Chapter 7

An Unwilling Bride

Francis Marson was one of the most prominent men in Ironfields, owing to his immense wealth, his clear head, and his personal attributes. His father, a keen man of business, had been born and bred in the little village from which Ironfields had sprung, and when the discovery of iron in the vicinity had laid the foundations of the present world-renowned town, Francis Marson the elder had been one of the first to profit by the discovery. He watched his opportunity, bought land (with borrowed money) on which he believed rich veins of iron ore might be found, and when they were found, built a foundry, turned over the money, paid back what he had borrowed, and was soon on the high road to fortune. When firmly established he sent his only son to college, and then took him into the business, which henceforward was known as that of Marson & Son. In the fulness of time he was gathered to his fathers, and Francis Marson the younger stepped into the enjoyment of unlimited wealth.

The younger Marson (now iron-gray, severe, and stately) married the only daughter of Sir Miles Canton, of Canton Hall, and on the death of the old baronet that property came into the possession of Mr. and Mrs. Marson, who henceforth took up their residence in the old Tudor mansion.

Fortune having been thus kind to Francis Marson, thought it well to remind him that complete happiness was not the lot of any mortal, so robbed him of his wife, who died some years after giving birth to Florence Marson. On her death-bed, the young mother confided the child to her husband, and implored him to bring her up with Judith Varlins, the daughter of a distant relation. Judith, who was at that time twelve years of age and grave beyond her years, took this so to herself that little Florry was confided to her care, and henceforth devoted her life to the guardianship of the six-year-old child. Francis Marson, broken down by grief, went away on his travels, and the two children grew up together, went to school together, and when their school-days were over returned to Canton Hall in company with its master.

Now Florry Marson was a charming, golden-haired fairy of twenty years of age, while Judith was a stately brunette some six years older. Blonde and brunette, day and night, dark and fair, they were both equally charming in their own way, but as different in disposition as in appearance. Judith was mistress of the Hall, looked after the servants, received the company, and in fact acted as the elder sister, while Florry, bright-eyed and frivolous, did nothing but amuse herself. Francis Marson was fond of both the girls, but simply worshipped Florry, who lighted up the whole house like a sunbeam. Both Judith and the father combined to spoil her, and up to the age of twenty the life of Florry had been nothing but pleasure, gaiety, and sunshine.

Then came the episode of Sebastian Melstane, who had met Florry in London, and she, reckless in all things, had given away her frivolous little heart to this handsome, dark-haired artist. On making inquiries, Mr. Marson had found out sufficient about Mr. Melstane's past life to make him resolve his darling should never marry such a scamp, and he forbade Florry to think of him. Upon which Miss Florry, with her silly little head stuffed full of poetry and romance, regarded Melstane as a persecuted hero, and on his coming to Ironfields met him by stealth, wrote him letters, exchanged presents, and in fact did everything a foolish girl would do when flattered and loved by a romantic scamp.

Roger Axton, knowing Melstane's bad character, had put an end to these stolen meetings by telling Judith, and Florry was carried off to Ventnor. While there she still sighed after her lover, and when she returned to Ironfields saw him with difficulty, as Judith was too vigilant to let her remain long out of her sight. Then Melstane went to Jarlchester, and Florry said to Judith with many tears and sighs that she would be true to him, although she had now been engaged for some time to Mr. Jackson Spolger, the son of a man who had made his money out of a patent medicine.

Francis Marson had set his heart on this match, and although Florry violently protested against it, insisted that she should become engaged to Mr. Spolger, as he was anxious to place her beyond the power of Sebastian Melstane, and, moreover, Jackson Spolger was too wealthy a suitor to be rejected lightly.

Some days after Fanks' visit to Monsieur Judas at the end of November, Judith and Florry were both in the drawing-room of the Hall having afternoon tea.

It was a large, handsome apartment, furnished with great artistic taste, principally due to Miss Varlins, who had a wonderful eye for colour and effect. A curiously carved oaken ceiling, walls draped with dark red velvet which fell in heavy folds to the velvet pile carpet of the same colour, plenty of sombre pictures in oil in tarnished gilt frames, many small tables covered with nicknacks (selected by frivolous Florry), numbers of comfortable lounging-chairs, inviting repose, and a handsome grand piano littered with loose music (Florry again)--it was truly a delightful room. Then there were cabinets of rare china, monstrous jars of quaint design and bizarre colours, and flowers, flowers, flowers everywhere. Both ladies had a perfect passion for flowers, and even in this bleak month of November the most exquisite exotics were to be seen throughout the room in profusion, filling the air with their heavy odours.

Four windows at the other end of the room looked out on to the garden, but were now closed, for it was a cold afternoon, and the driving rain beat against the glass and on the leafless trees outside. A blazing fire in the old fashioned fireplace with its quaint Dutch tiles, a low table drawn near the hearth, on which stood the tea service, and Miss Varlins in a chair knitting quietly, while Florry flitted about the room like a restless fairy in the waning light.

A handsome woman, Judith Varlins, with a proud, dark face, and a somewhat stern expression, which always relaxed to tenderness when it rested on the diminutive form of Florry. And that young lady was very tiny, more like a piece of Dresden china than anything else, with her delicate complexion, her piquant face, glittering golden hair, and dainty figure. Clothed in white--Miss Marson always affected white--in some lacy material, soft and delicate like a cobweb, she formed a strong contrast to the sombre beauty of Judith in her plain, black silk dress.

And the little figure went flitting here and there, now at the windows, looking out into the chill twilight, then bending over some great bunch of flowers inhaling the perfume, at the piano striking a few random chords, hovering round the tea table, flashing into the red firelight, melting into the cold shadows, like to some will-o'-the-wisp, some phantom, some restless shadow rather than anything of this earth.

"Florry, my pet," said Judith, at length, pausing in her knitting, "you will tire yourself running about so much." Whereupon the fairy floated airily towards the fire, and settled lightly down, like thistledown, on a footstool, where she sat clasping her knees with her arms with a cross expression of countenance, a very discontented fairy indeed.

"For really," she said, at length, pursuing a train of thought that was in her shallow mind, "to be called Spolger--Mrs. Jackson Spolger. It's horrid! so is he. The monster!"

"Florry, Florry! don't talk like that about your future husband," remonstrated Judith; "it's not nice, my dearest."

"Neither is he," retorted Miss Marson, resting her chin on her knees and staring into the fire; "he's so lean, like a skeleton, and so crabbed--oh, so crabbed."

"But he loves you, dear."

"Yes, like a dog loves a bone. I know he's one of those men who hit their wives over the head with a poker; he looks like a poker man. I wish he was Sebastian, and Sebastian was he."

"Don't talk about Sebastian, my dear Florence," said Miss Varlins, severely--that is, as severely as she could to Florry; "your father would never have agreed to your marrying such a scamp!"

"He's no worse than other people," muttered Florry, rebelliously.

"I don't know about other people," replied Judith, coldly; "but I'm certain Sebastian Melstane would have made you a bad husband. However, he's gone now, and you'll never see him again."

"Never!"

"No, never! Mr. Melstane has passed out of your life entirely," said Judith, looking steadily at Florry, who appeared to be rather scared.

"What horrid things you say, Judith, you horrid thing," she whimpered, at length. "I don't know why Sebastian went away, and I don't know why he hasn't written to me. I thought he loved me, but if he had, he would have written. But he'll come back and explain everything."

"I'm certain he won't!" answered Judith, sternly.

"Why are you certain?"

"I have my reasons," said Judith, quietly.

It might have been the twilight or the dancing shadows of the fire, but as she spoke her face seemed to grow old and haggard for the moment, even to Miss Marson's unobservant eyes. Florry with her own blue eyes wide open, a terrified expression on her face, and a tremulous under-lip, suddenly burst into tears, and rising from her footstool, flung herself on her knees at the feet of her cousin, sobbing violently.

"Come, come!" said Miss Varlins, smoothing the golden head as it lay in her lap. "I did not mean to speak severely; but really, Florry, I was very sorry that Mr. Melstane loved you."

"I--I can't help it if he did," sobbed Florry, passionately; "it's not my fault if people will love me. There's Mr. Spolger--he's always making love, and that horrid, red-haired Frenchman; every time I go out he never takes his eyes off my face."

"What! that man at Wosk's?" cried Judith, with great indignation. "Surely he has not such impertinence!"

"No, he hasn't," replied Florry, sitting up and drying her eyes; "but he will look at me in such a way. I'm sure he's in love with me--the horrid thing."

"He was a friend of Mr. Melstane's, I believe," said Judith, angrily, "and you, no doubt, saw him during those foolish meetings with that man."

"No, I didn't," answered Florry, going back to her footstool; "I never saw him at all. And our meetings weren't foolish. I love Sebastian very much, only papa will make me marry this horrid Spolger thing."

"How many times did you see Mr. Melstane?"

"Five or six times here and once in London.

"Florry!"

"Well!" said Miss Marson, pettishly, "you asked me? I saw him in London that day I went to see Aunt Spencer, when we stopped in London on our way to Ventnor."

"Why didn't Aunt Spencer tell me of it, then?"

"She didn't know," answered Florry, penitently. "I met Sebastian on the way, and we were together for two hours. Then I went on to Aunt Spencer and told her nothing."

"And told me nothing also," said Judith, severely. "Upon my word, Florry, I did not think you were so deceitful! You met Mr. Melstane in London, and this is the first I hear about it."

"Well, you were so horrid, Judith," pouted Florry, playing with her handkerchief; "and Sebastian told me to say nothing."

"He's a bad man!"

"No, he's not," retorted Miss Marson, angrily; "he's a very nice man, and I love him very, very much, in spite of Mr. Spolger--there!"

Judith was about to make some angry reply, feeling thoroughly disgusted at Florry's duplicity, when the door was thrown open, and Mr. Marson entered the room.

A tall, severe-looking man, this Francis Marson, with a worn, worried expression on his face. He sighed wearily as he sat down near the fire.

"Oh, what a sigh--what a big sigh!" cried Florry, recovering her spirits and poising herself on the old man's knee. "What is the matter, papa?"

"Nothing, child, nothing," replied Marson, hastily, smoothing the golden hair of his darling. "Business worries, my dear; what I spoke about the other day."

"Oh!"

Florry drew down the corners of her mouth as if she were going to cry; then, suddenly changing her mind, she threw her arms round her father's neck, and placed her soft face against his withered cheek.

"Don't talk about business, papa," she said, coaxingly; "I hate it; it's so disagreeable."

"So it is for a frivolous young person like you, dear," said Mr. Marson, cheerfully; "but it's very necessary all the same. What would become of your thousand and one wants but for this same business you so disapprove of?"

"Oh, I wish I had a fairy purse," cried Florry, clapping her hands, "with a gold piece in it every time I opened it. It would save such a lot of trouble."

"A fairy world," said Mr. Marson, looking at her fondly; "that is what you would like. And you the lovely princess whom the handsome prince comes to awaken."

"Well, Florry has a prince," said Judith, quietly; "the Prince of the Gold Mines!"

She had not been paying much attention to the conversation between father and daughter, as she was evidently thinking deeply, and her thoughts, judging from the severe expression of her countenance, were not particularly pleasant. The last words of Mr. Marson, however, enchained her attention, and she made the remark about the prince on purpose to see if the old man knew how disagreeable the Spolger alliance was to his child.

"A prince!" echoed Florry, tossing her head. "And what a prince! He's more like an ogre."

"A very devoted ogre, at all events," said Judith, significantly.

"Spolger's a good fellow," observed Marson, hurriedly; "a little rough, perhaps, but his heart is in the right place. Beauty is only skin-deep."

"I suppose you mean--" began Florry, when her father interrupted her quickly.

"Florry," he said, angrily, "I forbid you to mention that man's name. I would sooner see you in your grave than married to Sebastian Melstane."

"There's no chance of that occurring now," interjected Judith, with sombre earnestness.

The fairy looked from one to the other with a scared expression of countenance, and seeing how severe they both looked, subsided into a white heap on the hearthrug, and burst into tears.

"How horrid you are, papa," she cried, dismally; "and so is Judith. I'm sure Mr. Melstane's very nice. He's so handsome, and talks so beautifully about poetry. He's like Conrad, and Mr. Spolger isn't, and I wish I was dead with a tombstone and a broken heart," concluded Miss Marson, tearfully.

Judith looked at Mr. Marson, and he looked at Judith. They both felt quite helpless in dealing with this piece of frivolity, whose very weakness constituted her strength. At last Mr. Marson, bending down, smoothed Florry's hair fondly, and spoke soothingly to her.

"My dear child," he said, quietly, "you know that all I desire is your happiness; and, believe me, you will thank me in after life for what I am now doing. Sebastian Melstane is a scamp and a spendthrift. If you married him, he would neglect you and make you miserable. Jackson Spolger will make you a good husband, and protect a delicate flower like you from the bleak winds of adversity."

"But he's so ugly," sobbed Florry, childishly; "just like the what's-his-name in 'Notre Dame.'"

"If you have such an aversion to marry him, Florry, then don't do it," said Judith, quietly. "I'm sure your father would not force you into a marriage against your will."

"By no means," said Marson, hastily. "I placed the case before you the other day, Florry, and I place it now. As you know, I have had great losses lately, and unless I can obtain a large sum of ready money I will be irretrievably ruined. Jackson Spolger has promised to put money into the business if you become his wife. I told you this, and you consented, so it is childish of you to go on like this, If you dislike Spolger so much, I will not force you to marry him; but I warn you that your refusal means ruin."

"You won't let me marry Sebastian Melstane," cried Florry, obstinately.

"No, I won't," retorted her father, angrily. "You need not marry Mr. Spolger unless you like, but you--you certainly shall not marry Sebastian Melstane with my consent; I would rather see you in your grave."

"Then I suppose I must marry Mr. Spolger," said Florry, dolefully drying her eyes.

"That is as you please," replied Marson, rising to his feet and walking slowly to and fro. "I don't want to sell my child for money. I simply place the case before you, and you are free to refuse or accept as you please. Yes means prosperity, no means ruin, and the choice is entirely in your hands."

Florry said nothing, but sat on the hearthrug twisting her handkerchief and staring at the fire.

"I would like to say one word, Florry," said Judith, bending forward. "If you did not intend to marry Mr. Spolger you should have said so at first; now the wedding-day is fixed for next week, your dresses are ready, the guests are invited, so it would be rather hard on the poor man to dash the cup of happiness from his lips just as he is tasting it."

"Nevertheless," said Marson, stopping in his walk, "late as it is, Florry, if you think that you cannot make Jackson Spolger a good wife, I will break off the match without delay."

"But that means ruin," cried Florry, tearfully.

"Yes!" said Marson, curtly, "ruin."

Florry sat thinking as deeply as her shallow little brain would allow her. She saw plainly that if she refused to marry Mr. Spolger, she would never gain her fathers consent to her marriage with Melstane, and as a refusal meant ruin without any chance of obtaining the wish of her heart, she did not see what was to be gained by being perverse. Shallow, frivolous, selfish as she was, she saw all this quite plainly, and, moreover, being too timid to brook her father's displeasure, she made up her mind to yield. Rising to her feet, she stole towards her father, as he stood in gloomy silence looking out on the wintry lawn, and threw her arms round his neck.

"Papa," she whispered, "I will marry Mr. Spolger."

"Of your own free will?" he asked, a trifle sternly.

"Of my own free will," she repeated, steadily. "I am sorry for Sebastian, for I do love him; but I don't want to vex you, dearest, so I'll be awfully nice to Mr. Spolger and marry him next week."

"My dearest," said Marson, in a tone of great relief, "you don't know how happy you have made me."

"Florry," cried Judith, rolling up her work.

"Yes, Judith," said Florry, leaving her father, and coming to her cousin.

"You are quite sure you mean what you say?" asked Miss Varlins, looking at her steadily.

"Quite sure."

"No more tears or crying after Sebastian?"

"Don't talk of Sebastian," said Florry, angrily. "I'll marry Mr. Spolger, and I dare say he'll make me happy."

Judith said no more, but resumed her work with a sigh; but Mr. Marson, coming towards the fire, was about to speak, when the door opened and a footman announced: "Mr. Jackson Spolger."