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Rodney Farley-Reed removed the lid from the font and poured in a small amount of water, only one baby to baptize today. The afternoon was fine and sunny, allowing for the church doors to be left open and for a shaft of light to illuminate the ancient font standing just inside the entrance. Sounds and smells of summer drifted in through the doorway. A lawn mower rattled in the distance, and the first roses of summer sent their perfume into the clear air.
The vicar cleared his throat and addressed the small gathering. “We are here to mark the beginning of this child’s life as a Christian. The font stands beside the door to symbolize her first entrance into the church. Later she will be confirmed at the communion rail, and later still she will come to the altar to be married.”
He looked at the young mother holding her child awkwardly and fussing with the skimpy baptismal gown.
“Everything in due season,” he said.
Mildred Chapman’s harsh laugh broke the respectful silence. “Due season. Fat lot she knows about due season.”
“Shut up, Mum.”
Although he wanted the whole ceremony over and done with as soon as possible, Farley-Reed looked at his watch. “Should we wait?” he asked.
“He said he’d come,” Mrs. Chapman replied. “It would be very rude to start without him.”
The baby squalled loudly.
“Mum,” Vera said, “can we just get this done? We don’t have to wait for the Earl. I don’t suppose he’s coming anyway. Why should he?”
“I don’t know,” Mrs. Chapman hissed at her daughter. “You tell me. I don’t know what you’ve been up to.”
“I haven’t been up to anything.”
“That’s what you say.”
Before the vicar could admonish the ladies for their unseemly squabbling, Vera’s uncle, Joe, short and stubby and encased in an ancient tweed suit, stepped forward to restore the peace. “Now then, let’s not get ourselves upset. What’s done is done, and Vera’s married her soldier boy. Leave it alone, Mildred. She saved a lot of lives in that bomb shelter. No reason the Earl shouldn’t be grateful.”
To the vicar’s relief, a shadow darkened the doorway, and the Earl himself stepped inside with Lady Sylvia beside him. He could not help noticing that the beam of sunlight caught their shadows and cast them across the ancient font. The Earl and his daughter were bathed in golden light, while the villagers were cast into darkness.
Mrs. Chapman adjusted the battered silk flowers on her hat and bobbed a curtsey. Vera jiggled the crying baby.
Farley-Reed straightened his stole and stepped up to the font. “Shall we begin?” he asked.
This time the small congregation was in agreement. His Lordship had arrived. They would begin. He took the squalling infant from her mother and held her at arm’s length. The godparents recited the chosen names. He applied water from the font as he had done so many times before, as he had done for Vera herself and for Carol Elliot, the only one of Vera’s friends who had seen fit to attend the ceremony. He offered the appropriate prayer and waited for the low murmurs of amen. The baby continued to cry until Mrs. Chapman took the child from him and jiggled it so energetically that the infant had no breath left for screaming.
The congratulations that Vera received from Mrs. Chapman’s brother and his wife, the new godparents, seemed grudging and halfhearted. Carol was the only one who appeared to be at ease with the situation, giving her friend a warm hug and kissing the baby on the top of its downy head. The Earl placed something into Vera’s hand. From the size and the crinkling sound it made, the vicar judged it to be a five-pound note, a generous gift indeed.
As Vera and Lady Sylvia stood momentarily side by side, Farley-Reed noted their resemblance to each other; the same dark hair, the same tall, lean figure, the same pale complexion. Rose Hill was filled with Southwold by-blows from the days when the aristocracy exercised the droit de seigneur, but the resemblance was not normally so strong. He looked at Vera’s stolid mother. No, she was not the one who had given Vera her aristocratic looks, and the father, well, he was long gone.
Mrs. Chapman bobbed another curtsey and held the baby out to Lady Sylvia. “Would you like to hold the baby?”
Her Ladyship looked as though she had been offered a snake.
“God, no,” she exclaimed, holding up both hands as if to defend herself against the very possibility.
The vicar took in the hurt expression on Vera’s face. So much for noblesse oblige, he thought.
Carol stepped in hurriedly to save her friend from embarrassment. “I’ll hold her.”
Mrs. Chapman handed the baby into Carol’s keeping, although the twitch of her lips made it clear that the village girl was a poor substitute for the Earl’s daughter.
The Earl patted Vera on the shoulder. “Well done. Jolly good show. Off to America, I hear?”
“California,” said Vera.
“Yes, well, good show,” the Earl repeated. “Jolly good show. Come along, Sylvia.”
The two aristocrats made a hasty exit. Mrs. Chapman retrieved her granddaughter from Carol’s arms.
“Thank you for coming.”
The vicar took Mrs. Chapman’s tone of voice as a dismissal.
“Do you want to come back to the house?” Vera asked. “We don’t have much, but—”
“My daughter’s supply of jam and tea ran out when her husband ran off.”
“He didn’t run off, Mum. He returned to duty. He couldn’t stay any longer after his wounds healed.”
“Wounds,” sniffed Mrs. Chapman. “A couple of scratches. Still, if he hadn’t been injured, he wouldn’t have come back here to marry you, so I suppose we should be grateful for small mercies. At least you were married before the baby was born.”
“I don’t think I can stay,” Carol said.
“What about you, Vicar?” Mrs. Chapman sounded as though the invitation was being dragged from her by force.
Farley-Reed could not imagine spending any more time with Mrs. Chapman. “No, thank you. I wouldn’t want you to use up your rations. You have a baby to feed now.”
“Not me,” said Mrs. Chapman. Her gaze flicked to her daughter. “That’s her responsibility now, her and the American army. Let them feed her, that’s what I say.”
“They will,” said Vera truculently.
Farley-Reed watched as the christening party, consisting of Vera, her mother, and her uncle and aunt, walked out into sunshine. Carol lingered for a moment.
The vicar smiled. No doubt she was allowing time for Mrs. Chapman and her sour disposition to be well on their way, and who could blame her for that?