Beyond the Veil of Tears (10 page)

Still not sure if the housekeeper could be relied upon, Myrtle had hedged, ‘Well, she’s fair barmy about him, and he seems smitten. Perhaps she’ll change him.’

‘A leopard changing its spots?’ Mrs Upton had snorted. ‘It don’t happen. Still, like I said, we’re in clover here, and I’ve had my say. My conscience is
clear. It’s up to you what you do or don’t say.’

Now Myrtle gathered up the small train of Angeline’s dress as her mistress prepared to leave the bedroom. Should she have said something? Voiced her misgivings? She probably would have
done, had it not been for the way Miss Angeline had reacted on the day Mr Golding had come to the house to ask for her hand. Her attitude then had made it plain she wouldn’t hear a word
against him. No, if she’d repeated any of what Mrs Upton had confided, it would only have driven a wedge between her and her mistress; or, worse, she would have been dismissed. And with her
da having been off work the last few weeks with his stomach trouble, she couldn’t afford to risk losing her job, or it’d be the workhouse for them at home, for sure.

Nevertheless the sense of guilt weighed heavily as Myrtle followed Angeline down the stairs, to where Hector was waiting in the hall.

Hector’s own conscience had been playing him up for weeks. On the one hand, he kept telling himself that Oswald was obviously genuine about his love for Angeline, for why
else would he – a member of the landed gentry – want to marry a girl who, for all her wealth, couldn’t be said to be his social equal? And yet his gut instinct told him there was
more to Oswald’s apparent affection for his niece than met the eye. And yes, he admitted in his truthful moments, he didn’t want to probe too hard, for fear of what he might
uncover.

When the still, small voice became too insistent to ignore – often in the middle of the night when sleep eluded him – he silenced it by telling himself that, whatever the rights and
wrongs of the matter, Angeline loved Oswald and would be heartbroken if their nuptials didn’t take place. It would be cruel, he reasoned, to stand in their way. This argument worked –
mostly. Today, as he took in the sight of his brother’s only child in the first blush of womanhood and with a smile on her face that tore at his heart, it didn’t work. And when her
expression changed and she fairly flew across the hall, careless of her finery, saying, ‘What is it, Uncle? Are you unwell?’, Hector felt as though burning coals were being heaped upon
his head.

Recovering himself, he took her small hands in his. ‘No, no, child, don’t fret. You look so lovely, that’s all, and your mother and father would have been so proud of you.
Come, we must be away.’

Out of respect for Angeline’s parents, the wedding ceremony and reception were to be a quiet affair. After a simple service at the parish church, a small handful of guests had been invited
back to a wedding breakfast at the house before the happy couple left for Oswald’s London establishment. Oswald had suggested – and Angeline had been happy to comply – that their
honeymoon proper could take place early in the New Year, but a week in London when he could show her the sights, and they could visit the theatre and art galleries and perhaps meet friends for
dinner once or twice, would be a brief precursor to two or three months’ travelling around Europe in the spring. He had implied that it was out of regard for her parents’ memory that
they should delay their holiday a while, and Angeline had loved him all the more for his thoughtfulness. Also, he had added gently – clearly as an afterthought – it would enable certain
financial legalities to be taken care of. Such matters were tiresome, but best dealt with swiftly and then forgotten.

Mrs Upton opened the front door for them, and her voice and manner were kind when she said, ‘May I wish you every happiness, Miss Angeline. Every happiness, I’m sure.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Upton.’ Angeline smiled at the housekeeper, and then at Albert, as she walked down the steps with her uncle to where Albert was standing by the carriage, resplendent
in the new livery her uncle had bought him for the occasion. Myrtle followed, still carrying the train, to avoid it brushing the dusty ground. August had been an unusually hot month and the earth
was baked, and even now, in the second week of September, the hot spell showed no sign of abating. The sky was high and a clear vivid blue, without even the smallest cloud marring its expanse. It
was a beautiful day. Angeline breathed in the warm air scented with shrubs and flowers. Life was beautiful. If her mama and father could have been here, everything would have been perfect.

Once Angeline and her uncle were settled in the carriage, Myrtle climbed up beside Albert and they were off. Mrs Upton forgot herself so far as to wave her handkerchief as the carriage trundled
down the short drive and out onto the road. Angeline smiled to herself. If her uncle’s housekeeper had been as nice when she had first come to live with him as she had been for the last
little while, her early weeks in the house would have been different altogether. She had said the same to Myrtle a little while ago, and Myrtle had made her laugh when she’d said wryly,
‘Perhaps it’s because she knows she’s getting rid of the pair of us shortly, Miss.’ Dear Myrtle. She was so glad she would have someone of her own in Oswald’s house;
his staff were much more formal than she had been used to, but then that was the way Oswald liked it. And she supposed, with the house and grounds being so vast, it was necessary. As she’d
said that morning, she was beginning a new life – one with different rules – but at least she could be the same with Myrtle as she’d always been. They’d both need that,
because things would change for Myrtle, too.

Albert was saying much the same thing to Myrtle as the horses clip-clopped along the road towards the church. ‘Going to be lady’s maid to Mrs Golding, from this day
forth then. Going up in the world, aren’t you, living in the big house an’ all?’

Myrtle glanced at him. His tone hadn’t been nasty, but there had been some sort of edge to it that she couldn’t place. ‘Miss Angeline will still be the same, and so shall I,
big house or no.’

‘You say that now, but you won’t want to know the likes of me when you’re in with that lot up there.’

Myrtle twisted in her seat and studied his profile properly. ‘What’s the matter?’ She had thought she was getting on all right with Albert and his sister for the last little
while, since their chat in the kitchen. Particularly with Albert. Once he had unbent towards her, she’d discovered he had a wicked sense of humour that he kept under wraps most of the time,
because his sister didn’t approve of too much jollity.

‘I’m just saying, that’s all.’

‘
What
are you saying, Albert?’

‘That it’s different looking after Miss Angeline, like you’ve been doing so far, from how it’s going to be from now on. You’ll be up there in the hierarchy with the
butler and the valet, and you won’t be wearing a uniform any more. You’ll get your room cleaned for you by the housemaids, and all sorts of perks.’

Myrtle knew where all this had come from. His sister. Although Mrs Upton had been nicer in recent weeks, she hadn’t been able to resist remarking that a lady’s maid should be
properly qualified for the post, and with an education superior to that of the ordinary class of female servants. Could Myrtle do fine needlework? Was she familiar with the useful and ornamental
branches of female acquirements that Miss Angeline would need when she became Mrs Golding? Could she dress the new Mrs Golding’s hair for grand occasions? And so it had gone on. Myrtle had
let most of it go over her head and had tried not to get rattled, but now she was upset to think that Albert thought she would turn into an upstart. She wasn’t like that.

‘Albert, even if it’s like you say, you’ll still be my friend. How could you think otherwise?’ she said, the hurt sounding in her voice.

Albert seemed to concentrate very hard on the road ahead for a minute or two. Then he said quietly, ‘What if I want us to be more than friends?’

For a moment she thought she must have misheard him, but a glance at his tense profile told her otherwise. ‘You . . . you mean . . . ’ She didn’t dare voice it, in case she had
made a mistake.

‘I like you, Myrtle. More than like.’

She didn’t know what to say, and so she said the truth. ‘I didn’t know. I’ve never thought of you in that way, I suppose, not with how things were when Miss Angeline and
I first came to the house. Your sister and you – well, you weren’t very friendly.’

‘I can understand that, and I regret it deeply. But now, would you consider thinking of me in that way?’

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. Albert was nice-looking, in an earthy sort of way, tall and broad, and he had lovely curly hair. She knew Mrs Upton was fifteen years older than
him – Mrs Upton had been the eldest in the family, and he’d been the last baby – because Albert had told her that one night, when they’d sat in the kitchen drinking tea
after his sister had gone to bed to nurse a headache. He had confided that when Mrs Upton had taken the post of housekeeper to Mr Stewart, after her husband had died, she had got him this job. But
Myrtle still didn’t know exactly how old he was. Bluntly she said, ‘How old are you, Albert?’ He was one of those people about whom it was difficult to guess their age.

‘Twenty-eight; and you were eighteen at Christmas, weren’t you? Do you think I’m too old for you, Myrtle?’

There was ten years between her mam and da. Suddenly she knew she didn’t want Albert to go out of her life. Softly she said, ‘No, I don’t think that. Miss Angeline has told me
I’ll get every Sunday afternoon off, unless we’re at Mr Golding’s London house or away somewhere. I . . . I could meet you then, if you want, and we’ll see how it
goes.’

‘I do want.’ He glanced at her – a swift warm glance – and Myrtle felt a tingle snake down her spine.

‘All right then.’

‘The first Sunday you’re back from London?’

She nodded.

‘You won’t regret giving me a chance, lass, I promise you that.’ And then he smiled. ‘And if you can agree to walking out with me when I’m dressed up like a
dog’s dinner in these ridiculous clothes, it bodes well.’

Myrtle giggled. The livery was similar to that worn by the footmen at the big house, when they delivered bits and pieces for Miss Angeline from Mr Golding, but although it looked befitting on
them, she had to admit it was out of keeping on Albert. He was too manly, that was the thing. To tease him she said, ‘You wouldn’t want to wear this sort of thing all the time
then?’

‘Heaven forbid!’ He grinned at her, and then, his voice becoming serious, he said, ‘I’ve been saving up for years to get a little smallholding, lass. That’s me
dream. Somewhere where I’m me own boss, and I don’t have to bow the knee to anyone. A cow and a couple of pigs, a few hens and a nice allotment, and me own fireside of an
evening.’

She liked the sound of that. Oh, she did. They were nearing the church and they didn’t have time to say anything else, but as Myrtle climbed down from beside him she had a warm glow
inside. Albert! Who’d have thought it? But he was a nice man. She just hoped Mr Golding was as nice, but she wouldn’t put money on it.

Oswald sat waiting in the church, dusty golden shafts of sunlight slanting through the stained-glass windows and bathing the altar in a warm glow. Nicholas Gray was sitting
beside him as his best man. He had cultivated his friendship with Nicholas since pursuing Angeline, not because he particularly liked the man – Nicholas was too strait-laced for his taste
– but because Lord Gray and his wife added the stamp of respectability to any social occasion, unlike most of his former friends. It had been fortunate that he could use the ploy of
Angeline’s parents having so recently died to limit the guest list, too. Along with the Grays and two other reputable couples, and a couple of elderly great-aunts on his side,
Angeline’s uncle made up the sum total of invitees. He had promised his set a rip-roaring party in due course. Mirabelle had once referred to such beanos as being little more than orgies, and
she was right of course.

Mirabelle . . . He lingered on the memory of their last meeting just a week ago. He had told Angeline he had urgent business in London, and had escaped from the North into Mirabelle’s
arms. Hell, he’d put her through her paces all right. They’d spent the whole day in bed and got through three bottles of champagne.

The sound of the organ signalled the bride’s arrival, and as Oswald glanced round he was annoyed to see that George Appleby and his wife had slipped into the back of the church. He had
been to visit the solicitor in his offices a few weeks ago, ostensibly to thank the man for handling Angeline’s finances so well to date, but Appleby had given him short shrift and Oswald was
still smarting from his treatment. It had taken some tactful questioning of Hector to make sure nothing could stand in the way of Angeline’s fortune coming into the Golding coffers once they
were man and wife.

‘She looks exquisite, old fellow. You’re a lucky man.’

Nicholas’s whisper reminded Oswald to play the doting groom as his eyes focused on the ethereal figure walking up the aisle on Hector’s arm, and he schooled his features accordingly.
Not much longer, and then this farce would be over, he comforted himself. Angeline would be content to play house in the country, and he could get back to his old life. For the sake of appearances
he’d take her to town once or twice, and she would have to be part of the exodus to the grouse moors in the autumn for the shooting next year – it was expected of the wives – but
he didn’t see her impinging on his liberty as such. She would do what she was told.

She reached his side. Oswald lifted the veil back from her face to reveal the trusting brown eyes looking at him adoringly.

Yes, he’d have no trouble with Angeline.

It was dark when they arrived at Oswald’s large, elegant town house. They’d been met at the station by Harper, Oswald’s man when he was residing in the city.
Harper’s wife, Ellen, was housekeeper and cook, and their daughters, Sally and Tessa, were maids. At the last moment, literally as they were leaving for the station, Oswald had told Myrtle
that her mistress would not be requiring her to travel to London with them after all.