By the time Matthew had put on his coat and his goggles, and Constance and John were settled in the back of the car, the others were halfway down the street ahead of them. Constance watched them. Rosemary and Hannah Beattie led the way and Albert Green and his parents walked just a little way behind. Constance knew that the Greens lived next door to John and his mother, and that father and son both worked at the Central Station.
She remembered Matthew saying to John that day the three of them had sat in the teashop planning the wedding, ‘I suppose that strapping young railway porter shall be your best man.’
‘Albert is not a porter, he’s a bookings clerk - and destined to climb even higher in the service of the London and North Eastern Railway Company. Or so his mother assures us,’ John had laughed.
‘Well, porter or clerk, he will be by your side on your wedding day and I shall be jealous.’
Constance watched the rueful look that passed between them and she frowned before she asked, ‘But, John?’
‘What is it?’
‘Why can’t Matthew be your best man? After all, he is your best friend.’
‘I suppose you’ll have to know. My mother doesn’t altogether approve of Matthew.’
‘Whyever not?’
Matthew and John glanced at each other and then Matthew smiled at her. ‘Let us say that Mrs Edington thinks her son should stay within his own social class. A ridiculous notion in the twentieth century, I know, but perhaps she imagines that people like me will lead him astray.’
All the while Matthew was talking even his eyes had been smiling so that Constance did not know whether to take him seriously. He and John so often teased each other. After that they had changed the subject and Constance had forgotten about the exchange - until now, when they were on their way to John’s house in Matthew’s car. It was only a short journey from the church on the corner. They would soon be there.
John gripped her hand. ‘What are you thinking?’
She was glad that her veil partly obscured her expression. She did not know why, but she felt that John would not want to be reminded of her question that day.
‘Constance, is something the matter?’
‘No. I was just wondering ...’
‘Wondering what?’
‘Wondering why your cousin Esther looks so cross.’ Constance pointed to where the tall young woman strode ahead through the swirling sleety flakes, not waiting for her father, who was politely walking behind the others.
‘Look!’ Constance’s eyes widened as Esther overtook the Green family and then actually pushed Rosemary Elliot aside as she went past.
‘Don’t worry about my cousin. Esther will always find something to sulk about. Goodness knows what has set her off today.’
Just as John spoke, the car drove past them all, and Constance glanced back admiringly at Esther Barton’s glossy dark curls piled high under a fur-trimmed hat. Constance caught her eye and was shocked at the venom she saw there.
‘Cold, sweetheart?’
Constance turned to find John looking concerned. ‘Yes.’
‘You’re shivering. But don’t worry, the journey’s over. You’ll soon thaw out when we get inside.’
Constance watched her new husband as he opened the waist-high, wrought-iron gate of the small grey-brick terraced house. He took her hand and led her up the short path to the front door. The others had waited and now they followed them. At one side of the path, dividing it from that next door, was a tall privet hedge, and at the other side, a tiny square of garden crowded with frosted shrubs. She had never been invited to this house. Since John had proposed to her, and she had accepted, there had hardly been time.
After that first casual meeting in the park, when the band had been playing, John had asked her to meet him in the Willow Tea Rooms the following week. Constance had hardly been able to contain her excitement but, when the day came, she had not really been surprised that Matthew was there too. Indeed, over the next few months she had been unsure whether or not John was truly courting her. He seemed to enjoy her company, otherwise why seek it, but they were hardly ever alone together.
And then one day he had turned up without his friend. John offered no explanation but he had been flatteringly attentive, making Constance deliriously happy. That was the first time he had reached for her hand and held it as he walked her home. Before parting he had brushed her lips with his own. She could still remember the disturbing sensations his first kiss had aroused.
There had been so few kisses after that; they had not had the opportunity. Matthew had even been there, walking a little apart, when John had asked her to marry him. She had been overcome with happiness as she agreed and she had longed for John to take her in his arms and embrace her. But, with Matthew so near, John had simply raised her hand to his lips instead. But he had looked at her with eyes so full of emotion, she was sure she had seen the glint of tears.
‘You’re supposed to carry the lass over the threshold, you know! I’ll give you a hand, John, if you can’t manage it!’ Albert Green was standing behind them.
‘Albert!’ His mother hissed. Her large, protuberant eyes stared up anxiously at the son who dwarfed her.
‘I only meant because John’s such a little fellow, Mam. Not much bigger than his bonny bride. I mean—’
‘Albert!’ This time his father rebuked him. Mr Green was as tall as Albert, but he was thin and so pale that he appeared almost bloodless. Constance wondered how the pair had produced such a robustly handsome son.
Acute embarrassment made Mr Green address the ground near her feet. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Edington. Our lad’s more brawn than brain but that’s no excuse for bad manners. What will you think of us?’
For a moment Constance was at a loss. Mrs Edington? Of course, he means me!
I
am Mrs Edington! ‘Oh, I don’t mind.’ She smiled radiantly up at Albert, who grinned back.
The next moment happiness engulfed her as John, with surprising strength, swept her up into his arms. ‘No thank you, Albert, I am quite capable of carrying my bride myself!’
‘I’m sorry that I cannot get up to greet you, Constance.’
‘That’s all right, Mrs Edington. John has explained that you are not strong.’
‘Not strong?’ Frances Edington smiled faintly. ‘I hope he has been a little more precise than that.’
‘Yes, he has.’
After introducing them, John left them alone together while he instructed the maid to arrange more chairs at the table. Constance looked at her mother-in-law. She was so unlike John. He was small with angel-blond hair, fair skin and delicate features. His mother had long limbs and a large frame, although it was wasted now with illness.
Before ill health had made her complexion so pallid, she must have been as boldly dark and attractive as her brother’s daughter, Esther, Constance thought. But it was undeniable that, even although she was gravely ill, her beauty still lingered. In fact the consumption had added something - an air of drama, of tragedy that may have made her even more attractive.
Mrs Edington was wearing a plain, dark blue dress and her black hair was parted in the middle and fell in two raven wings before being drawn back into a heavy knot on the nape of her neck. The severe way she has of dressing her hair suits her, Constance thought. In contrast to her hair, her face was unnaturally pale but as she smiled up at Constance, two pink spots appeared and glowed faintly in her cheeks.
Frances assessed her daughter-in-law. She had had so little time to get used to the idea and this was not what she had expected. She remembered the day John had told her that he was getting married. How surprised and how apprehensive she had been.
‘I thought you would be pleased,’ he had said. ‘I will come into my inheritance, at least some part of it, and if a child is born, Uncle Walter will not be able to withhold the full amount.’
‘Of course I’m pleased that you are marrying, but I hope it is not just for the sake of the money your grandfather willed to you. Are you sure that ... I mean the girl—’
‘Don’t worry, she has nobody, no family to object to her alliance with the son of a scoundrel.’
‘John!’
‘I’m sorry, I know that you loved him.’
‘John, I only meant ... the girl is a servant.’
‘Constance is poor but she’s quite respectable. Don’t you trust me? My good taste?’
‘Of course. But will she ... ? I mean, will you be happy?’
‘What do you want to hear, Mother? Believe me, Constance is perfect. She is young, she is beautiful and she adores me. How could I not be happy?’
He had seemed so eager, so like any young man who had found the girl that he wanted to marry, that she had tried to suppress her misgivings. But there had been so much left unsaid. And now Constance was actually married to her son and she realized that she had been staring for rather too long.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make you feel unwelcome. If I seem distant it’s because I tire so easily.’
‘Can I get you anything? Something to eat? Or perhaps a cup of tea?’
‘Do you know,’ she smiled up at Constance, ‘as it’s your wedding day, I think I would like a glass of wine.’
‘I guessed you might and here it is, madam!’ John reappeared beside them. He was carrying a plate of cold roast beef sandwiches cut into small triangles and a glass of red wine. ‘Polly has prepared this for you so that you can join in the festivities without tiring yourself too much.’ He turned to smile at his new bride. ‘Would you move that small table a little nearer to my mother? Good. Now we should join our guests.’
As the others were taking their seats, Muriel found time to approach her sister-in-law. ‘Quite a surprise, eh, Frances?’
‘Surprise?’
‘Well, what kind of servant girl is it who speaks and dresses like a lady and is friends with the daughter of Sir Hubert Elliot?’
Frances glanced at her unexpected guests, her expression unreadable. ‘Matthew Elliot is John’s friend.’
‘Really? You’ve never said anything about it.’
‘Why should I?’
Suddenly, Muriel’s small eyes and mouth formed three speculative circles as something occurred to her. ‘She’s not some castoff of young Elliot’s, is she?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Constance. Some governess or lady’s maid that the lad has got into trouble? John’s not marrying her to do his rich friend a favour, is he?’
‘How dare you?’ The spots of colour in Frances’ cheeks intensified and burned an angry red. When she began to cough, Muriel sidled away.
From her seat at the table Constance had seen the vexed exchange and, not knowing what was the matter, she half rose to go and see if there was anything she could do for Mrs Edington. But the little maid was already hurrying over to her. John took Constance’s hand and pulled her down again.
‘Don’t worry, I could see before that my mother was getting overtired but I didn’t want to banish her from the wedding feast. Polly will see to her; she’s used to it. Our guests are waiting to begin the meal.’
Constance looked around. There were seats for ten people at the dining table. She had been placed between John and Uncle Walter, John on her right and his uncle on her left. Opposite to her Albert had settled himself between Rosemary and Hannah Beattie and she could see his cheery face towering over the wedding cake.
Round the corner, on John’s right, Esther stared moodily at her plate and did not even look up as her mother settled herself officiously on the seat beside her. At the other end of the table, and next to Walter Barton, Matthew sat and stared almost as moodily as Esther, although he did respond politely every time John’s uncle spoke to him.
On Matthew’s left sat Mr Green, stiff and awkward to find himself in such august company. Constance noticed that Hannah Beattie tried to engage him in conversation but the poor man replied with words of one syllable and looked longingly in the direction of his wife, who had donned a large white pinafore and was helping Polly serve the guests.