A Season of Secrets (23 page)

Without bothering with a mirror, Thea placed a wide-brimmed, shallow-crowned hat on her head and picked up a slim envelope-bag. ‘Where on earth is Roz?’ she said to Olivia as they
all headed out of the room. ‘She’s cutting it very fine.’

‘If she’s coming from Paris, perhaps the boat-train was late.’

Fervently hoping that Olivia was wrong, Carrie hurried with them down the grand staircase, her heart beating fast and light. In another few moments she would be being greeted by Lord Fenton, and
for her such occasions were always momentous.

‘I’d hoped we’d have a glimpse of Hermione in her wedding gown before we left the house,’ Olivia said as they crossed the hall towards the drawing room. ‘Do you
think she’ll be wearing white? I can’t imagine Hermione in a white bridal gown and veil.’

‘I can’t imagine her without her pince-nez,’ Thea said, wondering how she was going to maintain her composure when she saw Hal in church; wondering what his attitude towards
her was going to be; wondering how, if he ignored her, she was going to be able to ignore him.

As they walked into the drawing room, her father strode to greet them, immaculately handsome in a grey morning suit and sporting a white rose
boutonnière.

‘How delightful to see you at Gorton again, Carrie,’ he said, shaking her hand. ‘Are you still happy at Monkswood? Lady Markham tells me you’ve forsaken parlourmaid
duties and that you are now a chambermaid. Does that mean you are earning a little more money each month?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Carrie blushed rosily. ‘And I’m very happy at Monkswood – though I do still miss Outhwaite.’

‘Ah,’ he said understandingly, and she knew he knew she really meant Gorton, and that although she did miss Outhwaite, it was Gorton she missed the most.

‘All three of you are looking very fetching,’ he said, resisting the temptation to say that Olivia looked so different from the girl who had left for Berlin a little less than a year
ago, and that he doubted anyone in Outhwaite was going to recognize her. He didn’t like the fashion for mascaraed eyes and oxblood-red lips on unmarried young women, but as it was a fashion
Zephiniah also followed – with results that made his heart beat like a hammer – he didn’t feel comfortable criticizing it.

Glancing towards the ormolu clock on the marble mantelshelf he said, ‘Although you may feel it’s a little early, I think it’s time you were leaving for the church. It’s
always better to be seated in good time at a wedding.’

‘But what about Roz?’ Thea’s eyes darkened in concern. ‘Shouldn’t we wait for her a little bit longer?’

‘Because of how late she’s running, Braithwaite will take her straight to the church. She may be there already.’

‘I hope she has her camera with her,’ Olivia said, not turning to leave the room as he had suggested. ‘Violet will never forgive Roz if her moment as a bridesmaid goes
unrecorded.’

Carrie was aware of Thea asking a question about the church and photographs and of Lord Fenton replying to her, but she was no longer standing with them and no longer listening. When Lord Fenton
had made his remark about how fetching the three of them looked, her blush had deepened to the point where she’d been desperate to hide it and she had stepped back and turned away, fixing her
unseeing gaze on the grand piano and the gold-framed watercolours hanging on the wall behind it.

Always sensible, she told herself that the remark had simply been a pleasant, throwaway remark to his daughters and that she had been included in it simply because she had entered the room with
them. She dared not imagine anything else; to do so would be foolish to the point of imbecility.

‘Rozalind rarely goes anywhere without her camera,’ Lord Fenton was saying, as common sense took over and the scarlet banners in her cheeks ebbed, ‘and so I think you are
worrying unnecessarily, Thea.’

Carrie dropped her gaze from the watercolours, about to turn and rejoin Thea and Olivia. As she did so her glance fell on the silver-framed photograph of Blanche that, ever since her death, had
held pride of place on the piano, always with a slender vase of fresh-cut flowers next to it.

The flowers were there now, a delicate arrangement of sweet-smelling freesias. Something else was also next to it. Another photograph. One she had never seen before.

It wasn’t of Blanche, with her cloud of smoke-dark hair, warm loving smile and pearls at her ears and throat.

It was of a woman in an off-the-shoulder, daringly décolleté black taffeta ballgown. Night-black hair was swept high in a gleaming, complicated chignon, and there were diamonds at
her ears and throat and around her slender wrists. Lady Pyke – for Carrie knew the photograph could be of no one else – wasn’t smiling, but then in formal photographs (and the
photograph was very formal) people seldom smiled.

Carrie tried to look away from Lady Pyke’s glittering, elegant image, but couldn’t.

She’d known Lord Fenton was engaged and would soon be remarrying, but until now such an event had seemed unreal. If she had given any thought as to what the new Lady Fenton would be like,
she had imagined a paler version of Blanche.

As shockwave after shockwave washed over her, she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the woman in the photograph was nothing like Blanche.

Dimly she heard Lord Fenton say, ‘Time is ticking away, girls. Any minute now Hermione will be coming downstairs, and I don’t want you here when she does so. She doesn’t want
you seeing her in her wedding gown until she arrives at the church.’

Carrie knew she should turn and begin walking to the door, but her legs felt too weak to be trusted. What if the new Lady Fenton didn’t approve of her friendship with Thea and Olivia and
Violet? What if she thought Carrie visiting Gorton Hall as a family friend was déclassé?

There was movement behind her and as Lord Fenton, with a hand on his daughters’ shoulders, began propelling them firmly towards the door, Carrie finally found the strength to turn around
and follow them.

She did so ashamed of the selfishness of her feelings. The most important thing about Lord Fenton’s second marriage wasn’t whether his new wife would approve of her, and of her
friendship with Thea, Olivia and Violet. The most important thing was that she should make Lord Fenton happy; as happy as he had been with Blanche.

As he led them across the neatly raked gravel to the first of three ribbon-bedecked motor cars, she knew one thing for certain: Lord Fenton’s happiness was far more important to her than
her own.

It was, and had been for as long as she could remember, the most important thing in the world to her.

The drive from Gorton Hall to the tiny Methodist chapel in Outhwaite’s High Street church took barely ten minutes, but during those ten minutes Thea’s tension
increased until it was nearly unendurable. What was going to happen when she and Hal were again face-to-face? Would he realize that he still loved her? That he had behaved idiotically in believing
the class difference between them was unbridgeable? Was today going to be the day when everything would finally be made right? She closed her eyes, imagining his arms around her once again. His
hands hard upon her body, his mouth dry as her tongue slipped past his.

‘Golly!’ Olivia said. ‘Look at the number of people outside the chapel waiting for Papa and Hermione’s arrival.’

Thea opened her eyes. The chapel faced directly onto the High Street and both sides of the steps leading to its open double doors were crowded with people eager for a glimpse of the bride.
Inside it would, she knew, be packed to the rafters, with the only available seating the seating reserved for them. Charlie would probably already be there, and Jim would be with him.

The car drew to a halt and she wondered feverishly if Hal had already arrived. If he had, he was bound to be sitting in the first or second row of right-hand pews, along with Charlie’s
family. As Hermione had no family, when she, Olivia and Carrie entered the chapel they would be led to the front left-hand pews, which meant there would only be a matter of yards between her and
Hal. Would he immediately try and make eye contact with her? There was still ten minutes before Hermione was due to arrive. Would he take advantage of that time and walk across and speak to her? He
wouldn’t be able to say the kind of things she ached for him to say, in front of Olivia and Carrie, but she would know by his eyes if he had missed her as much as she had missed him.

‘It’s a shame Methodists don’t go in for candles and incense,’ Olivia said as they entered the chapel. ‘It’s a much nicer smell than lavender
polish.’

‘I like the smell,’ she heard Carrie say. ‘Look how wonderfully shiny all the mahogany is, and there’s something calming about plain white walls and polished
brasswork.’

Thea couldn’t have cared less about the chapel’s interior, which didn’t have one main aisle, but a right-hand aisle and a left-hand aisle, with pews at the sides of both aisles
and central pews between them.

Hal was seated in a front left-hand pew and, as they walked down the right-hand aisle to take the places reserved for them, she had a clear view of the back of his head. No one else in Outhwaite
had such a head of unruly dark curls. She knew he often tried to subdue them with brilliantine, but he rarely did so successfully and, if he had tried to do so today, he had failed miserably.

Carrie parted company with them in order to sit next to her granny, and Olivia said, as she too spotted Hal, ‘I can’t wait for us to be a circle of five again. D’you think
there’s time for me to go over and have a quick word with Hal, before Papa and Hermione arrive?’

‘No,’ Thea said tersely, stepping into the front central pew. ‘I don’t.’

A buzz of interested comments on their wedding outfits had followed them down the aisle and she knew that although Hal hadn’t turned his head, he was aware of her arrival. It was
impossible for him not to be.

She seated herself on the unforgivingly hard wood and looked determinedly straight ahead to where, in front of the communion table, Charlie and Jim were deep in conversation with the pastor.

Had Hal not looked towards her for the same reason that she, now, was not looking towards him? Because he was afraid of what her response might be? Or was it because a hot, urgent glance passed
between them would be endlessly gossiped about and conjectured on? Or, worst thought of all, had he not turned his head towards her because he no longer had the slightest interest in her? If that
was the case, how was he going to explain no longer even being friends with her to Olivia, Carrie and Roz?

And where was Roz?

‘She’s only got another five minutes, if she wants to be here before the bride,’ Olivia said, reading her thoughts and turning round to make sure Roz hadn’t come in after
them and taken a seat at the back of the chapel.

‘I can’t see her anywhere,’ she said, ‘but the Hardwicks are out in full strength. I’d no idea Charlie had such a lot of relatives – and they must be
relatives, because none of them are from Outhwaite. Mr and Mrs Lumsden are here – and Mrs Lumsden is wearing a very splendid purple hat with a feather! Mrs Mellor is sitting on
Charlie’s side of the chapel. It’s odd to think that if it wasn’t for the ghastly scene in her post office, Mama would never have offered Charlie a position as a gardener at
Gorton, and Papa would never have referred him to Mr Gillies, and Charlie wouldn’t have the face he has now.’

Thea was just about to say that if all that hadn’t happened, it was highly unlikely Charlie and Hermione would have met and be now getting married, when the pastor terminated his
conversation with Charlie and Jim and faced the congregation.

An expectant hush fell.

Charlie stood as erect as a guardsman on parade.

Jim nervously slicked back his hair.

Olivia said in a whisper to Thea, ‘Roz is not going to be happy at missing this.’

The organist began to play and, to Handel’s ‘The Arrival of the Queen of Sheba’, Hermione stepped into the chapel on Gilbert Fenton’s arm.

Tall and gaunt-framed, she wasn’t wearing white. Her narrow-skirted ankle-length silk gown was pewter-blue. With it she was wearing a matching straw hat with an upturned brim and matching
silk gloves. Her wedding bouquet was a posy of white Yorkshire roses bred by Charlie and named ‘Hermione’ in her honour.

Walking behind her was Violet, so ecstatic at being a bridesmaid that her smile was as broad as the Cheshire cat’s.

The service began with the Methodist hymn ‘Love Divine, All Loves Excelling’
.

Halfway through it, instinct made Thea turn her head just as Roz stepped into the chapel. With the service in progress, Roz made no attempt to find a seat, but instead stood unobtrusively to one
side of the open doorway, her camera-case slung over her shoulder.

‘Roz is here,’ Thea whispered to Olivia. ‘And she has her camera with her.’

Now there was no longer Roz to worry about, Thea’s thoughts immediately returned to Hal. Because their distant pews were level with each other, she could only get a glimpse of him if,
before looking in his direction, she leaned forward – but to do that would make her interest in him titillatingly obvious to those seated behind her.