Eleven

Livia had been tempted to wear the gown the late Margaret Sangster had given her, the one her mother had designed. But the wedding was to be a quiet one, so a ballgown would be out of place. Amongst the rather old-fashioned wardrobe she’d inherited was an unfussy but elegant pink suit with a tunic top. The skirt had a handkerchief hem, the points of which reached her ankles, and she found a pair of kid shoes with Louis heels and a strap across the instep.

Esmé helped, choosing from a variety of hats a wide-brimmed cream creation weighed down with pink silk roses.

‘It’s rather large; hat’s are smaller now,’ Livia told her.

Esmé looked disappointed. ‘But you’re a bride, and the hat looks pretty with the suit.’

It seemed as though Esmé was developing their mother’s fashion sense, and Livia smiled at her. ‘Yes, I suppose it does. All right, I’ll wear it just for you.’

She removed half of the flowers, which made the hat lighter, and sewed them on to a pink velvet ribbon to wear at her wrist.

She hoped the frantic gasps of the mad March wind wouldn’t carry the hat away.

‘You look like a princess,’ Esmé said, unable to keep the excitement from her voice.

‘So do you.’ Livia had kept Esmé home from school for the occasion, and had made her a pretty pink-flowered cotton frock with puffed sleeves, using the sewing machine that lived in the back room. She’d bought her a pink mohair cape with pearl buttons to wear over it, and in her hair she wore a large pink satin bow.

They telephoned Chad at school to tell him the news. Cautiously he asked her, ‘Does that mean the captain is going to be my stepfather?’

‘No, since I’m your sister, not your mother. Richard will be your brother-in-law.’

‘Super, I wouldn’t mind having a big brother. I mean, girls are all right, but sometimes they don’t understand a chap as well as another chap. Good luck then, Livia. How is Esmé keeping now?’

‘Her cough has almost gone and she’s eating more and has more energy.’

‘Oh, jolly good. And Bertie? I expect he misses me.’

‘I expect he does, but he’s sprightly, and we keep him busy so he doesn’t pine. Whiskers chases him around the cottage and we take him for walks every evening. Oh, by the way, we’ll be moving into Foxglove House.’

‘Wizard! Mrs Starling is a much better cook than you are. I say, Livia, would you send me some of her gingerbread. They starve us half to death in this school.’

Livia doubted it. ‘How’s your Latin going?’

He said casually, ‘Oh, not so bad. I came fourth in class in the exam, thanks to the captain cramming me.’

‘Well done!’

‘It was nothing really. I don’t know why I was so worried about it. You can tell the captain if you like. He should be pleased, I imagine.’

‘He’s here if you’d like to talk to him yourself.’

‘Rather!’ And the comment was voiced with such enthusiasm that she nearly laughed.

‘Hello, Chad, I hope you don’t mind me marrying your sister.’

Their faces touched as they shared the earpiece, and Livia heard the conversation clearly.

‘No, I don’t mind, if you don’t, Sir. Congratulations.’

‘How’s school treating you? Have you made any friends yet?’

‘Crumbs, lots of them  . . . I’ve made a best friend, too. His name is Peter Laker. He’s a spiffing chap, and is going to teach me how to play tennis when summer comes.’

‘I’ll have to buy you a tennis racquet then.’

The conversation became a man-to-man of sports and school, including the fact that Richard had been the captain of the first eleven in his final year, while Denton had merely won the biology prize by dissecting a cow’s eye.

‘I wonder if he killed the cow first; I must ask him,’ Richard said, and laughed. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen any one-eyed cows wandering around the school grounds?’

Chad burst into howls of laughter.

‘It wasn’t that funny,’ Livia said. ‘As for you, Richard Sangster, ugh, you’re horrid. I shall never look at Denton the same way again.’

‘Never mind. Look at it this way. I expect he needed to develop his sadistic side.’

‘Men! I shall go and make us some tea while the pair of you are playing at being magnificent males,’ she whispered, and Richard drew her to his side, kissed her ear and whispered, ‘I love you,’ before allowing her to go.

Livia smiled, thinking how confident Chad was becoming since he’d left the orphanage. She would never do anything to spoil his progress, and Richard had known that, and had used it. But in her own way she loved Richard, and nothing would ever change that.

Sliding the engagement ring on to her hand, she waited for Beamish to pick them up for the church.

The letter from Denton arrived just before Beamish, conveyed on a post office tricycle with a huge wicker basket on the front. It was in a pale blue envelope, addressed to Miss Livia Carr, in firm, clear handwriting.

In half-an-hour she would no longer be Miss Livia Carr, but Mrs Richard Sangster. Nerves sang along her spine as she wondered again: was she doing the right thing?

She had no choice. Without opening the letter she pressed her lips against the seal and whispered, ‘Forgive me, my Denton,’ then reluctantly slid it unopened into the desk drawer when she heard the car. She didn’t want to think of Denton and feel guilty on her wedding day.

Beamish smiled at her. ‘May I say you’ll do the captain proud, Miss Carr. You look as though you’ve dressed for each other  . . . and you as well, Miss Esmé. The pair of you are as pretty as a picture.’

‘Thank you, Mr Beamish. Did everyone get to the church without any bother?’

‘Yes. It caused quite a stir when they realized what was going on, and their tongues have been clacking ever since. Florence isn’t speaking to me because I didn’t tell her  . . . I must be thankful for small mercies, I suppose.’

Livia laughed.

‘Some of the villagers have turned up, too, though God knows how they got wind of it. From the reverend’s wife, I expect.’

Livia handed Esmé a little basket of silk roses to carry and smiled at her sister, thinking, if it weren’t for Richard the girl would still be in the orphanage, and probably ailing from lack of nourishment. ‘Come on then, Esmé, let’s go and get married.’

She had half expected that Richard would have worn his uniform, but waiting for her was a dapper young man in an almost flamboyant cream suit. He looked like a young God with his fine-featured, boyish face, his golden curls and exquisite blue eyes. He had a sprig of pink blossom pinned to his wide lapel. No wonder Beamish had said they’d dressed for each other.

He looked handsome and healthy, as though he was about to spring from his seat, take her in his arms and dance a foxtrot. Then he stood painfully and shuffled into position, breathing heavily and supported on Beamish’s arm, before eventually being transferred to hers and a walking stick. Fine tremors wracked his body. Beamish took a step back so he was within reach should he be needed.

She drew in a breath when Richard gave her a wide, happy smile.

She was less sure of this marriage, and tried not to think of Denton’s letter waiting for her. She was very aware of the fact there was probably an infant growing inside her, a little being, who in innocence and ignorance would have a claim on her time and her love. It was the ultimate lie, she thought. The child could never know its creation was less than immaculate, and would probably never know, or remember, the man who’d unselfishly offered his name as a birthright. Enabling the child to grow within the security of his name as it lived its life was the ultimate proof of Richard’s love. She would tell the child his father was a hero.

The sun chose that moment to briefly illuminate the window behind the altar, and they were bathed in colour as though the marriage was being blessed.

The reverend gently coughed and the ceremony began.

It didn’t take long to dispose of her blemished spinsterhood. Richard repeated the vows in a clear, calm voice, as if absolutely certain that what they were doing was the right thing in his eyes.

Resentment flooded through her at the thought that this beautiful man had made his sacrifice, and was standing in the queue waiting for God to collect him. Short of a miracle, there was nothing anybody could do about it. Meanwhile, he was trying to snatch just a little normality and happiness out of his suffering.

She felt every word of the ceremony with acute but useless anguish.

Now it was her turn to give account of herself, and her voice reflected the emotion in the moment.

‘I take thee, Richard Sinclair Sangster, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer in sickness and in health, to love, cherish and to obey, till death do us part  . . .’

There was a poignant moment in the ceremony when her voice faltered and tears pricked against her eyelids. She wanted to shout out: It isn’t fair! Richard’s hand gently squeezed hers, strengthening her as she completed the vow, ‘ . . . according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.’

As they left the church a boisterous gust of wind snatched off her hat and sent it bowling across the field.

Richard laughed when Beamish was about to run after it. ‘Let it escape. By the time you catch it, it will be covered in mud. I’ll buy her a new one.’

Dr Elliot arrived to join his wife. He waylaid them to give Livia a kiss and to shake Richard’s hand. ‘The best of luck you two. I can’t see your father anywhere, Richard, couldn’t he make it?’

‘I’m afraid not. Are you coming back to the house, Doctor? We have champagne.’

‘I can’t, I have my rounds to finish. How lovely you look, Livia. I’m almost tempted to make my patients wait  . . . though I don’t think Mrs Miller’s baby will appreciate it. Hmmm  . . . I’ve missed one cheek, so you look a little lopsided.’ He kissed her again on the other cheek, laughing, ‘There, that’s better.’

‘May I point out that kissing Livia is now my privilege,’ Richard said.

‘And kissing you is mine, Doctor Elliot,’ Helen reprimanded, and the doctor laughed and surprised his wife with a kiss on the lips.

They crowded into the Austin, the staff squashing into the back seat, laughing and making jokes as they splashed through the potholes.

Tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow Livia would interview a new housekeeper, and she, who’d not long ago been the maid-of-all-work, would take her place as the mistress of the house.

Beamish had arranged for a photographer to record the wedding. They posed in the conservatory, Richard seated, Livia claiming him, standing with her ring hand on his shoulder so the platinum band was obvious. Esmé was at the front, clearly loving being dressed up, but looking self-conscious at being noticed.

The photographs would be a reminder for her in the years to come, the players gazing stiffly out at her from silver frames lined up on the piano. Except for Richard, who looked as though he was about to burst from happiness. It was humbling to realize that a man like Richard could love her.

He began to look tired when they got to the champagne toasts. Livia stayed by his side while Beamish made a short speech. Richard responded, his voice shaking a little. He flinched at the end when Matthew Bugg popped the cork from a second bottle of champagne prematurely, and she witnessed a moment of fright and panic in his eyes.

She stooped, taking his hand in hers and whispering in his ear, ‘Richard, you’re fatigued.’

‘Yes. Ask Beamish to take me upstairs so I can rest before dinner, if you would.’

After he’d gone she accepted the congratulations of the staff.

‘You’re a dark horse, I must say,’ Connie told her with a touch of acid. ‘I told Florence something was up, though I don’t know what all the secrecy was about. We could have done a proper wedding feast with guests, a cake, and all the trimmings.’

‘Thank you, Connie, but it would have all been too much for  . . . for my husband.’ There, she’d said it for the first time. ‘Richard didn’t want a fuss made.’

‘Aye, there’s that I suppose.’ Connie sighed. ‘Still, we didn’t expect this. We all thought you were interested in young Doctor Elliot.’

Livia didn’t indulge her in that observation. ‘The agency is sending out a new housekeeper tomorrow.’

‘Aye, well. Now you’ve gone up in the world I doubt if you’ll want to get your hands dirty.’

Gently, she said, ‘Connie, we’d best get one thing clear right from the start. Whatever my role has been in this house in the past, I’ve always given of my best and treated everyone with respect. There’s no reason why this shouldn’t continue. This reversal of roles is as hard for me as it is for you, and I think it might be a good idea for you to think about that a little.’

‘Aye, you’re right. I’m sorry, it’s just  . . . well, it’s going to take some getting used to, isn’t it? What would you have us call you?’

‘If Captain Sangster had married another woman and brought her into the house as mistress, how would you expect to address her? It shouldn’t take the staff long to work that out, and adjust. Including you.’

‘Yes, Mrs Sangster.’

Leaving the staff to the celebrations, and taking Esmé with her, Livia went upstairs to see if Richard was comfortable, aware she was leaving a small smudge of resentment behind her. Champagne had given Connie a false sense of courage. The cook had decided to see how far Livia could be pushed, and had got her answer. She would soon get over it.

Beamish had moved out of the connecting room, and it was now Livia’s domain, though she hadn’t yet moved her things from the cottage.

Esmé would be in the smaller room across the hall, and the room next to that would be Chad’s when he was home. Beamish had found himself a room a discreet distance away, on the other side of the bathroom and within easy reach of the bell.

Looking round, she thought, This is now my home  . . . this big house with its air of shabby gentility, its ageing creaks and groans, its constant dust and the stale aura of birth, life and death. It was passed down through the Sinclair family and supported by the original Sinclair, who had made his fortune from whisky, and who’d gone to his grave keeping tight control of both fortune and tradition with typical Scottish thriftiness. She didn’t envy her child the responsibility of it in the future.

‘We need some nightwear, so Esmé and I are going to the cottage to collect it.’

Half asleep, Richard took her hand and gave a faint smile as he snuggled his cheek into the palm.

She pressed a kiss against his mouth. ‘I won’t be long, and I’ll see you at dinner.’ But Richard’s eyelids had already closed over the brightness of his eyes. Gently, she withdrew her hand.

‘He’ll be out for a couple of hours and Matthew will come up and keep an eye on him,’ Beamish said. ‘I’m going into Poole to send some telegrams on his behalf. I can drop you off at the cottage and pick you up on the way back if you like, Mrs Sangster.’

‘Thanks. I’ll be able to pack a couple of boxes to bring back.’

The first thing she did was pluck the letter from Denton from the drawer. The contents beckoned her; the firmly stuck-down flap mocked her. She must forget him. She threw the letter on to the cold ashes, then, suddenly remembering that the torn cheque had been snatched out of the same, she plucked it out again. Brushing the ash off, she slid it back into the drawer and under the lining. Instinct told her it wasn’t time to open it yet, but one day  . . .

When Livia got back, carrying everything she could pack, including the cat and dog, which Esmé took upstairs to her room, Richard was awake. He’d been brought down to the drawing room and looked rested. He put his book aside. ‘Come and talk to me, Livia.’

‘I’ve got to put my things away and make Esmé’s bed.’

‘Florence can do that.’

‘She has enough to do. Look, Richard, you might as well get used to me doing things in the house. I’m used to it, and I don’t know how to act the mistress.’

When he rang the bell Florence appeared, her eyes merry and her smile a champagne glitter. ‘Yes, Sir?’

‘Put Mrs Sangster’s things away please, Florence, and make her bed up, and that of Miss Esmé. Oh  . . . and tell the cook we’d like some afternoon tea.’

‘Yes, Madam  . . . Sir.’ Florence went off with a slightly sideways gait, humming Mendelssohn’s wedding march tunelessly under her breath.

They looked at each other and laughed.

‘There you are, it’s easy being the mistress of the house,’ Richard said.

Livia threw a cushion at him.