‘Gussie, you look absolutely breathtaking,’ Eden said as she adjusted the gardenias in her hair and gazed in blatant admiration at her friend.
Tina Lafayette was busily smoothing the French lace that billowed from Gussie’s waist over a mass of petticoats, while Mae languished happily on Gussie’s bed, watching the goings on with vicarious pleasure, thoughts of Austin never far from her mind. Gussie’s neckline was heartshaped, the sleeves long and mediaevally pointed over the backs of her hands. Her headdress was made of roses and seed-pearls and the shoulder-length veil was thrown back from her face, falling lightly over her gleaming, silken hair. She looked like a princess from a fairy tale.
‘Do you think a little more mascara?’ Gussie asked Eden tentatively.
‘No. Brides are supposed to look pure and unadorned. Your make-up is just right.’
There was a hint of shadow on Gussie’s lids, a soft pink gloss on her lips. Her nails were unpolished, buffed to a pearly sheen. There was twenty minutes to go before she became Mrs Bradley Hampton.
She moved to sit down on the bed and Eden and Tina rushed forward, smoothing her skirts behind her.
‘I think I’d like a drink of water, Cousin Tina,’ she said, hands clasped lightly in her lap.
‘I had champagne at my first wedding,’ Tina Lafayette said, pouring out a wineglass of iced Perrier water. ‘Both before and after the ceremony.’ Her eyes danced wickedly. ‘At my second wedding I had gin and giggled when I made my vows. Conrad never forgave me. He spent my wedding night telling me I was a lush.’
Eden grinned. She liked Tina Lafayette and was tempted to ask what she had drunk at her third wedding. And her fourth. She restrained herself. Now was not the time and place to ask.
Gussie took the wineglass from Tina, her hands trembling so violently that droplets sprinkled her gown.
‘Good heavens, child! You’ll mark the lace! Quick, Eden. Tissues.’
Hastily the droplets were blotted and Tina said, ‘My, you are in a state of nerves, aren’t you? I’ve never seen a bride so edgy.’
‘I’m fine. Really I am.’ Her voice was taut, belying her words.
‘I hope so, honey. This is going to be the biggest wedding New Orleans has seen.’
Eden stood a foot or two away from them and regarded Gussie with faint apprehension. For the past few weeks Gussie had returned to apparent normality. She had made no further reference to Beau Clay and though she had lost more weight and was even more subdued, Eden had ceased to worry. Now she was assailed by doubts. Gussie had shown a strange inability to cope in stressful or over-exciting situations: at her birthday party she had fainted before half the town. She had done so again at Laetitia Clay’s funeral. Today she would be exposed to hundreds of eyes. The cathedral would be packed. Photographers would impede her way from limousine to cathedral door.
The knot of apprehension grew. If Gussie fainted, the occasion would be recorded by every Louisiana newspaper. The most important event of her life would be marred: her father would have to endure cruel gossip as to the bride’s physical condition; Bradley would be distressed. Eden knew she should speak to Gussie but could not while Tina Lafayette and Mae remained with them.
Eden moved away and sat at the dressing table, applying blusher to her already perfect cheekbones. Her hand halted in mid-air. So Gussie had sat on Midsummer’s Eve, her hair a golden cloud, her eyes glowing. Slowly she put the make-up brush down. Had Gussie believed she had seen Beau Clay through the mirror as she had sat so still while they whooped and cheered at her dramatic prank? She had never said so, but she had said things far more disturbing: that the ceremony had worked and that she had bound Beau Clay to her forever. If Mae had said the same thing, Eden would have laughed it off, but Gussie had been too adamant to have her statement so easily dismissed.
When Beau Clay’s body had vanished from his tomb, Gussie had been near-deranged, believing that it was because he was searching for her: waiting for her. The nape of Eden’s neck prickled. What was it Gussie had said? ‘I can’t marry Beau, not unless I die, and I don’t want to die.’ What had she meant by such an extraordinary statement? More to the point, if she believed what she said, and Eden knew without a shadow of a doubt that she did, what effect would such belief have on her mental health?
‘Only another fifteen minutes, honey,’ Tina Lafayette said gaily, fluffing her shoulder-length bob so that it would look devastating beneath her ridiculously tiny hat of rose petals. ‘I’ll go down and check on your father. He’s been pacing the main salon as if it were his wedding day, not yours.’
‘Oh – the bouquets,’ Eden said quickly. ‘Do you think you could check on them, Mae?’
The doors closed behind them, the fragrance of je Reviens wafting in the draft.
‘O.K., Gussie?’ Eden asked.
‘Yes.’ Gussie’s voice was steady, but the pre-wedding gaiety had vanished with Tina Lafayette.
‘If there’s anything bothering you, for goodness’ sake tell me now,’ Eden said, swinging to face her, her eyes concerned.
‘No, nothing …’ Gussie avoided Eden’s eyes. She would marry Bradley, whom she loved, and then everything would be all right. The voices would stop: the shadows would disappear. Only another fifteen minutes. She couldn’t tell Eden: Eden didn’t believe her. Eden thought she was mad. She couldn’t tell anybody: she didn’t need to. Soon she would be Bradley’s wife. The spell she had cast would be broken.
‘Eden, sweetie, Mae says your bouquet is waiting downstairs …’ Tina burst into the room, happily oblivious of any undercurrent. ‘Your father is waiting for you, Gussie. We should arrive at the cathedral exactly five minutes late, which is just perfect. A bride should never be early … it smacks of eagerness. Now, where did I put my handkerchief? I’m bound to cry. I always do at weddings.’
She snatched up an infinitesimal wisp of lace with her initials lavishly embroidered on one corner. ‘I must go down to your father, Gussie. He’s been suddenly having second thoughts, saying that you’re too young. Silly man. He just can’t bear the thought of your being a wife as well as a daughter.’ She whirled from the room and Eden, after giving Gussie another searching glance, followed her.
Gussie was alone. Slowly she rose from the bed and crossed to the dressing table. She sat down and stared at herself in the mirror. At herself and beyond. He was absent. She felt a sudden rush of tears to her eyes. Had he already left her? So soon? The pain was almost more than she could bear.
‘I would have married you, my love,’ she whispered to the mirror that stubbornly reflected only her own image. ‘I would have loved you forever and forever and never been unfaithful. I do love you. I always will. But you’re dead and Bradley’s alive …’
She moaned softly, hugging her arms, holding herself as if against an inner disintegration.
‘Gussie!’ There was the sound of running feet on the stairs. She gazed desperately into the mirror but only the room was reflected: the room and her own anguished eyes.
‘Goodbye, dear love,’ she said and pressed a kiss against the cold glass.
‘For goodness’sake, Gussie! Your father’s on the verge of a heart attack. Here are your flowers. Aren’t they beautiful?’ Tina Lafayette pressed a posy of white roses and long satin streamers into her hand. ‘Ready, sweetheart? This really is fun. There’s even a crowd outside St Michel, waiting to wish you well. Your wedding seems to have grasped everyone’s imagination.’
Gussie stood at the top of the sweeping staircase and heard a concerted gasp of admiration from the servants gathered in the hall. She took a deep breath. One part of her life was over and another about to begin. She was committing herself to Bradley and Beau had freed her. She had wanted his blessing: wanted him to tell her that now he, too, would be at peace. He had not done so. His presence had simply drifted away …
Bradley. She must think of Bradley.
‘I’ve never seen you more beautiful, Augusta,’ her father said sincerely as she took his arm.
She smiled up at him, happy that he was happy.
Mae adjusted the wedding veil and Tina dabbed in the vicinity of her eyes, careful not to touch them and ruin her make-up, as Charles Lafayette led his daughter to the waiting limousine.
Gussie waved to the small group of spectators at St Michel’s gates, her smile spontaneous. Eden relaxed. Gussie’s odd mood had been dispelled. She was looking as radiant as any bride. The sky was cloudless; the sun brilliant. It was going to be a perfect day.
From inside the cathedral came the strains of ‘Prière a Notre Dame’.
‘Seven minutes late,’ Tina Lafayette said with satisfaction as they were greeted in the porch by a smiling priest. ‘Just long enough to make Bradley edgy.’
‘Ready, Augusta?’ her father asked tenderly.
Her eyes sparkled behind her veil. ‘Yes, Daddy. Let’s go.’
Mendelsshon’s ‘Wedding March’ rang out. The packed congregation rose to its feet, necks craning for a first glimpse of the bride. Eden’s eyes wandered to the cathedral windows. The sun had vanished, and storm clouds were brewing. They blew up more suddenly and violently in New Orleans than in any other place she knew. She frowned. A torrential downpour was the last thing they needed as they left the cathedral. It would mean a hasty dash to the cars and a dramatic curtailing of photographs.
Gussie’s eyes were fixed firmly on the back of Bradley’s head. She felt suffused with an almost unbearable sense of love and tenderness. His dark hair curled indecently low in a manner she knew her father would disapprove of if the young man had been any other than Bradley. Jason Shreve stood at his side, his neck flushed. Gussie’s mouth curved in a smile. She could imagine Jason’s discomfort at taking part in a ceremony before the town’s leading citizens.
In the distance, surmounting the rich, stately strains of the ‘Wedding March’, there came the low rumble of thunder. Gussie was unperturbed. It had thundered that day in Jackson Square when Bradley had seized her and kissed her for the first time. It was romantic that thunder should return on her wedding day, reminding her of that occasion: of the moment when she had first been aware of the intensity of Bradley’s feelings for her.
Her gaze flicked away from Bradley’s waiting figure and over the heads of the congregation. She could see Desirée in a lime-green dress and matching pill-box hat, looking unexpectedly sophisticated. Shreves, Ashingtons, Jeffersons, Alexanders, Delatours, Lafittes, Hamptons, Merri-weathers, Villères, Labarres, Brennans and Fairmonts abounded. No one had been forgotten. No one omitted from the invitation list. Bradley had seen to that. He’d wanted his schoolfriends and colleagues at his wedding, and Charles Lafayette had had to capitulate.
The priest stepped forward. Gussie was at Bradley’s side. She turned and handed her bouquet to Mae and then looked towards Bradley, suddenly shy. He grinned, his dark eyes reassuring as the priest who had known them since childhood greeted the congregation.
Normally Father Keane was not in favour of early marriages, but in this case he felt no doubt as to the young people’s future happiness. Bradley Hampton was a fine young man, mature beyond his years. He smiled down at them as the guests began to sing ‘Love Divine, All Love Excelling’.
The cathedral darkened and Mrs Jefferson gazed up from her hymn book nervously. She was afraid of thunder and the approaching storm promised to be severe.
‘In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit …’ Father Keane’s voice was deep, resonant.
‘Amen.’
Thunder rolled in the distance.
‘The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all.’
‘And also with you.’
Gussie’s lips were suddenly dry as the hundreds of voices behind her filled the beautiful building. The wave of joy that had supported her as she walked down the aisle was fast ebbing and she sought vainly to keep a hold on it.
Father Keane was now reading Gussie’s favourite passage from the New Testament. She tried to concentrate on the words but her mind was tugging to be free.
‘This is the word of the Lord,’ Father Keane concluded.
‘Thanks be to God.’
Gussie’s lips moved but no sound came from them. She heard Bradley at her side: firm, assured, confident. Bradley. She must think of Bradley. She must not let Beau intrude on the most private part of her relationship with Bradley.
The Responsorial Psalm was sung. A flash of lightning made several heads turn in the direction of the windows. Gussie kept her eyes firmly on the high altar. Bradley. She was marrying Bradley. This was her wedding service. Soon they would be exchanging their wedding vows. Soon they would be man and wife. Beau’s face swam before her, dark, lean, mocking.
‘Augusta and Bradley. You have come together in this church so that the Lord may seal and strengthen your love in the presence of the church’s minister and this community.’
Gussie closed her eyes, trying to chase the image away. It remained against her pressed lids: sensually aware, sensually arousing.
‘Christ abundantly blesses this love. He has already consecrated you in baptism and now he enriches and strengthens you by special sacrament so that you may assume the duties of marriage in mutual and lasting fidelity.’
Gussie felt a bead of sweat break out on her forehead as she opened her eyes once more.
‘Please go away,’ she whispered silently. ‘Please! Please!’
‘And so, in the presence of the church, I ask you to state your intentions.’
Father Keane’s eyes were drawn momentarily to the soaring windows. The October sky was as black as night, the rolls of thunder following one upon the other in rapid succession. He returned his attention to the young couple before him.
‘Augusta and Bradley. I shall now ask you to freely undertake the obligations of marriage, and to state that there is no legal impediment to your marriage. Are you ready to do this, and without reservation, to give yourselves to each other in marriage?’
‘I am.’ Bradley’s deep-timbred voice was audible even to those at the rear of the cathedral.
Augusta tried to speak and failed. Father Keane smiled at her encouragingly. The most spirited of girls were often overcome by the ceremony of their own marriage.
‘I …’ Beau’s face swam before her, the black glittering eyes challenging her. Daring her.
‘I am,’ said a voice that could not possibly be hers.
‘Are you ready to love and honour each other as man and wife for the rest of your lives?’
The harsh lines of Beau’s mouth were savage.
‘I am,’ Bradley said without the least hesitation.
The congregation waited for the bride’s response. Feet shifted. The centre of the storm was fast approaching, brilliant flashes of lightning rending the darkened sky.
Gussie closed her eyes. Her father’s pride turned to concern.
‘I am,’ Gussie whispered, so low that only Father Keane heard her.
Thunder drowned his next words. He waited a few seconds and then continued, raising his voice to combat the disruptive elements.
‘Are you ready to accept children lovingly from God, and bring them up according to the law of Christ and his church?’
‘I am.’ If Bradley was aware of Gussie’s inner turmoil, he showed no sign of it. With glazed eyes Gussie looked at Father Keane and towards the high altar. Beau had gone.
She could see flowers and altar boys and Father Keane’s face, prompting and concerned. What had he just said? What did she have to respond?
‘I am,’ she said, her voice tremulous.
Father Keane was looking at Bradley. ‘Please say after me, “I do solemnly declare …”’
‘I do solemnly declare …’
Beau’s face no longer hovered before her but he was there. She could feel his anger; his rage; his passionate jealousy.
‘… why I, Bradley Hampton, should not be joined in matrimony to Augusta Lafayette.’
Candles flickered. The gloom of the cathedral was oppressive. Small hands slipped into strong ones as lightning ripped the sky. The congregation was accustomed to sudden, violent storms, but this was the worst anyone could remember.
She had to speak. She had to make her responses. The thunder and the lightning were no longer nostalgic reminders of her first encounter with Bradley. They were terrifying reminders of the storm that had accompanied the burial of Laetitia Clay. Reminders that Beau’s body had been seized from its resting place.
‘After me, Augusta, please,’ Father Keane was saying.
She felt enveloped in darkness. Father Keane’s face swam disorientatedly before her.
‘I do solemnly declare …’
The skin of her hands and arms tingled. The nape of her neck felt cold. Her spine chilled.
‘… that I know not …’
She couldn’t be sick on her wedding day: not before the whole of New Orleans and in the gown of French lace her grandmother and mother had worn before her.
‘… of any lawful impediment … why I … Augusta Lafayette …’
She was swamped by heat, drowning in sweat.
‘… may not be joined in matrimony to Bradley Hampton.’
‘Augusta! Augusta!’
It came so loud and clear that she gasped and nearly fell.
Mae stood horrified. Eden stepped forward hastily, catching Gussie’s arm and steadying her.
Gussie gazed round her, wild-eyed. Hadn’t Bradley and Father Keane heard? Why were they looking at her like that?
Father Keane was saying, ‘Since it is your intention to enter into marriage, declare your consent before God and his church.’
‘Never, Augusta! Never! You are mine! Mine forever. Forever …’
Gussie cried out, her arms reaching as if to grasp something that was not there.
‘Would you like me to halt the service?’ Father Keane asked Bradley in a low voice.
‘No.’ Bradley gave Charles Lafayette no chance to express an opinion.
Rain lashed the windows. The very sky seemed to be falling in around them.
‘Very well.’ Father Keane took another anxious look at the bride and said to Bradley, ‘Bradley Hampton, will you take Augusta Lafayette, here present, for your lawful wife, according to the rite of our Holy Mother, the Church?’
‘I will.’
There was a noise in her ears like a thousand waves.
‘Augusta Lafayette, will you take Bradley Hampton, here present, for your lawful husband, according to the rite of our Holy Mother, the Church?’
‘AUGUSTA!’ It was a shout of rage.
With a low moan she swung on her heel, away from the altar, away from Father Keane. The cathedral doors crashed open and lightning knifed down the aisle.
Mrs Jefferson threw herself on her knees, convinced that her last moment had come. There were screams and cries of panic. Bradley’s arm shot out to restrain Gussie but she had no need of restraint. Her headlong flight was halted. He was there. There, for everyone to see. Dark and terrible in his rage, silhouetted against the flaring sky.
‘Beau!’ She wrenched herself away from Bradley’s grasp and with a broken sob began to run, run, to where he was waiting for her.
The lightning flashed again, blinding in its intensity. She was caught in its jagged path, caught and pinned, falling senselessly to the blood-red carpet, her white skirts billowing around her.
To Eden’s petrified gaze she looked like a small, defenceless, murdered dove. It seemed an eternity before anyone could break the stupor of shock and run to her aid. Bradley was the first to regain control of his senses. Grim-faced he ran down the aisle between the pews of stunned and terrified guests and seized his bride. His bride, but not his wife. Father Keane was at his side. Jason Shreve was desperately clearing a way through hysterical relatives to the vestry.
‘Who was that guy?’ Mr Jefferson asked wildly as people pushed past him, struggling to get a better view.
‘Who in his right mind would crash into a wedding ceremony like that?’ Shenton Ross Sr said, unable to answer him.
‘Seeking shelter, I guess,’ a Lafayette relation said, wiping perspiration from his brow and striving to maintain an appearance of calm.
‘Shelter? He wasn’t even wet!’
The clamour of voices was deafening. Reverence had been replaced by pandemonium.
‘Dear God, but I thought the Devil himself had entered,’ Mrs Ashington said tremulously, supported by her husband.
‘Where did he go?’ Hamptons and Lafayettes asked in unison.
‘Why did Gussie run?’ Natalie Jefferson asked, clutching at the pew for support.
‘Scared out of her wits, poor child,’ the woman next to her said.
‘Some hell of an entrance. Who was he?’ Mr Jefferson demanded again as elegant hatted women pushed past him, eager to reach open air.
‘It looked like …’ a stunned Mr Alexander began.
‘For Christ’s sake! Don’t say that! There are enough wild rumours already!’ Mr Jefferson mopped his brow again and stumbled into the aisle.
Leaving Augusta temporarily in the care of her fiancé and parent, Father Keane returned to calm the near-hysterical congregation.
‘Dear Brethren. On behalf of Mr Charles Lafayette, I am requested to inform you that because of his daughter’s health, the wedding will not take place as planned. At least, not today. The reception will be as arranged and he will meet with you all at St Michel. Thank you.’
The buzz of speculation increased. What did Father Keane mean? ‘Due to Gussie’s health?’ What was wrong with Gussie’s health? Now that the centre of the storm had passed, courage was returning to shattered nerves. They were feeling all right now. A little shaky, as anyone might be after nearly being struck by lightning, but all right, just the same. Surely, in a few moments, Augusta could have returned to her place at Bradley’s side?
‘Did you hear what she called? I swear to you it was Beau. Beau Clay. I know the thunder was deafening, but I’d stake my life on it,’ a Hampton relative said authoritatively.
‘Bradley. She was calling for Bradley. The lightening terrified her,’ the woman at his side corrected.
‘And she looked so beautiful coming down the aisle. Happy and radiant,’ Natalie Jefferson said, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief that matched her dress. ‘That storm’s ruined everything.’
‘Never mind. There’s still the reception. Charles Lafayette never stints on the quality of his caviar and champagne,’ Mrs Ashington said, patting Mrs Jefferson’s hand and smiling vacantly at someone across the aisle.
Noisily they made their exit from the cathedral they had entered so respectfully a short while before. Eden and Mae were ushered quickly into a Lafayette limousine. Only Judge Clay remained seated, half-turned as everyone else had been when the doors had crashed open and the intruder entered, shattering the last shreds of Gussie’s nerves. A galaxy of flowered hats now bobbed beneath the porch, scurrying for cars and chauffeurs and the anticipation of more gossip at St Michel. Judge Clay remained immobile: staring into space in stunned disbelief.
‘Augusta, Jim Meredith is here …’ Her father’s anxious voice permeated her consciousness.
‘Gussie! Gussie! Can you hear me?’
It was strange to hear such naked emotion in Bradley’s voice: a tone almost of fear. She opened her eyes, her fingers tightening imperceptibly in his grasp. Bradley’s arms were around her, her head was resting against his chest.
‘Thank God!’ her father said, mopping his face with a large silk handkerchief. ‘Now perhaps you will believe there’s something wrong with my daughter, Jim. Three times! Three times she’s collapsed like this and you keep telling me it’s nothing to worry about! I want the best, Jim. Tests, checks, everything.’
‘Let me carry you, Gussie.’ Bradley’s face, so joyful only moments before, was ravaged.
‘No!’
Charles Lafayette turned his attention back to his daughter and prospective son-in-law. ‘No. We’re not leaving here until Augusta can walk. To be seen being carried will only intensify the gossip. That lightning was the worst I’ve ever experienced. There wasn’t a woman in the place who wasn’t terrified out of her skin. And then that maniac …’ He broke off. He didn’t want to dwell on thoughts of the dark, powerful figure whose entrance had been almost a physical blow. ‘They’ll understand her fainting …’
‘Don’t get upset, Daddy,’ she said quietly. ‘I can walk. Let’s go home.’
Tenderly Bradley raised her to her feet and circled her waist with his arm.
‘I’ve had to let the reception go on as planned,’ Charles Lafayette said to no one in particular. His composure had completely deserted him. ‘What do we do now? Continue the ceremony at the house while the guests are assembled? Yes, yes. I think that would be best.’ He paced the room nervously. ‘The main salon will hold all the Lafayettes and Hamptons …’
‘No.’ Three heads turned to Gussie in varying degrees of surprise. ‘No. I don’t want to continue the wedding ceremony at St Michel.’
‘But it would make life easier, Augusta,’ her father said, a desperate edge to his voice.
‘No.’ She was so pale that her skin seemed almost translucent. ‘You don’t understand. There isn’t going to be another wedding ceremony.’
‘But of course there is …’ her father began.
‘What do you mean, Gussie?’ Bradley’s voice was urgent. He halted, still supporting her, and stared down at her vacant expression.
‘I’m not going to marry you, Bradley,’ she said unsteadily. ‘I can’t.’
‘What do you mean, can’t?’ her father ranted, shrugging off Father Keane’s restraining arm. ‘Are we to look complete fools? This is your wedding day, Augusta! I’ve planned it for months! A small simple ceremony in the main salon …’
‘No.’ Bradley silenced him, his eyes full of anguish. ‘No. If Gussie has no wish to continue the ceremony today, then we’ll postpone it.’
‘But the guests …’ Charles Lafayette protested.
‘Damn the guests!’ Bradley said and, ignoring Charles Lafayette’s former pleas, he swung Augusta up into his arms and carried her out into the weak sunlight that was filtering through the receding clouds.
Gussie didn’t speak again as Bradley drove her home in a Hampton limousine. Silently she allowed him to carry her up one of St Michel’s rear flights of stairs, avoiding the guests, and lay her on her bed. For a long moment he stood by her side, holding her hand, and then said gently, ‘Sleep, sweetheart. I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll talk then.’
Only her eyes answered him. Filled with such unspeakable sadness that the breath caught in his throat. Blindly he stumbled from the room, ran down the staircase, pushed past startled guests and leaped into his car. Charles Lafayette could go on with his mockery of a reception but he was having no part of it. He had lost Gussie and he did not know why.
Gussie lay very still. From downstairs came the sounds of voices and laughter and champagne corks. Festivities for a non-existent bride. They would never understand: not her father, not Bradley. She couldn’t tell them. She would have to live with the secret lifelong, with the result of a silly, girlish prank. The sadness in her eyes turned to suffering. Because of it, Beau had died and had found no peace. Her obsessive love for him had led to his eternal torment.
Silent tears stole down her cheeks. Forever. She had never realized what forever meant. Never comprehended the magnitude of it. She would have to live out the whole of her life alone. Watching as Bradley gradually withdrew from her, finding tenderness elsewhere: love. Being a guest at his wedding instead of his bride. Her heart hurt with the pain of it. She would become like Mae’s grandmother. An oddity to be pointed out and whispered about: all because she had sat before her mirror and willed with all her heart and soul for Beauregard Clay’s unending devotion.