As if reading her thoughts, George said, ‘Your husband ought to be grateful to have another man in the house in case of any trouble. He’s always away, off spying somewhere, leaving a helpless wife and child with only an elderly gentleman to protect them! What good would I be if we were burgled?’
None at all, she thought, but said, ‘I’m sure you’d do your best, Father.’
‘But it wouldn’t be good enough, would it, Lydia? And if I rushed to your rescue I might have a heart attack and you’d never forgive yourself!’
His indignation was giving way to something milder, and he gave her such a humorous look that at last she gave in and laughed. ‘Very well. If you want this Mr Phipps as a lodger, Father, and if he seems pleasant enough, you’ll have to talk to John. He hopes to be home soon.’
‘I’ll do that then.’ He gave her a kindly smile and patted her shoulder.
Lydia hid her surprise and a lump came into her throat and with it the familiar hope. This was the Father she remembered from happier times.
Adam looked up and asked, ‘What is a harty tack?’
George smiled. ‘He doesn’t miss much, does he, this brother of yours?’ Leaning down, he gave the boy a friendly tap on the head with his copy of
The Gardener
. ‘Nothing for you to worry about, Robert. You just think about that big bridge we’re building. We’ll have another look at it when we get home.’
‘We’ve still got some bricks left, Grandpapa,’ the boy said eagerly. ‘We could make the bridge stronger.’
‘Good idea, son. We don’t want it to fall down, do we?’
And Lydia’s hope for an unlikely miracle recovery was once again dashed.
Saturday arrived at last, and Dolly made her way to the place where she and Don were to be wed. The room over the bar at the Rose and Garter was depressingly drab, and she eyed it with dismay as she waited for her groom to arrive. It smelled of stale pipe tobacco and the pomade that some men liked to use to control unruly hair. There were chairs stacked along the wall, a very stained carpet and a long table covered with old green brocade curtains on which someone had placed two half-burned candles – one at either end. In the middle there was a small pot containing a bunch of violets which had obviously been bought from the flower girl who sat day in, day out, outside the Rose and Garter. But at least the man of God impressed her, standing before the altar with his hands clasped and his eyes closed in a prayerful way as though he was thinking religious thoughts. He was younger than she had expected with nice brown hair.
Willis Burke, regal in his impromptu robes, opened his eyes and smiled at her eagerly. ‘What do you think, Miss Ellerway?’ he asked proudly, indicating the room setting with a modest wave of his hand. ‘I think the candles are a nice touch. The landlady lent them to me.’ He waved a box of matches. ‘We can light them when we start the service.’ Dolly nodded. ‘And I’ve brought the bible.’ He laughed nervously. ‘Mustn’t forget that, must we!’
‘No.’ She tried to ignore the faded wallpaper, which had once been red and gold stripes, and the windows, which needed cleaning.
‘Nice violets,’ she said and glanced up at the large wall clock that looked as if it might have originated on the platform of a railway station.
The reverend beamed. ‘I bought the violets for you. You can take them with you as a memento of your wedding!’
‘You’re very kind.’ She was genuinely touched by the gesture. ‘I’ll treasure them. Might press them in a book. The colours always fade, but the flowers are still flowers, aren’t they?’
He nodded. ‘I must say you look very . . . bride-like.’
‘It’s my Sunday best,’ she confided, giving a brief twirl to show off the cream jacket and skirt which had been handed down from her sister two years earlier. She had borrowed a friend’s white straw hat and had added a scrunched arrangement of cream lace cut from the hem of an old petticoat. At last she glanced at the clock, which confirmed her worst fears. ‘He’s five minutes late!’
‘Five minutes? Oh, that’s nothing to worry about, Miss Ellerway. Grooms are often late.’ He stifled a yawn. Having been up all night, he was tired, but the excitement of the moment was carrying him along.
After an awkward silence, Willis said, ‘Not long now and you won’t be Miss Ellerway any more. You’ll be Mrs Wickham.’
‘I wanted my ma to be here!’ she told him, a hint of reproach in her voice. ‘And my sister Mavis. Don said it wasn’t allowed at a private wedding. They are both going to be disappointed when they know – and very cross with me!’
‘Did he? Ah!’ Taken aback he said, ‘Well . . . The thing is . . .’
‘Was he . . . bending the truth, Reverend?’
‘No, no!’ He began to fumble with the matches, lighting the candles, avoiding her eyes. ‘It’s all to do with . . .
with the licence
. Yes, indeed. A private wedding has a different licence, and it means . . . Well, it limits everything. Length of service, no bell ringing, no choir. That sort of thing.’
‘And no family?’
‘I believe your husband-to-be is bringing his brother, but then he’s the best man. He brings the ring. Very important.’ He risked a glance in her direction, hoping he had managed a change of topic.
Before Dolly could answer, there were footsteps on the stairs and along the landing, and the door opened to admit her groom. He looked reasonably well turned out, she thought gratefully, with a clean white shirt, a waistcoat under the jacket, and dark trousers. The shoes lacked polish, but she was willing to overlook that because he was wearing a new hat set at a jaunty angle. He looked like a young ‘man about town’, she thought proudly.
Smiling shyly, suddenly overcome by the occasion, she said, ‘You look really, really nice.’
‘So do you, Doll.’
Willis asked, ‘Where’s the best man?’
‘He’s in bed with a sick stomach. We can manage without him,
can’t we
?’ He raised his eyebrows slightly.
Dolly started to protest, but Willis said, ‘Certainly. All you need is a man of God.’
Don looked at the reverend. ‘Then it’s time to get going. Where’s the bible?’ He winked at Dolly. ‘Got to do things properly, haven’t we!’
The bible was produced, the young couple were drawn closer together and Willis cleared his throat as he flicked idly through the bible, pretending to find the appropriate page.
Adopting his sanctimonious voice, he began. ‘Dearly beloveds, this is a solemn occasion as we join together Miss Ellerway and Mr Wickham in . . . in sickness and in health.’ Relieved that he had made a good beginning, Willis paused and took a deep breath.
Dolly whispered, ‘Can we hold hands?’
He nodded, and Dolly slipped her hand into Don’s and squeezed it. It gave her confidence to feel his strong grasp, and she smiled up at him and wondered if the baby might be aware of what was happening.
‘We ask the Holy Father, Holy Ghost and Holy Spirit to love and comfort you both . . .’ Willis closed his eyes, held the bible with one hand and crossed himself. Dolly did the same and nudged Don into compliance. ‘Do you, Dolly, and you, Donald, take each other in lawful matrimony . . . for better for worse and richer and poorer?’
They each said, ‘I do.’
‘Amen to that!’ Willis looked at Donald. ‘The ring!’
‘Oh yes!’ He produced a ring – a thin gold band with a single stone. Leaning down to Dolly, he whispered, ‘It’s a very expensive diamond!’ and winked. ‘Promise me you’ll wear it always. Never take it off your finger. Never – unless I say so.’
‘I won’t, Don. I promise.’
‘’Cos you know what they say, don’t you? Take off the ring and break the marriage!’
She stared at him, startled. ‘I never heard that before.’
‘You’ve never had a wedding ring before!’ He slipped it on to her finger.
Grinning, she nodded, knowing that it was glass, but what did she care? It looked wonderful, and she held out her left hand. As she admired the ring, she felt a deep happiness welling up inside her. She was married and that was all she had ever wanted. And expecting a baby. She felt truly blessed and at peace with the world.
Willis said, ‘I now declare you husband and wife! Mr and Mrs Donald Wickham!’
Don kissed her, they all shook hands, Willis discreetly accepted payment and blew out the candles.
Don said, ‘Right.’ In a matter-of-fact way he clapped his hands. ‘That’s that. All done and dusted! Coming down for a pint of ale, Reverend?’
‘Thanks, I will.’
‘You won’t say no to a drop of gin, will you, my love?’ He slipped his arm through hers.
Dolly nodded and smiled although she felt rather hustled and would have preferred to stay a few moments longer to relish the significance of the ceremony.
Willis gave her an understanding smile and said, ‘We must celebrate. This is a very special day,
Mrs Wickham
!’
As Don led his bride from the room, Willis reluctantly took off his ‘vestments’, folding them carefully and replacing them in an elderly carpet-bag. He folded the green curtains and left them on the table with the candles.
‘Oh! The violets!’ He snatched them up and, with a last satisfied glance round the room, followed the happy couple down the stairs to the bar.
Three
That evening Dolly stood outside number sixteen, her new home, and stared across the road at number fifteen which from now on would no longer be her home. She was leaving her mother and sister after many shared years. There were tears in her eyes, but she wiped them away, eager to move on and explore her new life as Mrs Donald Wickham on the other side of the road.
She was longing to share the details of her wedding with her mother and Mavis, but she was very anxious about the reception her news would receive when it became clear that they had both missed out on an event which should have been a family occasion followed by a bit of a party. There should have been ale, bread and ham and a cake to be shared by family and friends. They would rightly feel cheated.
Dolly took a deep breath and, avoiding an old man walking with two sticks, and a horse-driven baker’s van, she ran lightly across the muddy road and into number fifteen to break the news of her wedding. Letting herself in, she called a greeting and made her way into the kitchen. The small cramped room smelled endearingly of dust and boiled cabbage with overtones of the liniment her mother sometimes needed for her weak hip.
She was expecting her mother’s disappointment at being excluded from the ceremony, but was unpleasantly surprised when the news was taken as a personal insult.
‘And you never told me, Dolly?’ she gasped from the depths of the ancient armchair. ‘My own daughter getting married and me not there! Lordy! I can scarce believe it, and that’s the truth!’ She sank deeper into her chair, her chest heaving with emotion, glaring angrily at Dolly. ‘What were you trying to do, young lady – break my bloomin’ heart? Well, you’ve succeeded, and I hope you’re satisfied!’
Shocked by this reception, Dolly sat down slowly and regarded her mother speechlessly. May Ellerway had once been pretty, but the years and the efforts of childbearing had taken their toll and her once lithe body was now flabby and her face pasty from too much comfort food. Gin had not helped her body either, but had, on too many occasions, improved her mood. Ten years ago, when her husband died of his liver, she had not bothered to find another man.
Now, thoroughly offended by the news of the wedding, May glared balefully at her youngest daughter.
‘There were no guests, Ma,’ Dolly argued. ‘None at all. It was a small private ceremony. Really small,’ she added regretfully. In her heart she still mourned for what she had lost – the music, the presents, the bells ringing and the good wishes. To aggravate her sense of loss, her mother was making her feel like a naughty child being scolded by the teacher. Sidney had given Dolly a drop of gin to bolster her nerves, but it seemed to have lost its potency now that she was face-to-face with her irate mother.
‘Ma, I thought you’d be really pleased – because of this!’ She patted her belly. ‘For the baby’s sake and to stop all the gossip. You know what I mean. At least he’s made an honest woman of me. I thought that’s what you wanted.’
‘But getting wed without your own mother? God’s truth!’ She shook her head. ‘And whose idea was this private ceremony? I suppose it’s the same wretch who got you into that state! Well, you know what I think of him.’
‘You said he was handsome!’ Dolly protested. ‘A really handsome devil – that’s what you called him.’
‘I was being kind, wasn’t I! Anyway, looks aren’t everything, and that was ages ago. He’s not bad looking, I suppose, but he’s hardly what you’d call a catch with his background. Show me trouble and I’ll find you a Wickham mixed up in it somehow!’ She sighed deeply. ‘So where was this so-called “private ceremony”? Which church?’
‘It was in a private room.’
Her mother’s eyebrows rose. ‘So not a proper religious wedding.’
‘Course it was, Ma. Proper and very . . . discreet and a bit elegant.’ She crossed her fingers.
‘Elegant? What’s the point in being elegant if there was no one there to see it?’ May snorted with derision. ‘Elegant, my eye!’
Buffeted into a dismal silence, Dolly glanced down at her clasped hands and was glad that Mavis was not present to witness her humiliation.
‘So let’s see your marriage lines.’
‘What?’
‘You heard!’
‘Marriage lines?’
‘The certificate, Doll, what’s signed by the vicar and the best man and everyone. It proves you were legally married.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t got one!’
The question startled Dolly, but she was at pains to hide the fact. She thought quickly. ‘I’m to collect it tomorrow. It . . . it has to be copied into the . . . Weddings Book.’ They must have overlooked it, she assured herself, in their hurry to get down to the bar. Or it might come by post. She would ask Don.