Chapter Three:

Chapter Three:

In Which a Marriage is Planned Just in time, with True Reflections on that Happy State from One who has Never Known it.

After the pleasurable occurrence by the riverside, Horatio suddenly found the passion for teaching he had lost. Indeed, his focus was more taken up by his studies and the lecturing of young boys then it had ever been. He spent every moment snoozing behind a book or barking in front of a class and as a result, to his total surprise, he managed to avoid going into The Oak for over a month. 

Gemma had undergone a different transformation since that afternoon amongst the apples. First she spent each day pining for Horatio, encamped in his Schoolhouse merely five minutes away but as the month went on, this pining turned into dislike which became utter hatred as she realised what the good reader was told earlier on, that she was with child. Her first inclination had been to inform her Father, the Landlord and Former Shire Boxing Champion. It would have given her plenty of satisfaction to see the crumpled remains of Horatio Derrick, Schoolmaster and learned Pedant, hobbling out of the village and away into ignominy. She would have told her Father about her indiscretion, were it not for a conversation she had overheard.

Squire Vatass had been tethered to the bar most of the day, drinking his considerable weight in strong beer and consuming an excess of oysters. His waistcoat strained against his solid, round belly, a testament to English Beef and Beer. Were the French to invade, the British could have formed a barricade, which would have kept the Frogs at bay for some hours, merely by pushing Squire Vatass’s considerable bulk into a gap between two small stools, blocking any but the most considerable thoroughfare. His red face could have served as a warning beacon, especially after an evening on port and his voice, trained by a thousand eager ‘halloos’ was loud enough to carry messages to a whole fleet, saving the time and effort needed to deploy Admiral’s flags. Squire Vatass could have been a man of considerable service to his Country were it not for his Gout which caused him considerable pain, confining him to the home, public house and deer chase. 

The Fine Squire was fulfilling a duty to his community by passing on news from the surrounding villages. The conversation had turned to a certain Nancy Highgate, who had been made game of by the Squire’s younger son.

 ‘I tell ye good sir,’ the Squire began, ‘that it is Prudent and Useful practise for a Young Man to get himself a b*****d or two with a common strumpet, so he can then settle Himself down to marriage with a Suitable Lady without the feeling that he was missing out on any pleasures.’

 ‘No doubt,’ the Landlord concurred, clenching his prize winning fists, ‘but were some Rake to try and corrupt my Gemma, I’d make him pay.’ 

  ‘And how, good sir would you do that? Were one of my sons to win over your Gemma, any physical violence you could do to them would be more than revenged by me, for I know the Justice of the Peace and have the Law within my own hands, which I find to be a far more delicate and painful weapon than any cudgel-fisted anger.’

  ‘You misunderstand me good Sir,’ the Landlord said, his face turning pale and images of a judge flashing before his eyes. ‘I would not harm the fellow who has ruined my daughter, I would force a marriage between them and let him take the full consequences of his actions and as I know my daughter, that is the worse punishment a man could have.’ The two men snickered and looked at Gemma, who paused her mopping to serve them her finest scowl and marched off in confusion and annoyance. The last thing she wanted was to be yoked with the Schoolmaster for her whole life, for now she saw him as the grubby, scruffy old chalk-beak that he was.  So she did what any sensible person would do, she ignored her problem for as long as she could. 

It was not long till Gemma’s problem had grown too large to ignore, nor was it long till the guilty party had been discovered, hauled out of his schoolroom and dunked in the river. As Horatio floundered in the water, Gemma’s Father put forth his daughter’s proposal and promised a dowry consisting of the very generous ‘not basting him roundly’. The Spluttering Schoolmaster gave his assent and so the happy union of these two important members of their community was officially announced. The couple were cheered and jeered and made to stand next to each other, where they tried to look everywhere but in their fair fiancee’s face.

As the weeks progressed, Horatio felt a sudden and surprising wish to travel. He realised he’d never seen the glories of the China’s, felt his heart flutter on taking first sight of the New World, he’d never seen the Order of Holland, the Luxury of France or even the Wonder of London and he decided it was a ripe time in his life to see those things. Gathering a few special belongings, he crept out at night not wishing to disrupt anybody. He was a short way down the road when he heard the rumble of hooves followed shortly by a prize-winning fist clutching his collar as Gemma’s Father explained that he had a spy among Horatio’s boys, that he knew all of Horatio’s actions and that he thought it was a wise idea for Horatio to remain in the village. As a result of this heart to heart, Horatio decided to put childish dreams of travel behind him.

Bells rang on the happy day as Gemma waddled peevishly up the aisle. Her Father linked his arm in hers, leading her to the altar and clicking the stone floor of the church sharply with his new, stout cane. Horatio had borrowed money at a reasonable rate and stood in a smart, almost new suit of blue serge and a wig tightly curled, he listened to each click of the cane as Bride and Father walked up the aisle and tried to remember that afternoon by the river. He remembered the pleasure they had enjoyed together and muttered a prayer that his future married life would be as enjoyable and as quiet. He sneaked a look behind him, Gemma looked striking in her blue gown and her thick black hair fell straight. She was beautiful. She was furious. The parson coughed and the ceremony began.

It is, I think, worthwhile to pause at this moment and consider the very true bliss that is the state of marriage. I know a married couple of many years, he is a reverend man and she his dutiful spouse. Every day is spent in comforting and life-enhancing routine. She wakes first, roused by worries for the children and plans for the day. She lays there, listening to the comforting sound of his rhythmic snoring, counting her blessings and scanning the ceiling for cracks. Eventually he awakes with a porcine snuffling, farts with the gusto of a man in prime health and enquires about breakfast.

 

During breakfast, she helpfully reminds him of the chores he must complete in the day, the chores he didn’t manage to complete the day before, the ones the day before that, the ones before that and so on, till the list of chores have been exhausted. He leaves the house, refreshed to be outside and ready to do his service to wife and nation, riding around the countryside, visiting the sick to offer them spiritual refreshment, visiting spinsters of the parish and enjoying bodily refreshment and generally pottering about being pious before coming back to his own warm hearth until as late as he possibly can. Meanwhile, she has prepared a meal for him, scrubbed a few tables and caught up with her romances, penciling in the good parts before passing them on to her friends. 

The couple unite for dinner, where they share news of their day, plans for the next and any gripes and grievances that they have on their chests. Bellies full and chests unladen they light the candles and prepare for that most cosy of routines, a quiet evening in each other’s company.  The gentle parson sits, complaining about the pains in his belly and finishing the sermon ready for Sunday, while his wife sits with her romances, occasionally throwing little tokens of sympathy towards her husband.

When the night gets too cold or candles too expensive, the happy partnership climb their stairs and settle into their bed where he falls asleep instantly, signifying that period of blessed comfort while she lays, looks at the cracks on the walls and counts her blessings. So this joyful couple have lived together for longer than most can remember, counting each day that comes and waiting for the still more blessed state of widowhood.

Author's Note

The protagonist is born in the next chapter, I promise.

Reviews

[Sujash I. Purna]

It seemed a little digressing from the Horatio-Gemma flow in the last couple of paragraphs. But I think you've made your readers understand (and I understood) on their own what happened after their marriage with the following after "I know a married couple of many years".

Yes, looking forward to the protagonist's arrival!