Authors: Elswyth Thane
The Light Heart (19 page)
She ran to the wash-basin and hung above it, damp and weak. The spasm soon passed, for there was very little inside her to come up. She crawled back into the rumpled bed, wearing a dressing-gown over her nightdress for warmth. Her teeth were chattering now, but that gradually passed too, under the eiderdown.
Crossing her arms, she tucked icy paws against her own ribs and waited for the shivering fit to let up.
Such
cold
hands
—
the
time
comes
soon
when
I
warm
them
against
my
heart…
. The words became suddenly significant, and what had passed for a figure of speech was illumined by his real meaning, and terror closed her throat. She battled with it, face down against the pillow, arms across her breast. But he only meant to be kind, he said I would be safe, he is really very considerate—Clare must have gone through this and it didn’t kill her—I must pretend I know all about it and not cry quarter—
whence
comes
so
much
courage?
—if he ever
guessed
—but he will, he sees everything, you can’t deceive him, he knows how frightened I am—I must try to please him, though, Mamma said you must do just as they say if you want things to go well—
but
you
will
give
me
my
way
when
you
have
learned
how
happy
it
is
in
your
power
to
make
me
—me, to have power over him—
no
doubt
you
will
learn
soon
enough
to
take
advantage
of
that
—how did he mean?—I must find out how—Clare winds Mortimer around her finger, and she doesn’t love him, I know—I wish Clare would have talked to me, I’m sure she doesn’t always do just as Mortimer says—she didn’t marry a prince in the Diplomatic Corps, though—I shall never be able to live up to that, suppose some day he is ashamed of me—no title, no fortune, no experience of the world, no figure to furnish him strong heirs—
you
have
small
bones
everywhere
that
I
could
break
in
my
hands
—if I don’t please him—if I tried to escape—but he
is
kind, he will be good to me, he really cares for me—he won’t hurt me, and if he does he’ll be sorry, he said so—
a
scrap
of
a
thing
like
you,
to
bind
the
eagle
with
chains
—Charles would never have thought of himself as an eagle, he couldn’t have kept his face straight—I mustn’t think about Charles any more, I must think about Conrad—I shall be Your Highness—my son will be a prince—Conrad will be pleased if I furnish him a son soon, and I’m almost as big as Virginia and
she
had a baby the second year—he doesn’t want a German girl with thick ankles, he wants me—I should be proud—he thought my eyelashes came off, though—and when the night comes that he takes down my hair—that’s tomorrow—less than twenty-four hours away—well, at least he won’t be disappointed in my hair, and I look quite nice with it down—I always want to scream when he takes me by the chin, it makes me feel
trapped
—perhaps I’ll get used to it—I mustn’t jerk away—I mustn’t let him notice—it will be easier if I don’t annoy him, and it’s too late now, I’ve got to go on—I shall do exactly as he says about everything and just hope for the best—it may not be so bad, he seemed to like it when I cheeked him that day we were alone—
be
but
a
little
afraid
of
me,
it
becomes
you
—oh, I
wish
it was only Charles….
9
“T
HE
marriage of Prince Conrad zu Polkwitz-Heidersdorf and Rosalind, elder daughter of the late Mr. Hugh R. J. Norton-Leigh and Mrs. Norton-Leigh of Dorset Terrace, Regent’s Park, N.W., was celebrated in St. Margaret’s Church, Westminster, on the afternoon of Tuesday last. The church was very beautifully decorated for the occasion with white flowers and ferns, and the aisle was arched with palms. The service, which was fully choral, was conducted by the Reverend Canon Merryweather,
assisted by the Reverend Cyril A. Browne, and the Reverend D. C. F. Cholmondeley. The hymns included ‘Lead Us, Heavenly Father’ and ‘O Perfect Love.’
“The bride, who was given away by her mother, looked very lovely in a gown of white Duchesse satin embroidered with lovers’ knots in diamonds and silver, the transparent yoke and sleeves of Brussels lace. The skirt was vandyked at the foot and finished with numerous frills of mousseline de soie. The full Court train hung from both shoulders and was composed of silver tissue covered with Brussels lace and lined with white satin and trimmed with trails of real orange blossoms. Over a tiara of the latter a silver-embroidered tulle veil was arranged. Her ornaments consisted of diamonds and sapphires, the gift of the bridegroom, as was her bouquet of white orchids and orange blossom. Her train was carried by two little girls dressed in soft white satin with lisse overskirts and wearing wreaths of pink roses.
“There were ten bridesmaids, whose dresses were of white chiffon over satin which was inserted with point d’Alençon. The tucked bodices had yokes, and fichus of lace and there were deep waistbands of pale blue Louisine. Their hats were of white tulle and straw. The bridegroom presented each of them with a diamond and sapphire pendant and bouquets of long-stemmed La France roses artistically tied with a knot of forget-me-nots and pale blue tulle. Count Chlodwig von Lyncker attended His Highness as best man. Both wore the uniform of the German Emperor’s 18th Hussars, with decorations.
“While the register was being signed ‘There Shall a Star from David Come Forth’ from the ‘Christus’ of Mendelssohn was beautifully rendered, and the
bridesmaids
distributed fragrant wedding favours of natural white roses and forget-me-nots among the congregation. After the ceremony a reception was held at the Earl and Countess of Enstone’s house in St. James’s Square which
was lent for the occasion, the bride’s charming home in Regent’s Park not being large enough for the great circle of guests and relatives who were present. There was a gorgeous array of presents, the jewellery in two big cases attracting much attention.
“The newly married pair then left for Shenstone Lodge in Buckinghamshire, placed at their disposal by the Dowager Marchioness of Shadwell, where they will spend the first part of the honeymoon. The bride travelled in a dress of white cloth embroidered in gold in a floral design, the bolero opening over a front of point d’esprit net, and a large black picture hat. Among the beautiful dresses in her extensive trousseau was a ball gown of Malmaison pink chiffon.”
Thus
The
Queen
and
Court
Circular
the following week.
But to Oliver, seated on the bride’s side of the church and perspiring gently in sympathy with Charles who was
somewhere
behind him with Lady Shadwell, the whole thing became unadulterated nightmare, and the reception, at which he was expected to drink champagne at tea time, was even worse. Charles, every inch a Guardsman even in morning clothes, looked everyone straight in the eye and got through it with the utmost aplomb, so that you would have sworn it was nothing to him whatever.
Phoebe had some idea by now of how Charles felt, and was weighed upon by a conversation she had had with him in a corner at a dance a few evenings before. She had mentioned, hoping to comfort him a little, the serious, schoolgirl pact that she and Rosalind had made—to write to each other once a month for the rest of their lives, never to lose touch even if they never saw each other again. Charles had looked even more cheered by this than she had expected him to. “Jolly good idea,” he said. “I could never have managed anything like that myself, but now we shall be able to keep track of things, through you.” His honest hazel eyes met hers directly. “But can you make
sure she gets your letters?” he added. Phoebe asked stupidly what he meant. “I suppose you realize,” said Charles with laborious patience, “that she’ll be amongst strangers—she’ll be Royalty, and Diplomatic, at that—cut off from the rest of the world by an army of servants and reams of deportment and protocol. Her letters will be filtered through a dozen hands. They may even be read. You must be prepared for that.” Phoebe stared at him in horror, for letters were private property. Phoebe said they wouldn’t
dare.
“My good child,” said Charles kindly, “you don’t seem to have taken it in even now that she’s going to live amongst the enemy. Her friends will be suspect. Her utterances will be subject to censorship. She won’t be an Englishwoman any more, with an Englishwoman’s rights and privileges. She will be
Durchlaucht
—a Highness—she’s marrying a German.” The word jarred the air between them. “They hate us, you know. They’ll
discourage
all her home ties, once they’ve got her over there. If there is a war, we may not be able to reach her at all. But you could, from America. That’s why this is so important. You can be the link. You must be. The chances are they won’t object to you, if you’re wise. Be a little careful about what you write to her, won’t you. Don’t give anything away, I mean. Nothing they can get hold of to use against her.” Quite bewildered, Phoebe asked bluntly if he meant she wasn’t to mention him. “I shall want you to mention me now and then, if you will,” he said. “But as your friend, not hers. I can’t write to her, of course. The blighter’s got his eye on me, he must have heard something, God knows what. He’s the sort to have spying servants, I shouldn’t wonder.” Phoebe said Rosalind was allowed to have her own maid, and Mamma was giving her Gibson, who had been with them for years. Charles brightened again. “Then get hold of Gibson,” he said urgently. “Tell her to make sure of the letters. Gibson’s no fool, and she won’t take any nonsense from a German footman, we can be sure of that! Give Gibson your address—a permanent one. We can count on her,” Phoebe promised, feeling unreal and
melodramatic
, like someone in a play. I wouldn’t dare
write
this sort of thing, she thought. But there was nothing melodramatic about Charles, looking rather more stolid than usual in his formal black and white, speaking in his low, casual-seeming voice which made the most commonplace words beautiful. “Oh, Captain Laverham,” Phoebe gasped, throwing away tact and discretion,
“why
do
you
let
her?”
He looked down at her in silence, his plain face quite expressionless under his inbred self-control. “I’ve done all I can,” he said then. “There’s still time—if she chooses.”
But Rosalind had not so chosen. And Phoebe, holding her bouquet and wearing Prince Conrad’s gift pendant and feeling the tears slide slowly down her cheeks, had heard the impressive Church of England marriage service with a leaden heart—for Rosalind certainly, and in a dim but growing apprehension for herself …
an
honourable
estate,
instituted
of
God
in
the
time
of
man’s
innocency
…
not
to
be
enterprised,
or
taken
in
hand,
un
advisedly
,
lightly,
or
wantonly,
to
satisfy
men’s
carnal
lusts
and
appetites
like
the
brute
beasts
that
have
no
understanding;
but
reverently,
discreetly,
advisedly,
soberly,
in
the
fear
of
God…
. But not honourable without love, Phoebe argued passionately as the grave, mellifluous voice flowed on. And not advisedly, in the fear of the man to whom you committed your life….
I
require
and
charge
you
both,
as
ye
will
answer
at
the
dreadful
day of
judgment
when
the
secrets
of
all
hearts
shall
be
disclosed,
that
if
either
of
you
know
any
impediment…
. It was Rosalind’s last chance, and it passed in the resonant rumble of the clergyman’s voice sweeping relentlessly into those sobering vows, now full of a new significance to Phoebe, which should be taken with a deep and solemn joy, she was thinking, not in fear and misgiving. …
Wilt
thou
obey
him,
and
serve
him,
love,
honour,
and
keep
him…
. When her time came to speak them it would not be to a terrifying stranger like Prince Conrad, but to dear, good Miles, the idol of her childhood—and the only frightening thing about Miles was that he wasn’t Oliver, and that in her secret soul she was forsworn before she began. Rosalind was
spared at least the guilty knowledge that she belonged by every impulse and desire to somebody else, Phoebe thought. Rosalind’s conscience was clear, as her own would never be, for Miles….
I
take
thee,
Rosalind
… that was Conrad, rich and clear, but with a German
r
to her name
…
.
I
take
thee,
Conrad …
Almost voiceless she was, but somehow still audible in the vaulted hush of St. Margaret’s, unfaltering, unhurried, but breathless, like a child repeating a well-learned lesson…. Then Conrad again, rolling his
r
’s in his emotion …
With
this
ring
I
thee
wed,
with
my
body
I
thee
worship,
with
all
my
worldly
goods
I
thee
endow …
and then the grave overtones of prayer …
O
Eternal
God
…
send
thy
blessing
upon
these,
thy
servants
…
may
ever
remain
in
perfect
love
and
peace
together
…
world
without
end
…
