He drove the maids down the stairs and into the waiting cab, going himself to the stables some way from the house, and returning in an amazingly short time with Dictator in the phaeton and with a ruffled-looking groom who appeared to have been sleeping in his livery—it was so badly put on. Parnell ordered him in to have a cup of tea and something to eat while he held the horse, nervously calling to me at my window to be quick and come down. Then, giving the groom an enormous "buttonhole," with fierce orders not to dare to put it on till we were well on our way, Parnell escorted me out of the house, and settled me in the phaeton with elaborate care.
As a rule Parnell never noticed what I wore. Clothes were always "things" to him. "Your things become you always" was the utmost compliment for a new gown I could ever extract from him; but that morning, as he climbed in beside me and I took the reins, he said, "Queenie, you look lovely in that lace stuff and the beautiful hat with the roses! I am so proud of you!"
And I was proud of my King, of my wonderful lover, as we drove through that glorious June morning, past the fields of growing corn, by the hedges heavy with wild roses and "traveller's joy," round the bend of the river at Lancing, past the ruined tower where we had so often watched the kestrels hover, over the bridge and up the street of pretty, old-world Bramber into Steyning, and on to the consummation of our happiness.
Parnell hardly spoke at all during this drive. Only, soon after the start at six o'clock, he said, "Listen," and, smiling, "They are after us; let Dictator go!" as we heard the clattering of horses far behind. I let Dictator go, and he—the fastest (driving) horse I have ever seen—skimmed over the nine miles in so gallant a mood that it seemed to us but a few minutes' journey.
Mr. Cripps was in attendance, and Mrs. Cripps had very charmingly decorated the little room with flowers, so there was none of the dreariness usual with a registry marriage. As we waited for our witnesses to arrive—we had beaten the train!—my King looked at us both in the small mirror on the wall of the little room, and, adjusting his white rose in his frock-coat, said joyously, "It isn't every woman who makes so good a marriage as you are making, Queenie, is it? and to such a handsome fellow, too!" blowing kisses to me in the glass. Then the two maids arrived, and the little ceremony that was to legalize our union of many years was quickly over.
On the return drive my husband pulled up the hood of the phaeton, and, to my questioning look—for it was a hot morning—he answered solemnly, "It's the right thing to do." As we drove off, bowing and laughing our thanks to Mr. Cripps and the others for their kind and enthusiastic felicitations, he said, "How could I kiss you good wishes for our married life unless we were hooded up like this!"
Just as we drove out of Steyning we passed the newspaper men arriving at a gallop, and we peered out doubtfully at them, fearing they would turn and come back after us. But I let Dictator have his head, and, though they pulled up, they knew that pursuit was hopeless. My husband looked back round the hood of the phaeton, and the groom called out delightedly, "They've give up, and gone on to Mr. Cripps, sir."
On our return to Walsingham Terrace we had to run the gauntlet between waiting Pressmen up the steps to the house, but at my husband's imperious "Stand back; let Mrs. Parnell pass! Presently, presently; I'll see you presently!" they fell back, and we hid ourselves in the house and sat down to our dainty little wedding breakfast. Parnell would not allow me to have a wedding cake, because he said he would not be able to bear seeing me eat our wedding cake without him, and, as I knew, the very sight of a rich cake made him ill.
Meanwhile the reporters had taken a firm stand at the front door, and were worrying the servants to exasperation. One, a lady reporter for an American newspaper, being more enterprising than the rest, got into the house adjoining ours, which I also rented at that time, and came through the door of communication on the balcony into my bedroom. Here she was found by Phyllis, and as my furious little maid was too small to turn the American lady out, she slipped out of the door and locked it, to prevent further intrusion.
Then she came down to us in the dining-room, found on the way that the cook had basely given in to bribery, having "Just let one of the poor gentlemen stand in the hall," and gave up the battle in despair—saying, "Will Mrs. O'Shea see him, Mr. —— wants to know?"