Dangerous Decisions (6 page)

Jacob was initially dismayed by Oliver's formal request for the wedding to be held in London, reasoning that surely the man was aware of the accepted order of such things. It was the prerogative of the bride's parents – in this case himself – to make these decisions.

‘Let me explain,' Oliver said.

‘Yes, but …' Jacob frowned. ‘You have spoken to Helena about this?'

Oliver shook his head. ‘No, I thought to mention it to you first.'

‘Quite so, although I am sure that Helena has always expected to be married from Broadway Manor.'

‘London would certainly be more convenient for many of our guests,' Oliver said in a casual tone. ‘Among whom I expect there to be members of the government and other politicians. If the wedding were to be held in Lichfield Cathedral, they might consider the journey to be too time-consuming. But of course the final decision on the venue must rest with you.'

It was now Jacob's tone that became casual. ‘I wasn't aware that you had so many friends in high places.'

‘I certainly have several acquaintances whom I think would welcome an invitation. And I would of course put my London house completely at your disposal.'

Oliver watched the conflicting expressions on Jacob's face. They were sitting comfortably in the older man's study, a glass of Madeira to hand to celebrate the satisfactory completion of the Marriage Settlement. Oliver had decided to wait until then before proceeding with his plans. His request to hold the wedding at St Margaret's Church in Westminster was not an idle one. They would spend the first month of their marriage in London; he did not intend to allow Helena to become fatigued by travelling. She would need all of her energies to conceive and as soon as possible. A formal honeymoon could come later after a prolonged stay at Graylings.

Jacob took a sip of his wine. He had given no hint of his own political ambitions, concluding that it would be wiser to wait until Oliver was his son-in-law before broaching the subject. Therefore, he could hardly accuse the man of using that knowledge to manipulate him. And what he stated certainly rang true: there would be far more chance of parliamentarians gracing them with their presence if the ceremony were to be held at a church adjacent to the House of Commons. On such an informal occasion, one with plentiful champagne, who knew what valuable contacts could be made? From a social point of view, there was enormous cachet in a St Margaret's wedding with its resultant publicity and coverage in the London national press. And it was a prime location between Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament.

He said slowly, ‘The convenience of guests should certainly be a consideration.'

‘So you are inclined to agree?' Oliver's voice was smooth. ‘I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of making enquiries and the date of Wednesday, the tenth January is available. A weekday is always more convenient, I find, rather than interrupting weekend plans, and Helena and I will have been engaged for almost four months by then. Ideal, I thought.'

Jacob frowned. Oliver had always intimated that he wanted an early wedding. The young couple did seem very much in love and Jacob was not so old that he had forgotten what that felt like. Nor could he think of a single practical reason why he should insist on a later date, although there was one matter that troubled him. ‘Oliver, before we discuss this further, might I mention that I would have liked Helena to see her future home before then. It may have escaped your notice, but neither she nor I have yet had the chance to visit Graylings.'

Oliver leaned back in his chair and smiled. ‘I'm sorry but I'm afraid I have to ask you to indulge me in this. You see, I have always had this dream that when I did marry, I would bring my bride home to Graylings with the staff lining up to meet their new mistress for the very first time. Believe me, Helena will love the house and her every need will be met. You need have no anxieties on that score. And of course we will then both be delighted for you and Miss Beatrice to visit.'

He is an eloquent fellow, Jacob thought; clever too. If this were purely a business matter he would have argued his case, but such ephemeral matters as dreams were difficult to refuse.

The looming wedding overshadowed every aspect of the household at Broadway Manor. Seated before a crackling coal fire, Enid Hewson glanced up from the fine lawn chemise she was holding. ‘As I've said before, it's no easy job being a lady's maid. I mean – look what tiny stitches this needs. Talk about giving a body a headache. Mind you, mine are nothing like the ones poor Miss Beatrice suffers with; I feel really sorry for her sometimes.'

‘Can't you ask that extra seamstress they've brought in to do it?' Ida fished inside her high-necked blouse to bring out the fine chain on which her engagement ring was threaded. Gently she removed it and, putting it on her third left finger, held out her hand to admire the gleaming small garnet. ‘I attend to Miss Beatrice's things,' Enid snapped. ‘The seamstress is concentrating on Miss Helena's trousseau.'

‘Go on, Miss Hewson, you must have caught a glimpse of the wedding dress. What's it like?' Annie asked. She cradled her cup of cocoa in her hands. ‘And the veil – is it still goin' to be the one that belonged to her mother?'

‘I haven't seen a thing – not yet. It's all top secret. Only Miss Beatrice and the dressmaker are allowed in for the fittings. As for the veil, yes, I believe so.'

‘I wish she'd been getting married in Lichfield Cathedral,' Molly grumbled. ‘Why does it have to be in London? Do you know, Mr Bostock?'

He removed his spectacles and, taking a white handkerchief from his pocket, began to polish them. ‘Not exactly, but I believe it was Mr Faraday's wish.'

‘I would have liked to have gone from here, with the servants to see me,' Helena said. She was astounded at her father's decision. ‘Surely that is the more traditional way. I do think you might have consulted me, Papa, before agreeing to this.'

‘Helena, there are several advantages. Your wedding will be one of the major social events of the year. It would hardly have the same impact up here in Staffordshire.' Jacob had anticipated that Helena might demur, but he had never expected such a spirited reaction.

‘Such things don't greatly concern me,' Helena said with bitterness. What really irked was that such a decision had been taken between the two men, as if she were merely a – what was the old-fashioned word – chattel, that was it. After all, it was
her
wedding. Wasn't the bride supposed to be the most important person on the actual day? ‘I suppose the formal announcement is already drawn up?'

‘Indeed, in fact Oliver is going to arrange for it to be personally delivered to
The Times
.' Jacob was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable. He glanced at the portrait of Mary. Would she have thought he was being too high-handed? But women had little knowledge of politics and the importance of influential connections. ‘If you are concerned about the staff, then I have no objection to them having their own wedding celebration downstairs.'

Helena held his gaze. ‘And before we leave for London, would you agree for me to wear my wedding dress and veil and for them to gather in the hall to see me?'

‘That is a little unusual, my dear.' On seeing Helena's mutinous expression, Jacob gave a resigned nod. ‘If that is your wish then you have my permission. But I agree with Beatrice, you have allowed yourself to become far too involved with the servants.'

Still fuming, Helena went back upstairs where the dressmaker greeted her with an anxious smile. ‘I was wondering how many tea gowns you require.'

Helena frowned. ‘And may I ask exactly what a tea gown is?'

Beatrice, who was looking through material patterns, turned her head away and said in a low voice, ‘I believe it's a gown where a lady does not always wear a corset.'

‘In that case I'll have several!' Helena flounced into a pink velvet chair in the corner of her bedroom. She had never understood why she had to wear one of the detested garments. There might be some purpose in the flesh of a plump matron being encased in whalebone, but for someone with a waist that was already the fashionable twenty inches, it was ludicrous. Then Helena noticed that Beatrice was looking embarrassed.

‘You don't approve,' Helena said. ‘Why?'

‘They are a garment worn by married ladies during three and six in the afternoon when they entertain socially, often alone. All supposedly respectable, but it's well known that the looseness of the dress can often lead to,' Beatrice hesitated, ‘other things.'

Helena stared at her then began laughing. ‘So wearing one of these tea gowns can lead to a scandalous life? Then I shall definitely have several.'

‘Helena!'

‘I'm sorry, I couldn't help it. From what I know of my future husband, he would brook no nonsense like that.'

The dressmaker, a spinster who always wore black relieved by a single row of pearls, coughed and said, ‘Shall I bring swatches of suitable fabric, Miss?'

‘Yes, please do.'

Later, Helena told Beatrice of the arrangements her father had made.

‘But where will the wedding breakfast be held?'

Helena shrugged. ‘Papa didn't say. I expect Oliver will already have somewhere in mind. He seems to be the one holding the reins, despite what Papa says.' She looked at her aunt in some panic. ‘Everything's happening too quickly; I do think I should have been able to visit Graylings before the wedding. Don't you agree?'

‘Now Helena, it's just wedding nerves. Every bride has them. And as for Graylings, you have seen a painting, and Oliver's wishes are not unreasonable.'

Helena gazed down at her platinum and sapphire engagement ring, trying to imagine a wedding band next to it. Was her aunt right, was this how every bride felt?

‘You're being nonsensical, dear,' Beatrice said briskly. ‘You should be counting your blessings, not looking for problems.'

But Helena, who was beginning to feel that she was no longer in control of her own life, was still fuming.

The rooms in Wimpole Street where Dr Haverstock held his practice were spacious, elegantly furnished, and bore an air of quiet reassurance. Nicholas had found treating patients in such surroundings to be an experience vastly different from his usual crowded surgery. Time was allowed for a leisurely consultation, while the facilities to enable examination were exemplary. The agreed arrangement was that he should assist on such cases that were likely to be onerous. The distinguished physician needed to conserve his physical strength, even though his advancing years had not diminished his medical expertise. The two men had swiftly established a respect for each other, and Nicholas knew he was fortunate to have been given such an opening.

At last, in response to a hidden button, Miss Barnes came in to usher out his last patient of the day, and Nicholas rose from behind the walnut desk and went thankfully over to a cupboard in one corner of the room. Andrew Haverstock believed in the restorative powers of the grain, and Nicholas had come to adopt his habit of indulging in a small glass of whisky at the end of the working day, with scant regard to the grandfather clock that stood in one corner.

‘It wouldn't do to broadcast it, so just between ourselves, laddie,' Andrew had said, his eyes creasing with merriment above his bushy but greying beard. ‘Sun not down over the yardarm and all that nonsense. It's good for the circulation, Nicholas, and after attending to the sick we deserve it.'

Now with his glass in his hand, Nicholas went over to a comfortable leather armchair and settled down to relax and to read
The Times
before setting off home. It was several minutes later that he turned to the page of notices and began to scan through them, and it was then that the name leapt out at him. Slowly Nicholas lowered the newspaper. Helena was not a common name. He thought of the tall man he had seen that night. Had he been this Oliver Faraday? Could this be ‘his Helena', the girl in the casement window? He read the notice again.

The engagement is announced between Miss Helena Standish, the only daughter of Mr Jacob Standish of Broadway Manor, near Lichfield, Staffordshire, and Mr Oliver Faraday of Graylings, Hertfordshire. Their forthcoming marriage will take place at St Margaret's Church, Westminster on Wednesday, 10th of January, 1906 at 11 a.m.

Broadway Manor in Staffordshire and Graylings in Hertfordshire spoke of money, of landed gentry; a far cry from his own rented accommodation, comfortable though it was. Despite what he had achieved professionally, Nicholas had no family security. An only child, his father had been an officer in the Army, but on leaving to pursue a career in the City, he had discovered only too late that he had no talent for business. The shame of ruin through a series of disastrous investments had broken him and he had died when Nicholas was eighteen. His widowed mother had taken up residence in Bath to live with her sister, and only a small trust fund had enabled Nicholas to finish his education and to qualify as a doctor. As he had thought so many times, a privileged young woman like Helena could never share a life like his.

Of course, it might not
be
her. Nevertheless, he went over to the desk to circle the date in the leather gilt-edged diary.

At Broadway Manor one morning, when they were in the small library, Helena looked up from her embroidery to try to attract Oliver's attention. For the past half an hour he had been so absorbed in his newspaper that she doubted whether he had remembered her presence. She gave a tiny cough, gratified to see him glance over to her.

‘There is something I would like to discuss with you, Oliver.'

‘You have my full attention.'

‘It's just that I'm planning to bring Molly, our under-housemaid, with me to Graylings. Miss Hewson could train her up to be my personal maid.'

Oliver's expression hardened. ‘My dear that's not an acceptable choice, I'm afraid.'

‘Surely, Oliver, the appointment of a lady's maid lies within my domain.'

‘Yes of course it does, but you must understand that as my wife you will be moving in more rarefied social circles. Such a position needs experience, not the efforts of an untried girl.'

She knew he was right; Beatrice and Miss Hewson also held that view and Helena had fully expected her first suggestion to be refuted. She smiled at him and nodded. ‘You are quite right, of course. I should have given that aspect more consideration.'

Oliver's answering smile was approving, but it didn't reach his eyes. Helena wondered why it was that when he was being tender, even passionate, she felt completely relaxed with him, and yet at other times – such as now – he managed to make her feel while not exactly afraid of him, certainly nervous.

Determined, she continued. ‘I do worry that when you are not with me I shall be among strangers at Graylings. I am sure there would be a place for Molly. Perhaps she could be an under-housemaid, with part of her duties to understudy my personal maid – in case of an indisposition. A familiar face would be such a comfort to me, Oliver.'

Oliver realised that Helena's request, couched in such terms, put him in a difficult position. To refuse would seem unreasonable, even harsh, and Jacob Standish would rightly be outraged. This was infuriating, as he would have preferred that his own strictly controlled staff serve Helena. ‘You would judge her to be loyal?'

‘Absolutely, I've known her for years and her work is excellent.'

‘And her age is …?'

‘I think she is about twenty.'

Oliver frowned. ‘Which one is she?'

‘Molly? She's the dark-haired pretty one.' Helena was beginning to feel bewildered by all his questions. After all, what was one more maid in a house as large as Graylings?

Oliver breathed a sigh of relief. Although he normally paid little attention to servants, he had noticed this particular parlourmaid. He smiled. ‘You know I can refuse you nothing, dearest. Of course she may come to Graylings.'

‘Thank you, Oliver.' Helena lowered her gaze to her sewing with quiet satisfaction.

Molly, who had come to work at Broadway Manor as a kitchen maid, was proud that she had worked her way up to her present position of junior parlourmaid. The term ‘junior' in her opinion was merely to reflect Ida's longer service. Molly considered her abilities equal to any member of staff, with the exception of the butler and cook. The third child of a feckless mother and workshy father, life for Molly had been one of cast-offs, blows and a sparse diet. The day she had been sent into service had been the best of her short life. Something she was reminiscing about in the kitchen. ‘I never saw a tablecloth until I came here, never mind a full plate.'

‘That's one reason I came into service,' one of the footmen said. ‘At least you can be sure of three square meals a day.'

‘Yes, well that's because we've got a good employer,' Molly told him. ‘It isn't the same everywhere. Believe me, I've heard tales of servants worked into the ground and ruled with a rod of iron. My cousin works for Mr Standish in his brewery, and says the men have a lot of respect for him cos he pays decent wages, and makes sure they have good working conditions. He says we could do with people like him in Parliament.'

She swung round as the butler came in calling her name. ‘Miss Beatrice wants to see you in the morning room.'

Molly glanced round at the others, drew a sharp intake of breath and went to the round mahogany framed mirror that hung over the mantelpiece to tidy a loose strand of her hair and straighten her white lace-trimmed cap. Then she hurried up the back stairs and paused at the top to compose herself before crossing the spacious hall with its polished floor and Persian rug to tap lightly on the wide cream-panelled door.

The cool voice came immediately: ‘Come.'

Beatrice Standish, seated on her favourite gold velvet chair, with its high spoon back, turned from her writing table. ‘Ah, Molly, do come in. There is something I wish to discuss with you.'

‘Yes, Miss Beatrice?'

Beatrice gave her a warm smile. ‘It's about Miss Helena's forthcoming marriage and her subsequent residence at Graylings. She has expressed a wish that you might accompany her.'

For a second Molly could hardly speak. She had dreamt of this for weeks, knowing that it could be her one chance to broaden her horizons, to meet new people, even to learn new skills. ‘Thank you, Miss. I'd love to go.'

‘And your family – would they raise any objection?'

‘No, Miss Beatrice, not at all.'

‘That's excellent. Now Miss Helena's initial wish was that you be trained by Miss Hewson to take up the post of lady's maid, but after due consideration it is felt that as Mr Faraday's wife, her social standing will be such that she will need the services of someone with more experience.' Beatrice paused, as Molly couldn't control a gasp of consternation, then she continued, ‘However, it has been agreed that you should be offered a position at Graylings as a parlourmaid. Also to be given the chance to understudy Miss Helena's personal maid – who is still to be appointed – with a view to substituting for her if circumstances require it.'

Molly said slowly, ‘So I'd be getting a sort of training …'

Beatrice nodded. ‘That is correct. I shall quite understand if you need time to give the matter some thought.'

‘No, Miss Beatrice, I don't. That would be quite satisfactory.'

‘Then I shall write to the housekeeper at Graylings giving you a good reference. I am sure that your pay and conditions will be equal to those you enjoy at Broadway Manor. It will be a great comfort to me to know that Miss Helena will have you with her.'

‘Thank you, Miss.'

As Beatrice gave a dismissive nod, Molly turned and went out of the room, her heart singing. She may not be a lady's maid – not yet – but this was the next best thing. Full of excitement, she raced back to the kitchen to announce her news.

Henry Bostock took off his rimless spectacles and gestured with them. ‘I'm pleased for you, Molly. It will be good for Miss Helena to have you at Graylings with her.'

‘Of course, she was always Miss Helena's favourite.' Ida sniffed.

‘Now then, Ida,' Cook said. ‘You've got your own good fortune. But bless us, that will mean two new parlourmaids once you've got wed. Change doesn't sit well with me at my time of life.'

‘I've been thinking, Mrs Kemp,' the butler said, ‘that perhaps you could do with an extra hand in the kitchen. If another girl took Annie's place in the scullery … '

Cook beamed. ‘Now that is a change I'd welcome, and so would Annie. She'll be glad to see the back of scouring pots and pans in that scullery, not to mention scrubbing dirt off the veg.'

‘Yes, well don't go saying anything to her yet. I shall need to talk to Miss Beatrice first – it is an extra member of staff, after all.'

‘Explain it's me varicose veins, they don't half give me some gip. I could do with being off me legs more.'

Molly was only half listening. She was glad that Annie had the chance of promotion to kitchen maid, but her brain was already running ahead to her new life.

During Christmas at Broadway Manor, the festivities were naturally overshadowed by the arrangements for Helena's forthcoming marriage. Oliver spent his own Christmas divided between Graylings and his London house, where he intended to remain until the day of the ceremony at St Margaret's Church. The Standish family were to travel to London after the New Year.

And as Helena had wished, on the day after Boxing Day the servants gathered in the spacious hall before the huge festooned Christmas tree to see her in her wedding finery. The outdoor staff, the grooms and gardeners were ill at ease, clutching their caps and standing slightly aside, while the indoor servants stood in a cluster to watch with pride as Helena descended the wide oak-panelled staircase in her ivory silk gown with its long train flowing behind. Mary Standish's fine veil edged with embroidery was held in place by a glistening pearl tiara, and as Annie, already overcome at actually being upstairs, said later – their Miss Helena ‘looked like an angel'.

Helena gazed down at the sea of faces knowing that she would never forget the scene before her, and the affection and admiration in their eyes was unbearably moving. Despite her exhilaration at actually wearing the bridal outfit, the thought of leaving them all tightened her throat. Cook, her broad face wreathed in a smile, had often welcomed her as a child in the kitchen, giving her a glass of buttermilk, warm little cakes from the oven and letting her lick the pudding spoon. The loyal Bostock, whose silver hair was now becoming sparse – he had always been there; a part of her life as much as Broadway Manor itself.

‘Ooh, Miss Helena, you look a picture,' Cook took up a corner of her apron to wipe a tear from her eye.

Bostock stepped forward. ‘May I say, Miss Helena, how much we all appreciate this kind gesture. And on behalf of the staff may I express our good wishes for your future happiness.'

Helena's smile was warm and happy, and briefly her eyes met those of Molly. ‘Thank you all so very much and also for helping to take care of me all these years. I know I shall miss you dreadfully.'

Jacob with Beatrice beside him was standing before the drawing room door and despite his pride and emotion, it was only then he finally realised that within a very short time his daughter would no longer be part of his everyday life. There would be visits of course, between both houses, but not to see Helena's lithe figure every day, not to hear her lilting laugh … The Manor was going to seem very empty.

He turned to glance at Beatrice and saw an unguarded expression on her face. How could he be so unthinking, so unaware? She had come to this house as a thirty-year-old spinster to tend a motherless baby. Had she ever dreamed of being a bride herself? And then there came shuffling of feet as the outdoor staff turned to leave, several of the men touching their forelock to Jacob. Helena spoke for a few moments to the female indoor staff and then soon the hall was clear again.