The Quality Street Wedding Page 22

  Ruffian could not clamber up the sandstone wall which held up the embankment of the churchyard and he trotted up and down the wall for a moment or two before finding the gate. It was open and it was a matter of paces before Ruffian had found what he sought: a quantity of good hay resting in a packing crate, cleverly weighted down for him with a collection of weighty summer-flowering bulbs so that it would not be blown away; this was the type of practical thoughtfulness which marked out his mistress. Ruffian bowed his head to the packing crate and tugged at the hay a little too roughly, causing the bulbs to scatter to the ground in all directions. The absent gardener who had left the bulbs unattended would certainly wonder what had been about.

  The act did not go unwitnessed, however; from a few hundred yards down the hill Squire Curran caught sight of the beast under the swinging light held out by St Agatha and took aim at Ruffian again. This time he took off the ears of St Agatha, but still didn’t hit the criminally destructive horse.

  Ruffian was startled by the shot, but it only served to drive him in the direction of those other lights further into the churchyard; the lights inside the church itself. The lights which must surely lead him to his mistress.

  At the sound of a horse’s hooves hitting the church door, Reenie’s heart leapt. She would know that broken-down old knacker anywhere, and unless she was very much mistaken her Ruffian had broken his bonds in the factory stable and was even now waiting for her outside the church. She squeaked an ‘Excuse me!’ to the curate and to Peter and then ran to the church doors before Ruffian could kick off some important oak carving.

  Peter followed her to the church doors. ‘What are you doing, Reenie?’

  ‘I’m letting the horse in before he kicks the place down.’

  ‘You can’t bring a horse into a church, that’s blasphemy!’ Peter looked back over his shoulder to where the curate was waiting with Reenie’s family and hoped he couldn’t hear them. ‘Why is your horse at the church door? I thought we agreed he’d have a nice day down at the factory stables having a big feed? A church during a hasty wedding really isn’t the most convenient place for an incontinent horse.’

  Reenie had wrestled with the huge iron door latch and was pushing the door open with her shoulder, careless of the expensive dress and smart fur cape she was wearing. ‘I did leave him there, but he must have got away. It won’t take me five minutes to tie him up outside.’ Reenie stepped out into the mist to see Ruffian waiting for her, loyal as ever. She could have hugged him, but she knew that this was not the time. ‘Give me a minute and I’ll—’

  Reenie was interrupted this time not by a horse, but by a squire with a shotgun.

  ‘Who are you? What are you doing with that horse?’ The somewhat out-of-breath old buffer made his questions sound like an accusation, which in a way they were.

  Reenie was at a loss to answer. This day was not going according to plan, and although it had been her own plan she found that she welcomed the interruption of a horse and a shotgun so long as the horse kept its water and the shotgun wasn’t aimed at anyone. ‘It’s my horse.’ Reenie called out. ‘I’m just saying hello to it then I’m tying it up. What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m going to take you and the horse into police custody. You’ll not get away this time. I’ve cornered you!’

  Peter and Reenie exchanged looks of equal confusion before Peter asked, ‘Did you put this lot of apples round his neck?’

  ‘No I did not!’ the old squire barked back at them. ‘He stole them, and I’m a witness to it.’

  Following closely behind Squire Curran was Sergeant Metcalf on his police bicycle and the sight of his uniform brought Reenie back to reality with a bump. ‘Go back inside, Peter,’ she gasped. ‘Go and hide in the vestry.’

  ‘Oh no you don’t!’ Squire Curran was determined now to round up whichever wrongdoers had allowed a horse to run roughshod over the gardens of his neighbours. ‘You’re staying right where you are.’

  Sergeant Metcalf coasted in on his bicycle and dismounted alongside the squire. ‘Are you the individual who just shot an ear off St Agatha?’

  ‘Yes, I am. I was aiming for this horse, it has just—’

  ‘Good, you’re under arrest. Stay where you are and I’ll tell you your rights in a moment.’ He then turned to Reenie with the look of exasperation he always wore when he spoke to Reenie Calder. ‘What’s this I hear about a wedding in a hurry, Reenie?’

  Reenie pulled herself up to her full height and prepared to do all in her power to save Peter, even if it meant a wedding she didn’t want. ‘You can’t prevent it. We’ve got a special licence and we’re already in the church and that’s sanctuary.’

  ‘You’re not in the church,’ Sergeant Metcalf pointed out matter-of-factly, ‘you’re outside the church holding onto a horse covered in apples while you argue with a man who has just shot the ear off St Agatha – but that’s by the by. I came all the way here, on my bicycle, up some very steep hills and very shortly after my breakfast, I might add, because I heard down at the station that there was to be a hurried wedding, and I wanted to make certain that it didn’t have anything to do with that little chat you and I had the other day about Spain.’

  Reenie didn’t hesitate to stand her ground. ‘What if it was? What’s it to you?’

  ‘You wouldn’t be trying to avoid testifying against someone in court by marrying them, would you, Reenie?’

  Peter looked like a rabbit caught in headlights, but Reenie was still the girl who had been running rings around the local constabulary since she was old enough to talk. ‘It’s not illegal, is it?’

  ‘No, it’s not illegal. But it is damn foolish if you haven’t first made certain that you are going to have to testify in court at all.’

  Peter’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Reenie, you told me that he’d told you that …’ His voice trailed off as he realised that this was another mess of Reenie’s making.

  ‘If I may?’ Sergeant Metcalf interjected, his patience sustained a while longer, possibly by the influence of St Agatha herself. ‘My Inspector was sent a request by another constabulary who thought you, Peter Mackenzie, might have given material assistance to individuals seeking to illegally cross the channel for the purposes of interfering in a foreign war, contrary to English law; to whit, your cousins. My Inspector told them he would investigate and sent me to do so. I asked my questions and I returned to my Inspector and I gave him my verdict. And do you know what my verdict was?’ Sergeant Metcalf got no answer, so he asked directly, ‘Do you know what my verdict was, Irene Calder?’

  ‘No, Sergeant Metcalf,’ she whispered.

  ‘My verdict was that it was all kids’ stuff! Not a bit of evidence of anything serious, just all kids’ stuff.’ The policeman looked from Reenie’s fur cape, to the horse covered in apples and then gave her a withering look. ‘Our report is final. I’m saying this once and for all: there is no evidence of any crime which it would be in the public interest to pursue, and I will not be burdened with any paperwork on this occasion. Do we all understand each other?’

  ‘But what about the gardens?’ Squire Curran barked out. ‘They’ve been driving that horse all over my lawn and I saw it steal those apples!’

  ‘Did you really?’ Sergeant Metcalf asked without surprise. ‘I’ll be getting you to come down to the station to give a statement then. But for now, give me that shotgun, there’s a good fella’.’ Sergeant Metcalf arranged shotgun, man, and bicycle, then cast one more look of disappointed irritation in the direction of Reenie Calder and headed off in the direction of the station.

  Reenie looked at Peter, all her bravado lost now that she realised what she had done. ‘I’m sorry, Peter. I really thought he was saying that he was going to arrest you when he found you.’

  Peter gave a sort of nod and, taking patience from St Agatha, said, ‘All right, you go and tie up the horse and I’ll go and explain to your parents. They’ll want to know why their horse is here at least.’

  Chap
ter Fifty-Nine

  ‘I’m not giving my blessing.’

  The curate looked up eagerly from his service book at this new twist in the tale. He had always thought the father looked jittery. ‘Er, but you’re still giving your permission, aren’t you Mr Calder?’

  ‘No. I withdraw my permission; she’s not signing anything. No one’s taking my Reenie away.’

  ‘It’s too late, Dad, it’s all arranged.’

  ‘It isn’t too late; I signed nothin’, and I’m not signing nothin’. You’re too young to do this without my say so and you haven’t got it.’

  ‘But Arthur,’ Mrs Calder pleaded, ‘we talked about this. We agreed that in the circumstances, with a war coming …’

  ‘We agreed she needed to be kept safe and provided for, and that there was no harm in hastening the inevitable. But look at her, Annie, she doesn’t want this. She’s not happy. What use is survival if she’s so unhappy?’

  ‘Reenie, love,’ Mrs Calder used her softest voice for her daughter, ‘are you unhappy? Do you think you’d be unhappy if we let you wed a little early with a war coming on?’

  Reenie flushed red and her voice caught in her throat as she looked at Peter with a helpless desperation. The curate knew that look, he’d seen it before. It was the look of a lost sheep who is waiting to be told where they must go. In his grandfather’s day the vicar was there to enforce the wishes of the bride’s father – to tell her to obey the men in her life and marry the groom she had been chosen for – but times had changed for the better; this was the twentieth century, he could listen to his flock, he could be a force for good.

  ‘I will need to speak with the bride and groom alone in the vestry.’ His voice had a chirruping quality, like an eager little garden sparrow.

  ‘Are we in trouble?’ Reenie managed to croak out.

  ‘No, not at all, not at all.’ The curate herded the young couple towards his robing room. ‘This way.’

  Peter looked shocked, but hurt at the same time. There was none of the relief one would have expected to see from a young man who had recently evaded prosecution and imprisonment. His heart was broken.

  ‘I’m very sorry, Mother.’ Reenie sat at the table in the church vestry, hands wringing a handkerchief. ‘I only said I’d do it to make Peter safe and then, when I knew he was safe, I just couldn’t go through with it.’

  ‘It’s all right, love, I understand.’ Mrs Calder put an arm around her eldest daughter’s shoulder and squeezed her affectionately.

  ‘I’m glad you do, because I’m not sure why I went to all the trouble to reading up on licences and banns and whatnot if it’s all to be for nothing.’ Kathleen’s irritation might have been motivated by her disappointed realisation that she was not, after all, going to get a bed to herself at home.

  ‘Oh, Kathleen! Can you show a bit of understanding for your poor sister? She’s had a very trying day.’

  Mr Calder tried to encourage his younger daughter, while also sounding very serious and solemn. ‘You did well, Kathleen. It was a lucky thing you finding that bit o’ knowledge about licences. We weren’t to know that we didn’t need it, but at the time you gave us peace of mind. It was very lucky having you around.’

  Kathleen was further put out. ‘Luck had nothing to do with it! I’ve been researching canon law and I happen to know a lot about it.’

  Reenie sniffed resentfully. ‘Well, if you know so much why don’t you find a way to help Mary and Mr Baum get married? They’re the only people who really should get married and they can’t and it’s not fair.’

  Kathleen went to take up a seat on the vestry window ledge. ‘Oh, that one’s easy. I could have them wed first thing Sunday morning if they’re not fussy about the decor.’

  Reenie sat up sharply, ‘Kathleen, what do you mean?’

  ‘It’s easy; they can have a special licence same as you – except theirs would have to be an Archbishop’s, not a Bishop’s Licence because Mr Baum hasn’t been baptised into the Church of England and doesn’t want to be – and they can jump the queues at the register office and be married Sunday.’

  ‘Are you being serious? Can they really? I mean, would the register office marry them with a licence from a church?’

  ‘No.’ Kathleen smiled a wicked grin. ‘They’d have to get married in my shop.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Well, you can’t go expecting Mr Baum to be married in a church, that’s not fair on him seeing as he’s by way of being of the Abrahamic persuasion. And you can’t get them into the register office. But an Archbishop’s Licence lets you get married in a chapel – any chapel. It’s good for hospital chapels, school chapels, even old chantry chapels what have been turned into tobacconist sweetshops. You got to have an ordained man from the Church of England to sign the register and make it legal, but you can do it easy enough. You just need someone to let you into the chapel and I don’t think you’ll find any other chapel in the town which is so entirely free of Christian symbolism. So really, it’s up to your Mary and your Mr Baum if they want to go ahead because I’m ready any time; I’ve got the keys.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us any of this before?’

  ‘Well, you didn’t ask, did you?’

  ‘Reverend Roberts, would you be willing to conduct a marriage service for a Jewish gentleman and his fiancée in a sweetshop if we can get the proper licences?’

  The eyes of the enthusiastic curate lit up at the thought of the letter to his mother and his missionary brother this would make. ‘Rather!’

  ‘Where’s Diana?’ Reenie asked, as she threw her jacket down onto the back of a chair at the basement kitchen table. It was still an oddly welcoming sort of place, despite all the sadness which surrounded the house for them now. Mrs Garner, their old landlady was gone, and Bess and Mary were grieving, but the range was always warm and the cats were always glad to see her.

  ‘She’s gone to see if they’ll let her visit her sister Gracie. She’s made a little improvement but Diana hasn’t seen her yet.’ Mary looked worse than ever as she nursed a teacup and gazed out of the skylight at the street above. Reenie wondered how much she had slept since her mother had died, or if she slept at all these days.

  Reenie rubbed the ear of the tortoiseshell cat which jumped up to greet her. ‘I wonder if Gracie and Lara have still got the cats we gave them? We gave them the two siblings to this cat, you know.’

  Mary did not have a fondness for cats. ‘I shouldn’t remind Diana of that at the moment if I were you. Cats can spread scarlet fever.’

  ‘Can they?’

  ‘That’s what the newspaper says so perhaps that’s how they caught it. It doesn’t bear thinking about, does it?’ Mary tried to look a little less despondent and asked, ‘Was it Diana you came to see?’

  Reenie bit her lip. She knew what she wanted to say, but after she had caused so much trouble already with her well-meaning bright ideas she was afraid of making everything worse for her friend. Could she really suggest something so ridiculous?

  ‘Reenie?’ Mary asked again, ‘Did you come to see Diana?’

  ‘Is Mr Baum here at all?’

  ‘No, he’s gone to see the solicitor. Reenie, what is this about?’

  Reenie took a deep breath for courage and then said, ‘Now, I don’t want to get your hopes up, and I know that this is going to sound very odd, but I’ve talked it over with Peter and with my sister and with my parents – and they all think this is going to work.’

  ‘Think what’s going to work, Reenie?’ Mary asked suspiciously.

  ‘We think we can get you a special licence to be wed, and we think we can get you wed this Sunday.’ Reenie clarified, ‘To Mr Baum, of course! There’s just one thing, though: are you fussy about where you get married, like the building?’

  Mary was clearly beyond caring. ‘We’d get married on the number seventy-eight bus if it meant an end to all the madness.’

  ‘That’s good, because this is almost as bad as the bus! I’v
e spoken to Kathleen, and I’ve spoken to a curate, and if we get onto it sharpish we can get you married in Kathleen’s shop. It’s all legal, like, because it used to be a chapel, but we don’t think we’ll be able to get the cigarette advertisements taken down because Mr Hebblewhite’s broke his ladder. What do you think? Do you want one last try? Can you face it?’

  Mary shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t even know where to start.’

  ‘That’s all right, because I know what to do. I’ve just had a special licence drawn up myself so I can help you arrange the whole thing. It might not work, but it seemed like a last chance, and well … I couldn’t do nothing, could I?’

  Chapter Sixty

  Percy Palgrave had not been offering Dolly a great deal in terms of future happiness. Granted, he offered her an escape from a situation in which she was determinedly making herself unhappy and he offered her a kind of odd validation by giving her an opportunity to tell people that there was someone who thought highly enough of her to marry her, but beyond that, what was he really offering? A union which had begun with bickering and was based on a mutual dislike of work and a hope that the other would take on the burden of working so that they did not have to. In the case of Percy, it was work of a domestic nature he objected to in the immediate term, and then he had hopes that he would become a kept man when Dolly came into her inheritance. Dolly’s plan was of a similar kind; she wanted to live the leisurely life of a colonial wife while Percy earned the money for servants who would both slave for her and give her a feeling of social superiority. Neither of them had any appreciation for the personal qualities of the other and so it was a shame that, when the inevitable happened, Dolly Dunkley could not see what a favour Mary had done her by scuppering her plans to be married.