Murder With Peacocks(102)

"If anyone here can show just cause why this man and woman should not be joined in holy matrimony," intoned Cousin Frank, "Let him speak now or forever hold his peace." He paused and looked around pugnaciously, as if daring anyone to speak out. Mr. Ronson, at his side, beamed at the congregation as if he were rather hoping someone would.

One of the ushers on my side of the circle picked that moment to faint. He fell over backwards, striking a large flower-twined candelabrum on his way down. The candelabrum fell, taking down two others with it in a chain reaction, and in leaping away from the falling candelabra, some of the wedding party set still more candelabra in motion. For a few moments, burning candles were flying through the air in every direction. Bridesmaids shrieked, ushers grabbed vases and doused small flames with the water they contained, without bothering to remove the flowers first. After a minute or so, when all the fires had been put out and stray candles and vegetation kicked aside, we noticed that the offending usher was not only still unconscious, but had managed to gash his head rather badly on the altar step. I stage-whispered orders to the remaining ushers to carry him out. Four of them got the idea immediately: they lifted him on their shoulders and marched decorously out. Perhaps a little too decorously; they rather resembled absentminded pallbearers who had mislaid the coffin. Fortunately the sight of Dad, trotting briskly and cheerfully down the aisle after them, diluted the funereal effect. After leaving the victim in the vestibule with Dad, they marched back in again quite beautifully and closed ranks with the rest of the bridal party as if the whole maneuver had been rehearsed in advance. I was proud of them.

For the rest of the ceremony, it was obvious from the cold precision of Samantha's voice during her responses that she was furious with the world in general and looking to take it out on someone at the first opportunity. It was equally obvious from the shakiness of Rob's tone that he fully expected to be the someone. The occasional sounds from the vestibule of Dad matter-of-factly ministering to the fallen usher didn't help. But Cousin Frank carried on splendidly in his wonderfully sonorous voice, and had almost succeeded in restoring some shreds of dignity to the proceedings when, just as he was about to pronounce them husband and wife, the ambulance pulled up, siren screeching, to take the felled usher away.

Samantha looked truly grim as she and Rob walked down the aisle, and I decided it was a lucky thing we were having all the photos taken after the actual event. She would have time to calm down and an incentive to remove the Lizzie Borden look from her face.

It began to pour just as we got out of the church, so we all milled back in again, causing total gridlock as guests trying to head for the reception tried to squeeze through the squadron of hoop skirts. After the guests finally cleared out, the photographer put us through our paces for about an hour. Of course, on the bright side, it had stopped raining by the time we took off for the reception, and when we arrived the guests were just beginning to venture out from under the tent and most of the food hadn't been set out.

I was mildly depressed when we arrived at the Brewsters' house. Even with the interruptions, it had been a gorgeous ceremony. The dresses were ridiculous, but in a bizarre sort of way the overall effect was beautiful. Once he'd gotten over his disappointment at not being allowed to give a sermon, Cousin Frank had really thrown himself into the occasion and performed a beautiful ceremony. After the charming eccentricity of Eileen's Renaissance music on virginals and lutes, I'd actually enjoyed hearing a really big church organ boom out "Here Comes the Bride" and other old standards.

But I kept remembering Eileen's and Steven's faces during their ceremony. Samantha's face didn't light up when she saw Rob standing at the altar. I got the distinct impression she was checking him out to see if he was properly combed and dressed. And Rob didn't look transfigured. Just nervous.

I tried to enjoy the reception, or at least look as if I were enjoying it. But I had the nagging feeling there was something I ought to have done that would blow up in my face any minute. Perhaps it was a side effect of the poison ivy.

Barry was hovering, as usual. For once, he was proving useful.

"I'm not sure this is real Beluga," I said to Barry, handing him a cracker heaped with caviar. "Does it taste right to you?"

Barry downed the cracker.

"Tastes fine to me," he said.

"No, you ate it too fast. Here, try another one. Roll it around in your mouth for a while. Get the full flavor."

Barry obligingly did so.

"Still tastes fine," he said, when he'd finished.

"Maybe it's the crackers. They have a strong flavor. Just try some by itself." I handed him a heaping spoonful.