Vice and Virtue (3 page)

Her heart thudded. Ignoring the whispering of her conscience, she extended her hand. “I thank you for your offer, Mr Francis,” she said, endeavouring to keep her voice steady, “and I have made my decision. I
will
marry you. I accept your condition of a clandestine marriage, and I will do my best to be a good wife.”

“My dear Miss Eversedge. Aurora…” He rose, bowed and kissed her fingers lightly. “You have made me the happiest of men.”

Aurora did not wish to contemplate her own conduct. She stood up, no longer looking at him. “Since I am but seventeen years old, sir, you must ask permission of my mother. If you will excuse me, I will fetch her now.”

He nodded. “Will you not shake my hand?”

The shadows beneath his eyes were deep, but Aurora no longer felt pity. He had secured the potential means of obtaining an heir before it was too late, and she had secured her escape from Dacre Street. “Yes, I will shake your hand,” she said. “We have made a bargain, after all.”

He took her outstretched fingers. His hand was scarcely bigger then Aurora’s own, with narrow fingers and well-tended nails. “Indeed we have, Miss Eversedge,” he replied without animation. “Indeed we have.”

A Garter on His Hat

A
urora plunged her nose into the scented handkerchief in her left hand. Her right hand held a bouquet, which would have served equally well to mask the stink of the river. But she did not want to use it as a nosegay. It was her wedding bouquet.

“For all that this river is called the Fleet, it is
not
very fleet,” observed Flora. “It hardly runs at all.”

“And it smells to heaven!” added Eleanora. “You had better hurry and get married, Aurora, so that we may escape from this unholy stench.”

“I cannot marry until my groom arrives,” replied Aurora.

“What will you do if he does not come?”

“He
will
come,” insisted her mother. “And by God’s grace, you and Flora too will come to be married in this place soon enough, stink or no stink.”

Eleanora pouted and looked with disapproval at the inn sign above their heads. “I shall not be married
here
!” she declared. “My husband will stand beside me at the altar of Westminster Abbey itself!”

“You wish to marry the bishop, then?” suggested Flora, with a sideways look at Aurora.

“Not at all, you simpleton…” Eleanora caught the look. “Do not tease me!”

Aurora too might have wished to be married in the sight of God, rather than in a plainly furnished room behind an inn, the ceremony presided over by a parson long since disgraced. She would rather have had the luxury of the time afforded by the reading of the banns in which to choose a length of fashionable material and have her mother make a beautiful wedding dress. But however much she had considered the situation during the seven days and nights that had passed since Mr Francis’s proposal, she could find nothing actually illogical in his request for a hasty wedding. They must marry now, and Aurora must be satisfied with only one item of new finery – a wide-brimmed hat, lavishly trimmed with flowers by the excited fingers of Flora and Eleanora. Apart from that, her blue dress and best gloves would suffice until such time as she could employ her own dressmaker and milliner, and visit the glover, hosier and shoemaker whenever she wished. In short, when she was Mrs Edward Francis, a woman of means.

She knew she should be happy that such a rich man wished to marry her, under any circumstances. But she did not feel happy. She felt perplexed, unsettled and disappointed.

“Something is happening over there,” declared Flora, craning her neck. “Could that be Mr Francis and his groomsman?”

A carriage had been prevented from coming nearer than the end of the street by the narrowness of the space between the jutting upper storeys. Two men emerged from its door, one tall and fair-faced, the other smaller and stooping.

“Aye, that is my would-be husband,” observed Aurora without enthusiasm. “And the man he was with in the park.”

Flora bounced a little on her toes. “The tall one is—”

“I know, the better-looking,” said Aurora. “You will have to set your cap at him, Flora. I am sure you know how.”

The gloom of the street was too great for Aurora to see Mr Francis’s features distinctly, but his wiry frame and round shoulders were unmistakeable. He was wearing another highly decorated jacket, dark red this time, and a long wig. His sword hung at his left side, but, unlike his companion, he did not rest his hand upon it as he approached. His right hand held a walking-stick, which he leaned on with every step.

Aurora’s heart contracted with pity. If his condition had so weakened him within a single week, how many weeks could she expect to pass before she became a widow? Silently, she prayed.
If it please you, God, allow Mr Francis to live long enough for me to bear him an heir, and give his father happiness beyond the grave. This I ask you from my heart. Amen
.

“My deepest and most humble apologies for keeping you waiting,” Mr Francis said to the ladies with a bow, “but I found myself indisposed this morning and had to take a little time to recover.” His friend went to his side, ready to support him if he staggered, but Mr Francis waved him away. His eyes beneath the curled wig alighted upon Aurora. “I am quite well now,” he said softly, “and happier than I have ever been.”

Aurora knew she had turned pink. She curtseyed. “I am honoured, Mr Francis.”

“Please, you must call me Edward. And so must all your family.”

The other ladies curtseyed, Flora and Eleanora unable to resist a giggling glance at one another. “Thank you, Edward,” said Mrs Eversedge.

“And this is my good friend and groomsman, Richard Allcott. Richard, allow me to introduce Mrs Catherine Eversedge and her daughters Miss Aurora, Miss Flora and Miss Eleanora Eversedge.”

They curtseyed; Mr Allcott bowed, ignoring the quizzical look thrown at him by Flora. “Delighted,” he said and, with a glance at Edward, he opened the door of the inn and offered his arm to Mrs Eversedge. “Madam, shall we enter?”

The innkeeper ushered them into a low-ceilinged room with a small window and a bare floor. Behind an oak table was a carved chair, and before it stood two plain chairs with shabby worked cushions. Aurora wondered how many hopeful, or apprehensive, or relieved, or possibly happy men and women had sat on those cushions.

An elderly man in the black garb of a clergyman appeared through a doorway behind the table. He indicated the assortment of benches arranged around the room, then patted the cushion on the left-hand chair. “The bride is to sit here, and the groom on the other chair, if you please.”

They sat down. Edward reached into his pocket and laid some coins upon the Prayer Book on the table, and the ceremony began. Before many minutes had passed, Aurora and Edward had each made their responses, and Edward had placed a gold ring upon Aurora’s finger. Within another few minutes the clergyman had presented certificates for them to sign, and in less than a minute after that, they were pronounced married.

“Your names shall be entered in the parish register without delay,” the clergyman informed them. And with that, he opened the door behind the table and disappeared.

Aurora was trembling. It was too late to go back now. She had done it. She was married. Her ears buzzed. All she could hear was her mother sniffling into a handkerchief.

She felt Edward take her arm. “The wedding breakfast awaits us at Hartford House,” he announced to the company. “Come, my wife and I will lead the way.”

Aurora got to her feet, and the little wedding party walked out of the mean room, through the inn and into the street. All around them strangers noticed their smart clothes and Aurora’s bouquet, and called out good wishes.

The carriage was still at the end of the street. Edward’s coachman, who looked no older than Aurora herself, handed the ladies to their seats. Then he took Edward’s stick, settled him comfortably and placed a rug around his knees. “Thank you, Burns,” said his master.

The carriage swayed as Burns and Richard Allcott climbed up to the box. Aurora heard a shouted command to the horses, then the creaking of the wheels. Their progress over the cobbles was slow and jolting. She looked out of the window, wondering how long it would be before she saw London streets again.

She shifted her gaze. Her husband, who sat opposite, was watching her, smiling. There it was, the thin-lipped smile that barely creased the corners of his mouth, studied and self-conscious. Aurora did not return it.

The wedding breakfast continued into the late afternoon. In a dining room from which long windows opened on to a pretty garden, Aurora’s sisters had fallen upon a table spread with cold beef, pies, sweetmeats, cheese, fruit and the kind of wine jellies they had last seen before their father died, and then only at Christmas. But Aurora had not allowed herself to feel embarrassed. It was clear that Edward Francis had no intention of displaying anything but generosity towards her relations; she had resolved to let his behaviour be the guide of hers.

As dusk spread over the garden, she watched a man-servant lighting the wall candles. Fatigue, wine and rich food had rendered her very sleepy. She put her elbows on the table, supported her chin on her hands and endeavoured to keep her eyes from closing.

“Aurora!” Flora, her round face pink with excitement, seized both her sister’s hands and tried to draw her to her feet. “Come on, the dancing is beginning! And you know what the gentlemen must do! Mother, you tell her!”

Mrs Eversedge regarded her eldest daughter with affection. “You are tired, my dear, I know, but tradition must play its part.”

Aurora rose unsteadily. A group of musicians waited in the corner of the room while the man-servant and the young coachman moved the table nearer the wall to make space for dancing. Feeling foolish, she curtseyed to Edward, and he bowed. Both he and Richard Allcott, who was bowing to Flora, were smiling, though Edward’s unease was obvious.

Aurora sympathized with him. She knew she had to be patient with her sisters’ enthusiasm for wedding tradition. But a man whose lungs were diseased would surely dance only the first, and Mr Allcott was the only other gentleman present. If they wished to dance for longer, Aurora and her sisters, not for the first time, would have to partner each other.

The dancing began. The musicians played a stately court dance rather than a country jig, for Edward’s benefit. Richard Allcott’s task as groomsman would have been easier if the music had been fast enough to require the holding-up of skirts. But he was determined to perform the ritual regardless. Clearing his throat, he spoke to Aurora in a voice loud enough to be heard above the music as he led Flora round. “You will give me your garter as a marriage token, will you not, my lady?”

In the shadow of his hat brim Aurora saw the expression in his eyes: amused, but determined. She turned away her face, pretending bashfulness, and took a few more measures with Edward. “Sir, you are impertinent!” she scolded Mr Allcott.

Flora, more delighted by the playing-out of this scene than the prospect of more dancing, let go of her partner’s hand. “Go on, Mr Allcott!” she whispered urgently. “We have tied the garter low for you!”

“Impertinent? Never!” declared Richard Allcott gravely. “Gallant? Certainly!”

Aurora released Edward’s hand and looked at the faces of her sisters. Each was pink-cheeked from wine and bright-eyed from excitement, and over each was spread a joyful abandon she had not seen there in years. The attentiveness of Edward and his friend, clearly intended to make up for the shortcomings of the wedding, had turned Flora and Eleanora for the moment into young girls newly out of childhood, without anxiety and eager for innocent entertainment. Which, of course, they should be. How Aurora wished they could remain so!

“What will you do, sir?” she asked Mr Allcott, who looked so comically solemn she could hardly keep her countenance.

“Why, steal it!”

The musicians began a fast tune. Amid squeals from her sisters, Aurora set off around the room, followed by Richard Allcott, who repeatedly lunged towards her, trying to lift the hem of her gown. She pleased the onlookers by turning round and round, holding down her skirts against her pursuer’s attempts to raise them. As the room whirled around her, she was aware of Edward, resting on a chair, watching her.

She was unwary for a second, and immediately Mr Allcott reached under her skirt as far as the white silk garter below her right knee. It untied as he pulled it. With a yelp of triumph, he twirled it round above his head, then tied it round his hat.

“Do I not look fine?” he asked, placing his hand on his sword and striding around the room like a dandy.

“Very fine indeed,” said Edward from his chair. “Will you steal the other garter, and fasten it to
my
hat?”

Aurora, her eyes on Edward’s face, allowed Mr Allcott to lift the hem of her skirt again. While the garter was being retrieved, she and Edward continued to look at each other. Several times today she had tried, unsuccessfully, to fathom his expression. This time was no different. She saw that he was entertained by the spectacle, though his face held some of the bemused embarrassment it had shown earlier. But she could not read the meaning of the flash of emotion that crossed his countenance when he grasped the piece of white silk Mr Allcott handed to him.