a rigid piece of bone or steel. Every now and then, poor woman, she gave the hand a convulsive pressure, and a great sob in the act of escaping would feel like a throb against my arm.

So silent and self-contained did Revitts grow at last, that poor Mary began to pour forth in a whisper the burden of her trouble, while I sat wondering, and thinking what a curious thing this love must be, that could so completely transform people, and yet give them so much pain.

"It wasn't my doing, Master Antony dear," whispered Mary; "for I said it would be so much better for me to go back to service for a few years, and I always thought as hasty marriages meant misery. But William was so masterful, he said it was no use his getting on and improving his spelling, and getting his promotion, if he was always to live a weary, dreary bachelor--them was his very words, Master Antony; and now, above all times, was the one for us to get married."

"He's tired, Mary," I said; "that's all."