After the War Is Over (8 page)

“Lord Cumberland, Lady Elizabeth, Mr. Fraser, ladies and gentlemen,” he called out.
“Breakfast is served.”

They filed into the galleried dining room, Lilly and Robbie leading the way, where
an immensely long table had been set for the eighty-odd wedding guests. Lady Cumberland
was already present, standing at the far end of the room, a brittle smile fixed on
her face. A warm welcome indeed.

As the bride’s only attendant, Charlotte was seated near the center of the table,
with Robbie to her left and Mrs. Fraser to her right. Immediately across the table
sat Lady Cumberland, flanked by her other daughters and sons-in-law; evidently she
did not intend to mix with any of the other guests.

Charlotte turned to Mrs. Fraser, planning to inquire after her enjoyment of the ceremony,
and was startled by the look of terror on the woman’s face. Robbie’s mother was staring
at her plate, or rather at the menu card that had been set atop it. Charlotte looked
down at her own card and immediately understood: the entire menu was written in French.

Consommé à la Comtesse

Suprêmes de Saumon à l’Écossaise

Côtelettes d’Agneau

Chapons à la Cumberland

Jambon et Langue Découpés à l’Aspic

Asperges avec une Sauce Mousseline

Crème Glacée Lady Elizabeth

Gâteau de Noces

Café

“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “None of it is very exotic. Soup, salmon, lamb chops,
chicken, ham and tongue in aspic, asparagus, ice cream, and wedding cake. Oh, and
coffee, too.”

“I’ve never seen the like in all my life. And all these forks and knives . . .”

“Start at the outside and work your way in. Or, even better, watch to see which one
Lady Cumberland uses.”

“Thank you, Miss Brown. You are a dear.”

“Not at all. You know, when I first came here, to work as
Lilly’s governess, I couldn’t sleep for a week. I was terribly nervous.”

“Lady Elizabeth is very fond of you.”

“She’s your daughter-in-law now, and I’m sure she’d prefer that you call her Lilly.”

“I know, I know. It’s only . . . well, it seems so strange to me. Robbie had been
friends with his lordship for years and years, but I never thought to be sitting
here
.”

“You are, and may I say that you look every inch the happy mother of the groom. This
is an important day for you, too. I do hope you are able to enjoy it.”

“I’ll do my best. Oh—here’s the soup. Which of these spoons am I meant to use?”

“That one, just there.”

By the end of the meal Charlotte had acquired a fine understanding of every single
award, scholarship, and prize Robbie had won in the course of his academic career,
as well as a detailed description of the medals he had been awarded, among them the
Military Cross, for his efforts in evacuating his hospital during the Spring 1918
Amiens offensive.

Their dessert of strawberry ice cream had just been cleared away when Edward, who
had been seated to Lilly’s left, stood up and waited for the room to fall silent.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my honored guests, I beg your indulgence while I sing the praises
of my sister Lady Elizabeth Fraser, the loveliest bride imaginable. I think you all
know how dear she is to me, as indeed she is to all of us. Her courage, selflessness,
and determination are a shining example of a life lived with meaning and purpose.
To know that today she has married my greatest friend . . .”

Here he paused, his voice catching, and he cleared his throat
before continuing, this time in a lighter vein. “Quite frankly I had no idea that
they had fallen in love, not until the moment that Robbie appeared at my hospital
bed, a little more than six months ago, and confessed the truth to me. I am sorry
to confess it, but I very nearly flew out of my bed and throttled him. She was, after
all, my youngest sister.”

A chorus of nervous laughter circled the table. The new Earl of Cumberland could so
easily have objected to his sister’s marriage to a social nobody, but instead he had
supported the match wholeheartedly. Further proof to Charlotte, if ever she had needed
it, that Edward hadn’t an ounce of prejudice in him.

“Fortunately for them, and for all of us who have gathered here today, I soon realized
that I was wrong in my misgivings. Robert Fraser is the finest man I’ve ever known,
and as such I believe him to be the only man in the world who is truly deserving of
my sister. Nothing could give me more pleasure than to stand before you now and toast
them on their wedding day. In this, I know I am departing from tradition, but I beg
you to allow me: a toast to the bride
and
to the groom.”

A
s soon as Edward had finished speaking, Robbie began his own speech, which managed
to be funny and moving all at once, and featured a fine recitation of “A Red, Red
Rose.” The guests were then directed to the music room, where coffee and slices of
wedding cake were served, together with additional helpings of champagne for those
in an especially festive mood.

Edward seemed to be in his element, moving from guest to guest, ensuring everyone
felt welcome despite his mother’s churlish behavior, delightedly sharing reminiscences
of the bridal couple to anyone who would listen. He always had a glass of champagne
in his hand, frequently refilled by a trailing footman, and as the reception continued
he appeared, to Charlotte’s eyes, increasingly frail. Having abandoned his cane, he
began to rub at his temples with whichever hand wasn’t holding his glass, and although
he took pains to hide it, she could tell he was favoring his good leg. She longed
to help, but there was nothing she could do, certainly not without embarrassing him.

Needing a quiet moment to herself, she moved to an empty corner of the room, attracted
by a pair of small, dark oil paintings
that she remembered from her days as Lilly’s governess. They were overshadowed by
enormous canvases above and to their right, both by Canaletto, but she had always
preferred the Dutch burgher and his serious wife to the Venetian cityscapes. They
weren’t handsome people, but they looked as if they had been good-hearted, hardworking,
honest, and sincere in their desire to live a decent life.

“May I join you?”

Not recognizing the voice, Charlotte turned to discover a shyly smiling Lady Helena.
“Please do. I was only reacquainting myself with the Rembrandts.”

“Such a shame they’re hidden away here.” Lady Helena peered at the portrait of the
man, tilting her head as she took it in at one angle, then another. “The varnish has
darkened quite badly. See here?” She pointed at the burgher’s robe. “This would have
been a bright blue originally, but now it’s almost black.”

“Yes. Yes, I can see that now.”

“Do you know what I love best about Rembrandt’s portraits, Miss Brown? It’s the hands.
Look how tightly hers are clutched together. I think she was nervous. Her husband—see
how relaxed his posture is compared to hers?—had insisted on portraits of both of
them, and she wanted to look her best, wanted to know she was worthy of the honor.
But still she doubted . . . and Rembrandt captures that in the hands alone.”

“Yes, of course,” Charlotte agreed calmly, though she was quite taken aback by Lady
Helena’s remarks. What had happened to the young, bland cipher?

“I beg your pardon. I ought not to have spoken in such a forthright manner.”

“Please don’t apologize,” Charlotte insisted. “You speak so knowledgeably on the subject.
Are you an artist yourself?”

Lady Helena shook her head, her face flushing a little. “Not really. Not properly.
I dabble, that’s all.”

“Isn’t that how most of us begin? By discovering what we like, what we wish to do,
and then learning as and when we can?”

“You’re very kind. Particularly in light of your own accomplishments. I’d have loved
to become a nurse, like you, but my parents were concerned that Lord and Lady Cumberland
might disapprove.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I still tried to do my part, but it was nothing compared to what you did. Lilly,
too. Just some hospital visiting. That sort of thing.”

“I’m sure the men were most grateful to you.”

“I like to think they were. Most of the time I did little sketches, just pen-and-ink
portraits for them to put in their letters home. Sometimes I brought my camera. That
sort of thing. Nothing terribly brave, I’m afraid.”

Charlotte set her hand on Lady Helena’s arm, hoping she wouldn’t find the gesture
impertinent. “I disagree. It is very brave indeed to go into a ward full of injured
men, not knowing how they may react, or how they will be wounded, and offer to help
them. You did a great deal of good. I’m certain of it.”

“I felt I had to do something, that’s all. After Edward . . . well, there were all
those months of not knowing, and I had to occupy myself. But of course that’s all
over now. I’ll be busy with a home, soon, and Edward will need me at his side, so
. . .”

“I’m sure you will be very happy together.”

Lady Helena smiled bravely, though she wasn’t quite able to erase the sadness from
her eyes. “I’m sure we will. Oh, look—Lilly is beckoning us. It must be time for the
pictures.”

The photographer was slow in his work, fussing endlessly over the arrangements for
his portraits of the bridal couple and their families. When it came time for Charlotte
and Lilly to have their picture taken together, he experienced some difficulty with
his flash apparatus, and it took an age for him to sort out the problem and finish.

Returning to the music room, Charlotte walked its perimeter, intent on talking to
Edward. While the photographs were being taken, his merry demeanor had flattened into
a weary stillness, and she was concerned that he was feeling overwhelmed by the festivities.
When she couldn’t find him she approached one of the footmen and, after asking if
Lord Cumberland had retired for the afternoon, learned that he had stepped outside
for some fresh air.

Edward hadn’t gone far, halting at the third of the formal parterres beyond the terrace.
It was planted with roses, a jumble of color and scent quite at odds with the severely
clipped box hedges that delineated its perimeter. He was sitting on a stone bench
in one corner, his head down, a neglected cigarette smoldering between his fingers.

As she approached he looked up and winced, as if he already knew what she would say.

“Oh, Edward,” she groaned. “Not again. You promised Lilly you were done with that
filthy habit.”

“I am sorry,” he answered mildly, dropping the cigarette to the ground and crushing
it beneath his heel. “I promise I’ll try to give it up.”

“You’ll end up with a cough if you don’t. And it will make your teeth quite yellow.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

She sat next to him and let the sun warm her hair for a few minutes before speaking
again. “At the risk of another set-down—”

“You mean my disgraceful behavior at my father’s funeral? I had been meaning to apologize,
you know, if only via the post. But then Lilly fixed the wedding date and I knew I’d
be seeing you.”

“You were right to be upset with me. I ought not to have presumed I understood, and
I certainly shouldn’t have introduced the subject. Not then, at any rate.”

“All the same,” he countered, “I was beastly to you, and for that I apologize most
sincerely.” He bent his head, his shoulders bowed, and rubbed at his eyes with one
hand.

“There’s no need. You were right. I don’t know what happened to you, nor can I truly
know how you feel. But I did care for men who were badly, badly wounded, even though
their injuries weren’t the kind a surgeon can repair. Some mocked them for it. Some
said they were cowards.”

“What do you say?” he asked, not looking up.

“They were men. Ordinary men who were trying to make sense of a world gone mad. That’s
all.” She squeezed his forearm, still so thin beneath the camouflage of his clothing.
“Tell me: why did you come out here? You seemed happy enough earlier.”

“It was too loud, that’s all. It was giving me a headache.”

“Then why all the champagne?”

“Why not? It’s a wedding, after all. Champagne makes people happy.”

“A glass of it, perhaps,” she said doubtfully.

He plucked a rose from one of the ramblers that overhung their bench and began to
dissect it, petal by petal. “It helps with the pain. Phantom pain, they call it. In
my missing leg. Helps with my headaches, too.”

“Drink will only make things worse. If you’re in pain you must see a physician.”

“So he can stupefy me with morphine? I think not. Drink is a far safer tonic.”

“Is that all? The physical pain, I mean?” she asked. “You aren’t troubled by memories
of the war?”

More petals fell to the ground. “Nothing to speak of. Nothing that keeps me awake
at night.”

“You swear?”

“I swear it, Charlotte.”

“Why don’t you speak with someone from your battalion? One of the other officers?
Surely you’re still in contact with some of them.”

“I am, but we’re not a talkative lot. Reliving it is the last thing any of us want
to do.”

“So you bury it all.”

“No,” he said, looking her in the eye at last. “I simply don’t think of it. The war
happened. It’s finished. It’s in the past.”

“But it’s all around us—it’s everywhere we look,” she protested. “How can you
not
think of it?”

“Practice.”

The silence grew between them, heavier and heavier, until she could bear it no longer.
“I ought to go. After all, you came out here for some peace and quiet, and instead
I’ve been badgering you.”

“No, don’t go. I only needed to clear my head. I’m happy for the company.”

Time, then, to change the subject to something less troublesome. “I had the chance
to speak to Lady Helena just now. She seems very nice.”

“She is.”

“Have you set a date yet?” Charlotte asked, knowing full well that they hadn’t.

“No.” He leaned forward again, resting his elbows on his knees, and held his head
in his hands. “There’s so much to think about . . . if only I could empty my head
of everything.”

“Is this to do with Lady Helena?”

“No . . . yes . . . I don’t know. It all boils down to money.”

“Money?”

“Yes. You’ve heard of estate duty, I presume? Yes? Well, I owe His Majesty’s government
something like half a million pounds.”

“Good Lord.”

“Twenty percent of my inheritance—gone, just like that. Although it could have been
worse. I gather there’s talk of raising it to thirty or even forty percent.”

“What does this have to do with Lady Helena?” Charlotte asked, still reeling.

“She’s titled, but comes with little money. Fifty or sixty thousand pounds, I think.
Mama is pressing me to break the engagement and find an American to marry instead.”

Although she scarcely knew Lady Helena, Charlotte was horrified at the thought of
her being set aside for such mercenary concerns. “You aren’t going to give in, are
you?”

“Would that be so bad? I’d only be replacing one stranger with another.”

“How can she be a stranger? You’ve been engaged to the woman for five years!”

“I was absent for more than four of them, and I can count on one hand the number of
times we’ve been alone together. To be perfectly honest, it was something our parents
arranged.”

“In this day and age?”

“It happens more often than you’d think. I had to do it, you know. I . . . well, I’d
got myself into some difficulties. Had accumulated some debts. Papa and Mama agreed
to sort out everything if I, in turn, agreed to find a suitable wife. So I did.”

Charlotte felt quite certain that she was going to be sick. “Did Lady Helena know
of this?”

“I doubt it. Certainly I never told her.”

“I assumed . . . I thought that you were in love with her,” Charlotte whispered.

“Of course not. I don’t know her well enough to love her.”

A surge of pity for the blameless Helena swept through her. The poor girl was to be
picked up and set down like a playing piece on a chessboard, with no regard for her
feelings or desires or anything beyond the dynastic concerns of people who didn’t
care a fig for her. It was positively medieval.

“So what do you plan to do?” she asked. “Marry the richest American you can find and
solve all your problems?”

“I’m the one facing financial ruin. I’d have thought you would sympathize.”

“Ruin? You’re facing nothing of the sort. You have no idea, not the faintest idea,
of what true ruin entails.”

“So enlighten me. Tell me one of your depressing stories. I’m sure you have plenty
to choose from,” he said acidly.

“I do. There’s the family I tried to help last week. Tried, but failed. The father
was wounded during the war, so badly he
can no longer work. The mother had just been sacked so her job might be given away
to a man. They had five children at home, the eldest only eleven. All too young to
go out to work—not legally, at least.

“So I went to them. I went to their flat and told them there was relief to be had,
and that there was no shame in it. I promised I would not take away their children.
I swore to them that I would help. They only had to come to my office and fill out
some forms.”

“What happened?”

“They never came to me. I waited for them—I ought to have brought the forms with me
when I visited, to save them the trouble of the journey to the constituency office—but
they never came. So I went back to their flat the next day, this time with everything
we’d need for a relief claim, and they were gone. Had done a ‘midnight flit.’ They
were too frightened of the debt collectors, too frightened of me, even, so they disappeared.”

“I see.”

“No, your lordship, you don’t. Those children hadn’t eaten a decent meal in days,
if not weeks. Their shoes were more cardboard than leather, and there was scarcely
a stick of furniture left in the flat. What will become of that family? I lie awake
at night thinking of them.

“But they are only one family, one among hundreds,
thousands,
and their numbers are growing. If you could only comprehend the magnitude of the
disaster I face every day . . . and yet it takes so little to help them. A pound here,
a pound there. So little.”

“I’d have helped. All you had to do was ask—”

“Of course I never asked. It would have been most improper. You were my friend, not
my penny bank.”

She got up and walked to the far side of the parterre, needing to put some distance
between them. She couldn’t breathe with him at her side.