‘Oh, Ellie, you look beautiful. Your Aunt Simpkins says that in view of Connie’s wilfulness and headstrong ways, the sooner a husband is found for her the better, and, in fact, she and your Aunt Gibson both agree that an older gentleman would be the best kind of husband for Connie – a gentleman who knows how to be firm with her. But no matter who she may marry she will not make as beautiful a bride as you.’
Ignoring her aunt’s compliment, Ellie exclaimed, distressed, ‘Aunt, surely Connie is far too young for my aunts to be thinking of seeing her married! I know she can be headstrong, but that is just because she is not yet mature. And an older husband – I cannot –’
‘Ellie, you must leave these matters to those who know best,’ her aunt stopped her sternly. ‘Remember, we only want for you what we know your dear mama would have wanted. Ah, if only your dead mother were here today, Ellie.’
Ellie’s eyes misted as she saw the tears in her aunt’s. On her right hand she was wearing the ring her mother had left her, and she touched it gently, and then suddenly remembered, ‘Aunt Lavinia, has my father arrived yet, only –’
‘Ellie,’ immediately her aunt’s expression changed, and she touched Ellie’s arm as she told her firmly, ‘your other aunts and I decided…that is, we felt that under the circumstances…I mean in view of his recent marriage and…well, we felt that it would not be appropriate to invite your father to the wedding.’
Ellie stared at her aunt in shocked disbelief. ‘Not invite him? But he must be here: he is my father!’ she exclaimed in bewilderment.
‘Mr Pride has recently remarried, Ellie, and neither I nor my sisters could endure to see him – not when our precious sister…’ her aunt trailed off, biting her lip.
Pain and misery filled Ellie. ‘But if my father is not to be here then who is to give me away?’ she asked slowly, still trying to comprehend what her aunt had told her.
‘Why Mr Parkes, of course. Who else should do so? He is, after all, paying for your wedding, Ellie.’
Mr Parkes! Mr Parkes was to give her away! Ellie threw down her bouquet, her hands trembling.
‘No, no, he cannot…I cannot…’ she began, and then stopped. What was the use of her saying anything, she asked herself bitterly. Silently, she
reached for her flowers. ‘I wish you had not done this, Aunt,’ she whispered despairingly. ‘I wanted my father to give me away.’
Lifting to his lips the bottle of gin he had bought as he left the station, and taking a deep swig, Gideon stared at the church.
Flowers and white silk ribbons had been tied to the gate and the ribbons tangled in the cold December breeze.
He had heard about Ellie’s wedding from her father, drowning his sorrows as he told Gideon, ‘Our Ellie don’t even want me there. Her own father…Wants her uncle to give her away. I’m not good enough for her any more, seemingly! Our Connie’s to be a bridesmaid but she’s not even thought o’ asking our Will’s lasses! Our John’s been invited, and the babby is going to be a pageboy, along o’ some of her fine new relatives’ young ’uns,’ he’d hiccuped as he’d ordered them both another drink.
The wedding guests were arriving: fancy folk in fancy clothes, Gideon noted bitterly as he concealed himself behind one of the churchyard yew trees.
Ellie had been obliged by Elizabeth Fazackerly’s heavy hints to ask her children to be her attendants, and Connie, who was in charge of the
little bridesmaid and the pageboys, gave Godfrey Fazackerly a sharp nip on his velvet-clad upper arm when she caught him aiming a kick at little Timothy.
‘Ow!’ he bawled. ‘I’m going to tell my mother of you.’
Connie pulled the kind of horrid face at him that she had once used to terrify John, enjoying his instant silence.
Kitty, Cecily’s younger sister, was also a bridesmaid, but since Connie was in a bad mood and had resolved not to enjoy herself one little bit, she ignored her cousin’s attempts to make conversation with her, turning her back when Kitty complained, ‘Brrr, it is so cold. I wish we could go inside.’
Henry had already arrived, and was inside the church.
An elegant carriage, drawn by matching greys, was sweeping down the road towards the church. Sulkily, Connie refused to look.
From his vantage point, Gideon had an excellent view of Ellie as she was handed out of the carriage and given her uncle’s arm. Her veil covered her face, but Gideon could still see her lips part and her small teeth clench on her bottom lip as she stood still for a moment, almost as though she was reluctant to move.
Reluctant – that would be the day when Ellie Pride was reluctant to do something to her own advantage, Gideon thought bitterly. If he was lucky
he should be able to slip into the church behind all the guests without anyone seeing him.
Ellie could feel Henry trembling as they walked together back up the aisle, now man and wife. He had been ashen-faced all through the ceremony, and twice had had to be prompted with his words by the bishop.
Ellie blinked fiercely. His wedding ring felt cold and heavy on her finger. Then she tensed and missed a step as a movement in the shadows beyond the congregation caught her eye. Abruptly she stopped walking.
Gideon! But it couldn’t be! Not here. Her aching heart was playing cruel tricks on her. She looked again, but there was nothing…no one.
Behind her she heard Connie hissing fiercely, ‘Ellie, do get a move on, otherwise I shall be treading on your train.’ And automatically she responded, her movements jerky and uncoordinated as though she were a clockwork doll.
Gideon – a trick of the light, Ellie decided. Yet he had looked so real. She was married now and she should make the best of her new life with Henry. She must put all thoughts of Gideon Walker out of her head.
But even as she made her resolve, Ellie admitted to herself that once before she had decided to do exactly that – and had utterly failed.
Tiredly, Ellie looked at her new husband. They had arrived just over an hour ago at the small hotel in the Lake District where they were to spend their honeymoon. As they sat silently, picking at the meal that had been served to them, Ellie reflected that Henry looked as apprehensive and ill at ease as she felt. Ellie pushed her plate away.
‘It has been a long day. If you should wish to retire…’ Henry began, and then stopped, his face going brick red.
‘I-I am tired,’ Ellie admitted, unable to bring herself to look properly at him.
Coughing nervously and then clearing his throat, Henry stuttered, ‘Thought I-I might take a turn around the g-gardens before turning in. That is, unless you –’
‘No, no,’ Ellie assured him quickly, her own voice as constrained as his. ‘I will go and ring for Lizzie. She can…’ Biting her lip, she stopped.
Only just over a week ago, Cecily had been
with her when the final items of her trousseau arrived. Examining the pretty ribbon-decorated stays, Cecily had commented ruefully that Ellie was so slender she barely needed them.
‘I was so nervous on my wedding night, worrying about how I would manage, since Evans was Mama’s maid, and I was not sure how I would go on with the servants in the hotel. But in the end it was my own darling Paul who unfastened them for me. One of the advantages of having a husband I had not looked for!’ Cecily had exclaimed, dimpling Ellie a conspiratorial smile.
Ellie knew that Cecily had been seeking to reassure her, as well as drop her a delicate hint of what to expect, but the truth was that Cecily’s words had only intensified her anxiety and apprehension. To her relief, though, her aunt had seemed to take it for granted that Lizzie would accompany her on her honeymoon.
Ellie had received rather more essential practical advice from Iris. Since Iris had spoken of marital relations not solely to conceive children, Ellie had wondered if Iris, who was, after all, training to be a doctor, would be able to advise her. She had eventually plucked up the courage to ask Iris how she might avoid conceiving a child on her wedding night. Iris had been so sensible and so kind, and now, putting into use the little sponge and bottle of vinegar her friend had recommended, Ellie felt a little more ready to face her ordeal.
‘Why, you’re chilled to the bone, miss,’ Lizzie
remarked, bustling into the hotel bedroom in response to Ellie’s summons, and immediately adding extra coals to the small fire. ‘I’ve had them put hot bricks and a warming pan over the bed, but I could swear the sheets are damp. It will be a mercy if you don’t catch a cold sleeping in them. What Mr Charnock was thinking of, bringing you to such a place for your honeymoon, and over Christmas too, I do not know.’
‘The Lake District is reputed to be exceedingly beautiful, Lizzie,’ Ellie told her.
‘Beautiful!’ Lizzie gave a disparaging snort. ‘Aye, well, as to that, it may well be on a fine summer’s day when the sun is shining!’
Ellie had to hide a small smile. Lizzie was a city girl at heart, who constantly grumbled that even Hoylake was too ‘countrified’ for her.
‘Goodness, miss,’ Lizzie exclaimed as she removed Ellie’s dress. ‘If you lose any more weight we shall have to be padding you out and not lacing you in.’
The very thought of having to wear the horsehair pads some ladies used to enhance their figures into the S-shaped curve dictated by fashion made Ellie shudder.
‘There…’ Lizzie helped Ellie into her satin
peignoir
and waited for her to sit down at the dressing table before beginning to brush her hair.
The brand-new travelling case, with its silver and tortoiseshell bottles and brushes, had been a special wedding gift to Ellie from Cecily, who had
given it to her with a whispered, ‘I found mine so useful when I was on my own honeymoon, Ellie dearest.’
‘Not like home, this isn’t, miss,’ Lizzie informed her with a disparaging sniff as she finished brushing Ellie’s hair and then helped her into the double bed with its brass bedstead. ‘They’ve no proper bathroom to speak of – leastways not what I would call one – but I’ve arranged that hot water will be brought up to you in the morning, and I dare say that Mr Henry will need some as well so as he can have a shave –’ She broke off as they both heard a discreet knock on the door. ‘That will be Mr Henry now,’ Lizzie guessed, giving the covers a final pat, and going towards the door.
‘Lizzie…’ Ellie began, and then stopped as the maid turned to look at her. She felt cold and sick, and wished passionately that she had not married Henry. Guilt and shame that she should feel so, added to her distress, so that the set look on her face as Henry walked into the room and saw her lying stiffly beneath the bedclothes brought him up short, his face betraying his own discomfort and uncertainty.
Whisking herself through the open door, Lizzie closed it firmly behind her.
Despairingly Ellie closed her eyes as Henry began to undress behind the heavy dressing screen, but although she could blot out the sight of what he was doing she could not escape from the sounds: the thud of boots hitting the floor; the stiff squeak
of buttons forced through new buttonholes; the alien jarring noise of male clothing.
Henry was not Josiah Parkes, Ellie reminded herself over and over again, repeating the words inside her head as though they were some magic charm that had the power to transform what she was feeling – the fear, the embarrassment, the sheer sickening, loathsomeness of the thought of what was to come, what had to be. He was her husband…and a husband had rights…expectations…a husband…
Ellie shuddered, her eyes snapping open as she felt the other side of the bed depress. The only other men she had seen in their night attire were her father and her brother, and Henry, with his thin legs in his thick winter combinations, emphasised how very different a husband was to a father or a brother.
She could see the agitated movement of his Adam’s apple, and the slight tremble of his hand as he edged back the bedcovers, and suddenly her fear began to relax its savage grip on her. Poor Henry was as apprehensive as she was herself!
Clearing his throat, he told her hoarsely, ‘You looked very lovely today, Ellie, and I-I-I want you to know how proud I am to have you as my wife.’
His wife! Ellie’s fear returned. She knew perfectly well what the act of consummating their marriage entailed – in theory – but the experience of it…the result of it, should she conceive Henry’s child,
as eventually she must, these were the things that were making her whole body quake with dread.
She held her breath as Henry snuffed out the candle. Only the dying glow of the sea-coals in the fireplace illuminated the room now.
She tensed as she felt the dry tremor of Henry’s lips against her cheek as he turned his head to kiss her, and a huge aching swell of anguished misery broke inside her.
Somehow, as perfect in every detail as though it had been a photograph, she could see the day she had spent in Avenham Park with Gideon. With her senses she could relive the touch and feel of him, the scent of his skin, the taste of his mouth. She knew that her body would never, ever ache for Henry in the way it had ached for Gideon, in the way it was aching right now, just at the thought of all she had lost.
She could feel Henry’s hands moving awkwardly over her body, his breathing becoming heavier, and she closed her eyes.
Henry was fumbling beneath her nightgown, his hands so cold that his touch made her shiver. Resigned, Ellie waited, the bright shiny hopes of her youth draining from her in a slow flood of misery. When Henry’s hand touched her breast she squeezed her eyes as tightly closed as she could, turning her head away so that his clumsy kiss reached her cheek and not her lips. The hand he had placed on her breast felt damp and soft. A huge wave of despair engulfed her, but she made
no sound of protest when Henry heaved up his own nightshirt, and removed his combinations.
In the end it wasn’t as bad as Ellie had dreaded. True, Henry had panted and moaned in a way that had chilled her body, his breathing hot and hard in her ear as he thrust against her and into her, in unrhythmic bursts of energy that caused her more distaste than pain, until at last he lay gasping for breath on top of her.
Mindful of Iris’s careful instructions, Ellie got up quickly and hurried behind the screen, carefully removing the little sponge she had soaked in vinegar, and then washing it out.
When Ellie climbed back into the bed, Henry was fast asleep, lying on his back, his mouth agape.
Blankly Ellie looked at him as though he was a stranger, someone she didn’t know…someone she didn’t want to know?
Her eyes dry with the painful weight of her misery, Ellie clung to her side of the bed, keeping her body as far away from Henry’s as she could.
Gideon gave a moan as he woke. His head felt as though it was about to split apart with pain, and he could hear Rex whining close by. As he looked round he realised that he was lying out in the freezing cold yard. Groaning, he pulled himself to his feet, the shock of discovering where he was making him suddenly stone-cold sober. If the dog hadn’t woken him, he would more than likely have
frozen to death, he recognised, as he stumbled on numb legs towards the door.
He had no recollection of returning home from Liverpool – from Ellie’s wedding – and no idea how long he had been lying outside in the hard frost. He cursed at the pain that shot through his limbs as circulation returned to them.
In the clear, cold air he could smell the scent of the gin on his own breath, and his stomach heaved with nausea.
He only just made it to the privy, retching until his stomach was sore.
Bitterly Gideon made his way inside the house. There was no point in trying to relight the fire. Calling the dog to him, he curled up on the sofa, dragging the dusty rug from the floor on top of him to keep himself warm.
He was still lying there, deep in an alcohol-induced sleep, when Will Pride, finding the door open, walked in and woke him.
‘What the…?’
‘Door were open, lad, and so I thought I’d best come in,’ Will told him, giving an unhappy look at the chaos of the cold room, the empty gin bottles on the floor, and the state of Gideon himself. The lad was obviously finding it hard to manage – and no wonder with no work.
Will had always had a soft spot for Gideon, and it led him to say sorrowfully now, ‘Nay, lad, tha’ canna go on like this.’ Nodding towards Rex he added, ‘T’ pair of you are as thin as whippets! I
know thee’ve paid t’ rent until quarter day but that’s not that far off now, and then what’ll ‘e do? Bloody landlords,’ he cursed. ‘Money for nowt it is, if you ask me, letting out a house.’
Whilst Will was talking, Gideon had sat up, grimacing at the sour taste in his mouth.
‘What you need, lad, is some food in your belly,’ Will told him, nodding towards the empty bottles as he added firmly, ‘and a bit less of that! I’m a drinking man mesel’ but I would never touch spirits, Gideon! Gut rot, that stuff is. You and our Robert are as bad as one another…and likely to be in the poorhouse, the pair of you, if you don’t mend your ways.’
With that piece of advice, Will went over to the fire and started to wriggle the ashes. John’s dog, Rex, pushed his cold nose into Gideon’s hand. Frowning, Gideon looked at him. He was thin, Will was right. Guilt filled him. He ached from head to foot, and as for his hand…How on earth could he drag himself out of the mess his life had become?