All of them—children, old housewives, officers, and young ladies—were later to acknowledge, in tones ranging from envy to admiration to wonder, that Miss Bertram was the most beautiful, and the most beautifully attired, bride who had ever been seen—her golden hair, her tall and shapely form, and her fair complexion, mantled with blushes, drew all eyes upon her.
William Price and his friend Mr. Gibson were in their places inside the chapel, at the altar.
Fanny and Susan helped Julia to remove her cloak, and she paused for a moment, and hung upon her brother Edmund, who whispered some final words of affection to her. Mrs. Price, clad in her widow’s weeds, and Mrs. Norris, whose severe expression might have been more fitting at a funeral than a wedding, took their seats with handkerchiefs at the ready and with Charles and Betsey pinioned firmly between them. Fanny and Julia had agreed that the glory and distinction of attending Julia was reserved to Susan; Fanny prudently devoted herself to watching and supporting her mother through the ordeal.
Fanny’s happiness for her brother was complete, but she could not glance past him, at Mr. Gibson, standing soberly beside the groom, without feeling deeply conscious. As well, she could not conceive of being a bride like Julia, of being the object of so many enquiring eyes, so much noisy admiration from passers-by. She could not imagine church bells ringing loudly on her behalf, clamouring across the town, demanding that even strangers pause, and say to one another, “someone must be getting married to-day.”
If she ever were to be married, there would be no row of officers, no archway of swords, no bead-encrusted silver gown, no long veils, no noisy crowds, no procession back through the streets—modesty and bashfulness was no affectation on her part; she had no desire for show and spectacle.
The only way in which she hoped her wedding would resemble Julia’s, was in the expression of purest love and devotion on the countenance of the bridegroom, just such a look as illuminated William Price’s face when he took the hand of his Julia at the altar—or so it appeared to Fanny, before the tears swarmed to her eyes.
* * * * * * *
The happy couple left for a brief honeymoon visit to the Isle of Wight, and Aunt Norris wasted no time in turning her full attention to an enquiry into her unhappy sister’s finances, and was fully confirmed in her suspicion that the Price family’s expenditures had always exceeded their income, and that Mrs. Price had not laid up some savings every year in anticipation of the widowhood which was now upon her.
Aunt Norris observed—more than once—that she had refrained from pointing out how foolish and improvident poor Frances had been, as there was nothing to be gained, when it was all too late, to speak of the virtues of thrift and economy.
Edmund had also, in his own quieter way, enquired into the state of his widowed aunt’s finances, and satisfied himself that although her income was now much reduced, her expenses were likewise, for Mr. Price’s expenditures on drink and tobacco were not insignificant. Both Fanny and William were contributing to their mother’s comfort, and Edmund’s information, conveyed by letter to his father, naturally resulted in Sir Thomas bestowing a modest annuity on his sister-in-law.
On the first Sunday after the wedding Mrs. Price took her customary walk on the Ramparts after church, attended by all her family, along with Mrs. Norris and Mr. Gibson.
The day was warm and bright. Little Betsey attached herself to Mr. Gibson’s side and demanded a story, and he was speaking to her of princesses in towers, and fire-breathing dragons, when Aunt Norris interposed and said, “we did not see you in chapel today, Mr. Gibson, and certainly when I was a child, we did not indulge in fantastical stories on the Sabbath.”
To Fanny’s part amusement, part dismay, Gibson doffed his hat and responded, “Well ma’am, in that case, I shall instead tell young Betsey a story about a man who was swallowed by a whale.”
Mrs. Norris glowered and moved along, muttering to herself, Susan laughed heartily, and Mr. Gibson looked over at Fanny apologetically and mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.” Fanny knew her aunt would not let such levity go unremarked.
In fact, Mrs. Norris did not even wait until Fanny had got her bonnet off, before accosting her in the passageway about her unsuitable sweetheart.
“Fanny, I have not one half-hour of leisure, since arriving in Portsmouth, being so entirely taken up with my poor sister’s affairs, and with arranging everything for the wedding, but I see that in addition to everything else that has fallen upon my shoulders, I must speak with you about this Mr. Gibson. What are you about?”
Fanny did not answer, as she saw that her aunt had not done talking, so she waited patiently.
“He is being very insinuating with you—don’t think you could hide this matter from my notice. Hadn’t you better discourage him? Young ladies cannot be too much on their guard where young men are concerned, Fanny, and in your case, you must be extra cautious and circumspect. There is Mr. Edifice to consider. He is a man of the cloth; his intended wife must be above reproach. What would he say, if he had seen how what familiarity you allow Mr. Gibson to speak to you? And the way that you allow him to take your arm when we are walking together?
