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  Mary did not point out that there are no degrees of uniqueness. ‘And is that all there is to it? You can just march in and demand the shopkeeper marries you because monks used to sit in it freezing their knackers off seven hundred years ago?’

  ‘Well no, obviously you have to have a special licence. I’m eligible to apply for a special licence through my father because he’s the Rector of the parish of Stump Cross, and—’

  ‘I think I’ve just lost interest.’ Mary was becoming increasingly frustrated by tales of other people who were safe and well and had all the things she wished that she could have, and who took them for granted. Listening to how easy it was for Dolly Dunkley – of all people – to be married in a sweetshop if she wanted to be, when she herself couldn’t be married anywhere at all, was too much heartache. She abandoned her cup of tea and hot toast and pushed her way out of the dining hall.

  ‘You can tell me,’ Bess said to Dolly, ‘I’m interested.’ Bess loved a wedding and liked to hear about the planning of them. It did not occur to her why Mary might have stormed off, but she was used to her sister’s changeable moods and knew best that sometimes it was kinder to let her go and vent her temper on her own in peace.

  ‘Well, if you want to be married in a chapel which isn’t a parish church – you know, like a school chapel, or something – or even if you’re an invalid and you want to be married at home in your sickbed, you have to apply for a bishop’s special licence and the bishop of your diocese has his staff draw up this huge certificate and you take it to a minister and he has to marry you.’

  ‘Is that what you’re getting?’ Bess asked. ‘Are you getting a bishop to make you a certificate?’

  ‘Oh no, ours is much grander because Percival hasn’t been living in the parish for long enough because he’s been abroad, and he was baptised in the Congregational Church not the Church of England, and there was also …’ Dolly continued listing distinctions in their case which made them special in the eyes of the law, both Tort and Ecclesiastical, but Bess didn’t fully understand her again until Dolly finished with, ‘Which is why ours is an Archbishop’s Special Licence. It’s much grander.’

  ‘And that’s for letting anyone get married anywhere?’

  ‘Well, yes, but only if one of you has been baptised or christened.’

  ‘This Arch-rival’s special licence—’

  ‘Archbishop’s special licence,’ Dolly corrected.

  ‘How special is it? I mean, if one of the parties has been christened does it cover absolutely every possible scenario, or is there another kind of licence that’s higher than an arches licence that covers more things?’

  Dolly was in the mood to boast about how special her licence was going to be, and so she resorted to a facetious hyperbole, never thinking that Bess would take it literally. ‘You can’t get anything more special than an Archbishop’s Licence; it covers every eventuality. If you got a special licence for Reenie’s horse he could marry a horse in the middle of the Piece Hall and no one would be able to object.’

  Bess’s eyes widened; an idea was forming which she wanted to take to Diana. She thought that she had solved a problem for everyone and she was thrilled at the idea.

  ‘Diana, you know how you said that arranging a disciplinary for the horses was a headache?’ Bess had shuffled in next to Diana at her place on the dinner bench at the far end of the factory dining hall.

  ‘To be clear, Bess. I’m not arranging a disciplinary for the horses themselves, I’m writing a disciplinary policy for employees who allow—’ Diana stopped abruptly as she realised the futility of explaining this to Bess when Bess was waving at everyone who was passing their table and not listening. ‘Yes, Bess?’

  ‘Well, I think I might know a way that we can make it all right.’

  ‘How’s that then?’

  ‘A special licence.’

  Although Diana’s interest was mildly piqued, she had very low hopes that Bess would be offering a useful suggestion. ‘And what’s a special licence?’

  ‘It’s a certificate Dolly Dunkley told me about. You can go and get it from an archway in the church, and you take it to the vicar and it means that they have to agree to do you a wedding anywhere, even at home if you’re an invalid. And it’s for anyone, so long as one of the horses has been baptised.’

  Diana resisted the urge to knock her own head against the surface of the dining table and instead maintained her look of impassivity. ‘Can you try explaining all that again, Bess, but in a different way?’

  ‘Well, I’m not saying who it is, but I think I know who the father of the baby horse is in the factory stables, and I thought if we got a special certificate to have a wedding in the stables we could marry him to the mare who’s having a baby horse and then you wouldn’t need to discipline Reenie because the two horses would be married before the foal was born and then there wouldn’t be anything wrong at all.’

  Diana nodded carefully. ‘And who told you that you could get wedding certificates for horses?’

  ‘Dolly Dunkley. She knows all about them because her father’s a vicar and he signs them all the time.’

  ‘Of course he does. And she’s persuaded you to arrange a wedding in the stables for two of the horses so that the foal won’t be born out of wedlock?’

  ‘No, that’s my idea. I don’t want Reenie to get into trouble, because she wouldn’t let Ruffian out of his stable knowingly and so it wouldn’t be fair for her to get the blame.’

  Diana decided to pretend she hadn’t heard that and hoped Bess wouldn’t tell anyone else because she was still hoping that, even if she had to write the disciplinary policy, she wouldn’t have to enact it because they would never find the culprit.

  ‘Look, you can have a wedding for the horses if you’re doin’ it on your own and don’t waste any company time, but don’t talk to your sister about it. You know she’s upset about not being able to have a wedding herself and this might just rub it in. Do you understand?’

  Bess nodded, gathered up her dinner tray and went away to her work taking with her the vital information that might have made all the difference to her sister and their friends if only someone had really listened.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Mary and Albert sat side by side in the office of Barstow, Midgley, & Lord. They could tell already that Mr Midgley had bad news for them, but at least he would break it to them kindly. Mary couldn’t think how having a solicitor talk to the register office would make any difference – if there was a waiting list then there was a waiting list – besides, her friend Reenie had already ruined everything by telling the receptionist that they were only marrying to allow Albert into the country.

  ‘I’ve found a synagogue in Bradford; they said that they would conduct the service even though Mary isn’t one of their people, but you’d still have to arrange to give notice at the register office in Halifax beforehand or it simply wouldn’t be legal. We’re back to the same problem again.’ Mr Midgley clearly disliked giving bad news to the couple.

  Albert was keen not to discount any possibility and asked, ‘Our friend Irene Calder suggested that there is a place in Scotland we could go to, on the border …’

  The solicitor shook his head sadly. ‘It wouldn’t work. Scottish law is very different to English law. Some couples run away to Gretna Green to be married because in Scotland they have a practice known as irregular marriages. In effect, you’d have to take Mary to Scotland, go before a magistrate or a Sheriff, and tell them that you were living together out of wedlock. You’d then be convicted of having an irregular marriage and fined, but they’d record you as having an irregular marriage and in Scotland that counts as being legally wed from that day on. It might work for a Scots couple, but you need to keep your criminal record spotless if you’re to get a permit to come back to England, and being convicted of an irregular marriage would certainly be classed as a conviction and would stain your character in the eyes of the Home Office.’

  Albert c
ould not conceal his disappointment. ‘But do they not have weddings conducted by blacksmith or some such thing?’

  ‘They have common-law marriage and it’s not recognised for permits by the English. The problem we have is that although you can avoid the register office by marrying in the Church of England, they will only marry you if you’ve had the banns read in your local parish four weeks beforehand, and you’d have to be there at the services.’

  ‘But I don’t have a parish; I’m a German Jew. And I don’t have four weeks.’

  ‘Precisely, you need to be married in the local register office but they are fully booked for the next three weeks.’

  Albert could not comprehend these British idiosyncrasies. ‘Couldn’t we go to a register office somewhere that is not full? There must be somewhere in England.’

  ‘You still have to give notice in the register office nearest you and you have to have been living in that locality for twenty-nine days.’

  At last Albert understood what the solicitor had been telling him and he nodded in sad realisation. ‘There is no way that we can marry before the deadline, is there?’

  Mr Midgley pursed his lips and was silent a moment; he didn’t want to have to say it, but he knew that they had to face facts. ‘There is no way that you can legally be married before the deadline. I’m sorry. I think your only alternative is to marry in Germany.’

  Mary looked confused. ‘But how could we marry each other in Germany if I’m in Halifax?’ Her mind was working so much more slowly these days. She was so tired, and it was so stuffy in the solicitor’s office.

  ‘That isn’t possible, I’m afraid.’ Bitterness entered Albert’s voice. ‘It has been illegal for Jews to marry non-Jews in Germany since 1933. Mary cannot come to Germany.’

  Mr Midgley looked pained, as though he was angry with himself for forgetting this important fact. ‘Then it will have to be France. You had a permit to travel home through France, didn’t you, Herr Baum?’

  Albert nodded assent.

  ‘Once you had married in France, it is unlikely that you would have to remain in France and you could immediately reapply for a permit to return to England. And this time, as the husband of a British subject, it would be far simpler. In theory. For the moment, however, the extension we obtained for you to allow you to sign a lease is shortly to expire. If you stay in England much longer I don’t need to remind you what the consequences might be.’

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  The decision was made in a haze of exhaustion. Mary travelled with Albert back to the tiny house where she lived with her mother and sister. It would not take her long to pack her things, she had so few of them, but she had never travelled anywhere and she didn’t know what she would need. She was going to France and she was frightened, angry, and desperately tired. She knew that she loved Albert, passionately, and she didn’t want to let him go, but she wanted to take a rest from all this for a while, just go to sleep and let all the trouble wait for her to return once more to the fray when she had recovered her strength.

  Mary was too overwrought this time to worry about what Albert thought of their cramped home with its inadequate sanitation and even less adequate access to daylight. She knew that she faced a difficult interview with her mother, and because it was her mother, there was no predicting how it would go; she might think Albert was a dangerous Welshman, or she might find him a new suit of clothes up in the eaves, there was just no telling. Mary was so very weary and she knew that she had to explain to her mother where she was going and why and she couldn’t leave without doing that, but a little part of her wanted to steal away like a guilty thing and leave the explanations to someone else.

  Mary unlocked the door and she immediately knew that something was wrong. She didn’t know how she knew it, but something in the house was in the wrong place. She didn’t bother to take off her shoes or her jacket, but just belted up the stairs to the bedroom to find that her sister was not there. Bess’s clothes were missing from their wardrobe and a note rested on her pillow – but it wasn’t in Bess’s hand, it was in Diana’s.

  Come to my house as quickly as you can. Bess is stopping here. Bring some clothes for yourself.

  This was all Mary needed. It was typical of her sister that she would get herself into some trouble or other just as she was trying to leave the country for the first time in her life. And if Diana was involved, then it must be something to do with work; Bess had probably flooded another workroom the way she’d managed to flood the factory crèche when she was running it. Though why this would require her to stay with Diana, goodness only knew. Mary decided that her mother would have to deal with it this time; Mary had been looking after her wayward sister for as long as she could remember and it was time for her mother to shoulder some of that burden so that she could be free to start a life with Albert and his children who were about to become her own.

  Mary hurriedly packed a bundle of clothes together with Albert’s help and closed the door on her old house. It sent a shiver down her spine. There was something wrong and Mary had that horrible feeling again, the feeling that someone had walked over her grave. Mary had felt it so many times in the last few months, a familiar feeling, like a distant memory, and she had been trying to put her finger on it, but it kept evading her. She thought it smelled like coal tar. She turned her key in the lock of the front door and was just turning her back on the house when she realised all of a sudden what it was; it was a premonition of death. Mary had felt it before when she lost her father and brothers to tuberculosis, and she knew that she felt it now for a reason. She thought it was Albert, that this was a premonition that they couldn’t be together, that he would go back to Germany and be killed and that they needed to make the most of their time together.

  ‘Albert,’ Mary said as they walked toward the tram stop, ‘I’m worried that I’ve had a premonition that something bad is going to happen to you; something very bad.’

  ‘You worry too much,’ he said, and kissed the top of her head. ‘What could happen to me? I’m healthy as a horse.’

  When Mary and Albert arrived at Diana’s boarding house they found the place subdued and unusually quiet. The lights were on and the kitchen below stairs offered its usual welcoming glow of warmth, but there was no laughter; no animated discussion about work or news or courting. Reenie and Peter looked up from the kitchen table when Mary and Albert came in and Mary might have thought they’d had another of their rows if Diana and Bess hadn’t been so solemn too.

  Mary put down her bundle of clothes on the kitchen table and gave her friends an irritated look. It irked her that they could be making such a meal of whatever passing trouble they were having, when she was going through something far, far worse.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘we can’t get married in England and we can’t get married in Germany, so the solicitor has told us we have to go to France. I’d pack my bags if I owned any, but I don’t, so I’ve got everything in a bundle and I’ve got to hope I find something better along the way. I can’t find Mother to say goodbye—’

  ‘Come and sit down, Mary,’ Reenie said gently, ‘there’s been a bit of bad news.’

  ‘You’ve had a bit of bad news?’ Mary was on the verge of hysteria now. ‘Did you not hear what I just said? I’ve got to go to a foreign country, where I don’t speak the language, for a hasty marriage and I can’t find a suitcase or me mother!’

  Albert tried to soothe Mary, but she would not sit down, and she would not be soothed.

  ‘It’s your mother …’ Reenie said very gently.

  ‘Yes, well,’ Mary huffed, ‘she won’t like it, but I’m of age in a matter of days.’

  Diana saw that Reenie’s gentle approach was not working and she decided to be blunt. ‘No, Mary. She’s dead. It was very sudden. Now look to your sister.’

  Mary could not take it in. Her mother couldn’t be dead – she’d seen her sleeping in her chair only the previous night. Then Mary looked at her sister Bess and saw the red
eyes and tear-stained face and knew that it was true. ‘B-but how? W-when?’ She slumped in a chair at the table, trying to find an answer in the knotted grain of its surface.

  Reenie came and sat beside her. ‘It was toxaemia, the doctor said. She got the scarlatinal infection and she soldiered on and went to work, but then it turned to toxaemia and it took her right sudden. One minute she was walking around at work, the next she’d dropped and she was gone. He said she wouldn’t have suffered.’

  Mary shook her head as though she were trying to shake off motes of dust in the air around her. ‘But I’m going to France to be married. I need to find her to tell her that I’m going to France to be married. This is all wrong, it doesn’t make any sense. I saw her and she was quite all right.’

  ‘Maria, my love …’ Albert was close beside her now, his hand closing over hers. ‘We cannot go to France together. You must remain here to bury your mother. I must return alone.’ Mary looked to Albert in desperation and he took her face in his hands. ‘You must stay here and look after your sister and I must go and look after mine, but soon – very soon – we will be together again.’

  A firm knock at the front door directly above them brought them all to themselves and Diana looked up through the basement window to see if it was important. ‘I don’t know who he’s here for,’ she said, ‘but that’s definitely a policeman.’

  Albert rose from his chair and straightened his tie. ‘I think he might be here for me.’

  ‘Hang about!’ Diana wasn’t ready to jump to conclusions just yet. ‘What if he’s here to tell us all to quarantine, or something like that? He could be here for any number of reasons.’

  ‘If they wanted a policeman to enforce quarantine, wouldn’t they have sent a constable rather than a sergeant?’ Reenie had a point and Diana conceded it.

  ‘I’m afraid,’ Albert said reluctantly, ‘that I was expecting something of this sort. I was granted an extension to my permit, but the last one was revoked early and I have had my reasons for expecting this one to be revoked also. It is very likely this man is here for me.’