But that evening after dinner I slipped out on to the terrace, and stood looking down over the rolling green parkland; and I remembered the huge barren camp at Étaples – the huts and tents crammed with wounded, dying men in the terrible days of the retreat. Each morning we had woken in fear and despair as the enemy came ever nearer. We had watched our last men trudge up to the front – the too-old, the too-young and the wounded returning yet again – and with them had gone Ben Holden. He had sworn to me he would keep the enemy back, and he had kept his promise. I had been grateful then and I was grateful still.
I drifted through the next days in a dream letting others make the decisions. Letty insisted on taking me to Manchester and I stood listlessly by while she selected tablecloths and napkins, sheets and pillowcases – and a glowing rose-pink eiderdown. She dispatched them to Ainsclough, along with a telegram demanding Ben’s measurements; as soon as these came she set the sewing- room maid to alter a pair of Guy’s grey-striped trousers and morning coat for Ben to wear at the wedding. Then a letter came from Ben to say that the linen had arrived – and that Ralph Dutton had agreed to be his best man – ‘I thought it would be easier for you, lass.’ In my memory I heard Robbie’s voice asking: ‘Shall I give him any hope, Hellie?’ And I began to cry.
Presents began arriving. I looked at them helplessly: silver, cut glass, crystal, bone china – all for a small terraced house in Royds Street, Ainsclough. Mother tightened her lips and said, ‘They’d better all be put in store, once this wedding’s over.’
But Letty said firmly, ‘I’ll select a sample, Helena, and send them on to you it’s only fair to Ben.’
I looked at the elaborate cut-glass decanter in her hand and imagined Ben solemnly pouring his bottles of bitter brown beer into it, before quaffing the foaming brew from the delicate-stemmed wineglasses on the table – and I felt hysteria rising. But I managed to fight it down before I went upstairs to write yet more letters of thanks.
The wedding dress arrived from London, and Norah brought it upstairs for me to try on; Letty came barging in to watch. My maid slipped the cream satin over my head and it slid smoothly down to fit closely over my breasts and hips, and then fell straight to the floor. Letty walked round me, surveying it from every angle, before she said, ‘With that fashionable dropped waistline you look rather like a very expensive cigarette – but it does suit you – Mother was really rather clever to choose this style. You are lucky to be so slim, Helena.’ But I would not be slim for much longer: my breasts were full and tender, and I walked slowly and languidly now – like a woman already heavy with child.
Alice arrived with her desiccated husband; his fussing irritated her and she snapped at him mercilessly. She came to my room later and said carelessly, ‘God, how that man bores me! He’s like an elongated stick insect – and about as much use when it comes to the bedroom. Yet he’s so jealous I swear he has me watched.’ She shrugged. ‘Mother can rail on about you as much as she likes but I’ve got to admit there’s something to be said for sampling the wares beforehand – though God knows I think you must be out of your mind to go through with it.’ I did not answer, so she began to talk of her two sons. Hugo was at Eton now, and she had been down the previous day for the Fourth of June. When she had gone I remembered with a sharp stab of pain the last time I had been to Eton – on that sunny Fourth the year before the war. Five of us had laughed and chatted and teased each other – and of that five I was the only one still alive. Seven years ago – another lifetime. And now I had betrayed Gerald. But I remembered his kindness that day and thought, surely he would forgive me? I went to my dressing table and opened the drawer and took out his photograph. And as I looked at it his eyes gazed back into mine – gentle with understanding. Dearest Gerald – I would take him with me to Ainsclough; I slipped both my photographs inside the twins’ dressing case.
Ben was arriving at Hareford late on the Sunday evening, and would be taken straight to the Mere Lodge where Mrs Davis was putting him up. I knew Ralph was staying with those guests who were at Sam Killearn’s – both houses were full. I sat through the long dinner party and the silver gleamed in the candlelight while the air was heavy with the scent of roses. But Hatton bore too many memories now – memories that pierced my heart. I could not have stayed here much longer.
In the morning I woke up feeling listless and heavy. Norah ran my bath and as soon as I was back from it she carried in my breakfast tray. I ate slowly, and as I did so I became aware of the dull ache in my stomach. As soon as I had finished I got up and walked down to the closet – and when I got there, I found I was bleeding.
It took some time for my numbed mind to comprehend, then at last I understood. There was no child in my womb – there never had been. For once I was early. I went back to my room, opened the lowest drawer of the small chest, took out my belt and buckled it around my empty belly. I looked across at my valise, already packed, then I bundled up the pads and went to push them inside it. But then I realized that I did not need to take them with me to Ainsclough – because I did not need to go to Ainsclough at all now. This wedding was unnecessary. But what of the houseful of guests, the tables already laden with their displays of presents – what could I say? However could I stop all these careful arrangements in their tracks?
And although I was bleeding now, so had I in the quarry on the moors, when Ben had broken my maidenhead, entered me, and filled me; and I remembered his voice saying: ‘It’s only right after what’s been between us.’ Yet surely I should tell him – but how could I? He was closeted in the Mere Lodge, far beyond my reach – besides, how could I tell him this intimate personal thing? I thought suddenly, I will ask Robbie, Robbie will tell him for me – but Robbie was dead. I began to tremble and there was a tap at the door and Norah came in, brisk and efficient. ‘Are you ready, my lady?’ She did not wait for my reply but went straight to the wardrobe and lifted out the confection of cream satin and lace which was my bridal gown. I stood, unresisting, while she dressed me in my finery. I felt the dull cramping in my belly and as she fastened the last satin button I whispered, ‘Please bring me my usual tablets – and a glass of water.’ Her face was concerned as she did as I asked, but she said nothing.
One of the housemaids brought up the bridal wreath, and I smelt the heavy scent of orange blossom.
I wanted to cry out in protest – how could I wear these white waxy flowers when I remembered Gerald dropping on one knee at my feet, his pale hair shining golden in the sun? But the wreath had been placed over my veil and securely pinned into position – it was too late, too late.
Like a puppet I walked down the wide staircase and came into the high spacious hall, where my father stood waiting. Norah whispered, ‘I’ll come back ahead while you’re signing the register, my lady – it’s all arranged.’ I put my hand on Papa’s arm and Norah picked up my train again as we walked out to the car. As my maid carefully arranged the heavy satin folds, Mrs Hill herself carried out the sheaf of lilies that was my bridal bouquet.
I sat in silence beside my father as we drove between the straight rows of tall beeches that led to the Lostherne gate – just as we had driven to my brothers’ funerals. We wound on through the heavy summer hedgerows and between the rows of estate cottages until we turned sharply left to stop outside the lych gate – just as we had stopped while their coffins had been carried in. Eyes lowered behind my veil I walked up the steep path to the church – even as I had walked up to hear the words of the burial service read over my beloved brothers.
Letty was waiting in the porch, decked in her bridesmaid’s finery; her maid came forward to arrange my train and my sister took up her place behind me while the choristers formed their procession in front. The deep tones of the organ swelled out, the choristers moved forward and, leaning on Papa’s arm, I followed. We walked slowly between the pews of waiting guests, down the aisle – and over the place where my brothers’ coffins had lain on the bier. At the sanctuary steps, I stopped. The choristers were dividing to fill the choir stalls as I heard Letty’s urgent whisper, ‘Gloves, Hellie – gloves,’ and I fumbled to peel them off as she took my bouquet from me.
I heard the soft rustle of my sister’s skirts as she moved to stand behind me and then the opening words of the marriage service rang out:
‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God…’ But as I listened the words became faint and distant, and I heard instead, strong in my ears: ‘We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away…’
And even as the priest spoke the words of the marriage ceremony, so the terrible cadences from the burial of the dead echoed around me. He proclaimed, ‘…which is an honourable estate, instituted of God in the time of man’s innocence…’
But I had not innocence now and I heard only, ‘I held my tongue and spake nothing: I kept silence, yea, even from good words; but it was pain and grief to me.’
Behind today’s words of hope: ‘It was ordained for the mutual society, help, and comfort, that the one ought to have of the other…’ – the echo sounded louder: ‘For man walketh in a vain shadow, and disquieteth himself in vain…’
The command rang out: ‘Let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace.’ ‘Hold his peace’ – as I had held my peace: ‘I became dumb, and opened not my mouth.’ But my silence had brought me no peace. And now even the words of the marriage service accused me: ‘…ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgement when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed…’, and the menacing reminder came: ‘Thou hast set our misdeeds before thee: and our secret sins in the light of thy countenance.’ I would never escape from my sin.
But then he spoke directly to the man at my side: ‘Wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, as long as ye both shall live?’ And the strong voice replying ‘I will’ – drove the fearful echoes a little away from me.
But when the priest turned and asked of me: ‘Wilt thou have this Man…’ his voice was drowned by the returning shadows and I trembled to the words in my head: ‘Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery…’ ‘So long as ye both shall live?’ ‘In the midst of life we are in death.’ And my heart was heavy in the silence that grew and deepened, until I felt the man stir beside me, and his warm flesh touched my icy hand and brought me back to life, so that at last I whispered, ‘I will.’
Hand linking hand we repeated our vows, then he put his ring on my finger and held my hand firmly in his as he spoke: ‘With this Ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.’
His arm supported me as we walked from the church into the vestry, and I took the pen from his hand and signed my name for the last time. I stood looking down at the register for a moment and there, in the last column, was written for my father: ‘Peer of the Realm’ and above, for his, the one word: ‘Labourer’. But we were man and wife, now.
Letty pulled back my veil, Ben’s lips met mine and others kissed my cheek. My husband held out his arm. ‘Ready now, lass?’ I dipped my head in answer and he led me back into the church. The opening chords of the wedding march crashed out and we began our slow walk back down the aisle, together.
But the sunlight outside dazzled me and I stopped, and my eyes turned as they always did to that white marble stone high up in the graveyard. My heart lurched in my breast and I wrenched myself free of him and ran towards the graves and began to clamber between them. My thin satin shoes slipped on the green turf, and my train caught behind me – but I stumbled on. At last I reached the familiar grave, and bent and placed my bouquet in front of the white stone.
‘They were lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their death they were not divided.’ My brothers, oh my brothers. I fell to my knees on the damp grass and wept.
Ben and Ralph Dutton pulled me up from the ground, and I crouched between them, racked with sobs, looking down at my white bridal lilies lying on the bare brown earth at my feet. ‘Easy now, lass, easy.’ Ben held me tight against his side or I would have fallen. As my sobbing slowed he swung me round, and began to guide me down to the path where the guests stood whispering in small huddles. I did not look at them as Ben led me past. There was a ragged uncertain cheer from the crowd of villagers waiting outside the lych gate, then they drew back in silence – and I sensed their compassion.
Ben had almost to lift me into the car, then we set off under the green flickering arch of leaves, back to Hatton. His warm hand reached out and took my cold one, but he said nothing.
Norah was waiting for me in the marble-pillared hall, just as she had promised. She took my arm and led me along into the small cloakroom off the family entrance. ‘Sit down, my lady.’ Cold water splashed my cheeks and cool pads covered my eyes while her hands deftly arranged my hair and veil. ‘There, my lady.’ Very slowly I forced myself to my feet, and clutched the chair as I swayed – the pain was getting worse now. ‘Do you need more tablets, my lady?’
I shook my head. ‘I’ve had too many already, thank you, Norah.’ She gave a small sympathetic smile and ushered me out.
Ben stood waiting, a carved image, in the high light hall. My parents and Letty had arrived back. My mother looked towards me – and for a moment I thought I saw compassion in her eyes – then she was marshalling us all into position.
The guests came in a steady stream, one close behind the other; Ben shook their hands and I offered my cold cheek. The effort to stay upright and force myself to smile was so great by now that their faces merged into a blur as their lips mouthed the conventional, inappropriate platitudes. Lady Maud’s ginger hair wavered before my eyes, and I heard Juno’s ringing voice as she shook Ben vigorously by the hand. ‘We meet again, Sergeant – but perhaps you don’t remember the YMCA canteen at Étaples, when you were going back up the line.’
‘I remember,’ Ben replied, ‘you brewed a fair cup of tea.’
Juno threw back her head and her familiar laugh brayed out. ‘Well, you chaps went up and sorted out those Huns for us, thank God.’ She gave way to Pansy’s mother who folded me to her soft, violet-scented bosom; I saw the tears in her eyes.
The wedding breakfast passed in a haze of pain and distress: the colours and voices confused my eyes and ears. My plates sat untouched in front of me – Ben glanced at them once or twice but I whispered, ‘Please…’ and he let them go back as they were. I managed to stand unaided to cut the cake, but my legs were trembling as I sat down again. Speeches were made: Ralph’s carefully witty – a reference to the bridegroom’s gallant war record, but with no hint that it had been as an NCO. He spoke of our meeting in a base hospital in France as though it were the Forest of Arden – no mention of the smell of blood and pus and my desperate struggle to force Ben to live. Skillfully Ralph converted a rushed and over-hasty wedding into a long and faithful courtship. My father spoke the conventional words – and I glimpsed my mother’s still-beautiful face, calm and controlled, showing not the faintest shadow of the turmoil and anger I knew she was feeling. Then Ben stood up; I tensed, but I need not have done. Though the Lancashire accent and over-loud tone betrayed him as the sergeant-major he once had been, he spoke slowly and carefully, in grammatical phrases and without one dropped h.
The final toast was drunk, then Mother gave the signal and Ralph Dutton’s hand at my elbow helped me up. The cramps in my belly were so strong now I could scarcely stay upright as we circulated slowly among our guests. I clung to Ben’s arm, and Letty walked close beside me, answering the conventional queries and parrying the occasional overly-inquisitive probe with a quip and a laugh – so that all I needed to do was smile and murmur empty phrases.
In the library I was left alone for one blessed moment, and in that moment I looked out over the sunlit terrace down to the shining lake and the rolling green parkland stretching away to the horizon. The sunlit vista of Hatton clutched at my heart in a piercing pang of regret – but then Ben swung round to speak to yet another guest, and the view was blotted out by the broad shoulders of my husband.