A Dangerous Undertaking

by Mary Nichols

  ‘We should be able to skate tomorrow,’ Kate was saying. ‘Not on the river, of course—that’s too dangerous—but on the fen. There is a shallow stretch of water which is flooded every winter and is perfectly safe. Would you like that?’

  Margaret pulled herself together. ‘I would certainly like to try, though whether I can stay upright remains to be seen.’

  Kate laughed. ‘If the ice holds we’ll go tomorrow, and then we shall see.’

  The Isle of Ely was a surprisingly small place, considering the size of the cathedral, and its roads were no more than muddy lanes, made slippery by frozen snow. Set on a small hill which had been an island in the days before the fens were drained, it had the usual quota of basket-makers, candle-makers, butchers, dairies, fish-sellers, blacksmiths, carriage-makers, coopers and the like, besides more than its fair share of inns and taverns. There was, as Kate had said, a dressmaker and, because it was a place of learning, a bookshop, tucked in the ancient walls close to the cathedral.

  Once Margaret and Kate had been delivered at the door of the dressmaker’s tiny establishment, the two men went off on business of their own, promising to return in an hour. The dressmaker, a tiny little woman in a plain grey wool dress which did not fill Kate with confidence, dashed around laying out patterns and materials, talking the whole time to cover the fact that she was flustered to receive such illustrious customers. ‘If only I had known you were coming,’ she said. ‘I could have ordered more samples. Would you like me to send for some?’

  ‘No, I am afraid there is no time,’ Margaret said, deciding not to tell the woman that the gown was intended for her wedding; she was not sure if the dressmaker was capable of anything elaborate. If her mother, who was a first-class seamstress, had been alive, she would have had a wedding-dress the envy of the world. She sighed. If her mother had been alive, she would not have been in Ely choosing a wedding-gown in the first place. ‘I need something simple.’ She picked up a swatch of pale lilac taffeta. ‘This, I think.’

  ‘Margaret, it’s too plain!’ Kate exclaimed.

  ‘It can be trimmed with satin ribbon bows and lace in the neck and sleeves. I am in mourning, after all, and I don’t want anything too bright.’

  Roland returned at that point to fetch them and Kate turned to appeal to him. ‘Look at this,’ she said, holding the swatch out to him. ‘Margaret wants to wear this.’

  ‘She may have whatever she chooses,’ he said, barely glancing at the material. ‘I am sure whatever she wears will look very well.’

  There was no more argument and, having been promised that the gown would be ready in time, they joined Charles for nuncheon at the White Hart.

  Kate chatted happily to the men and no one seemed to notice that Margaret was very quiet. She was thinking of the last time she had been there. Was it only two days before? So much had happened since then and her life had been turned round in a way she could never have foreseen. Was it for the good? Or had she put her head in a snare of her own making? If she had been able to see into the future, would she have ever left London? It was a question she could not answer.

  Kate was laughing and talking about her own wedding, fixed for early spring. ‘I can hardly wait,’ she said, looking at Charles. ‘Can you?’

  He reached across and put his hand on hers. ‘No, and I see no reason why we should. Shall we bring it forward? Shall we have a double wedding?’

  ‘Could we?’ Kate’s eyes were bright. ‘What do you think, Roland? After all, I am in mourning for Papa.’

  ‘Your father approved the match,’ Charles said. ‘He would not have objected.’ He turned to Roland with a boyish grin. ‘What do you say?’

  ‘I don’t see why not.’ Roland lifted an enquiring eyebrow in Margaret’s direction. ‘Would you like that?’

  ‘I think I should like it very much,’ she said, then to Kate, ‘But are you sure? Were you not thinking of a grand occasion with a great many friends and a big banquet?’

  ‘If you can go without that, then so can we. My gown is ready and has been hanging in my closet for weeks. It is red taffeta, embroidered with pearls and scarlet ribbons.’ She jumped up excitedly. ‘Oh, let’s go back and break the news to Grandmama.’

  Five minutes later, they were once again tucked up under the sheepskins on the sled and on their way back. Kate’s obvious happiness and the fact that she was known and liked locally would ensure that the dual wedding was a joyful occasion and might divert attention from Margaret herself who, try as she might, could not bring herself to rejoice. She was being thoroughly nonsensical, she told herself; she should not be sad. Many a young girl had gone to her wedding without being in love and it had turned out well in the end. Love was not a prerequisite for a successful marriage, never had been, never would be; what was important was to respect and admire the man you were to marry and know that you would be treated with courtesy and kindness. And it was not difficult to admire him, though she certainly did not understand him. He was riding alongside now, deep in thought, as if he were struggling with some weighty mathematical problem.

  When they arrived back at the Manor, they were told that a package had arrived for Mistress Donnington, which had been put in her room.

  ‘A package?’ Margaret queried. ‘But no one knows I’m here.’

  ‘Someone evidently does,’ Kate said, hurrying upstairs, leaving Margaret to follow more sedately. She was puzzled. No one knew where she was except the people at the Manor and Great-Uncle Henry, and she could not imagine him taking the trouble to wrap anything and send it to her. She entered her chamber to find that Kate had flung off her heavy cloak and draped it across a chair and was standing by the bed gazing down at a rather large box, tied with ribbon.

  ‘Oh, do hurry and open it,’ she said. ‘Is there a message?’

  Margaret suppressed her own curiosity in order to take off her coat and boots and put them tidily away as she always did; servants or no, it was a habit she would find hard to break. Then she carefully untied the ribbon, lifted the lid of the box and pulled aside its cotton lining. ‘Oh!’ Carefully she drew out a magnificent open-skirted gown in a heavy ivory satin. The bodice was square-necked with three-quarter sleeves which ended in a froth of pleated lace. The hem and neckline and the stiffened stomacher were heavily beaded in a rose pattern. ‘Oh, it is exquisite!’

  ‘A wedding-gown,’ Kate whispered in awe, while Margaret delved into the box and drew out a piece of paper, half expecting a note from Roland saying he had decided against the gown she had chosen in Ely. It would explain his cursory glance at the material. But why had he not said anything at the time? And where could he have come by such a lavish creation? She found herself wondering if it had been meant for someone else, but she pushed the thought from her; she did not want to think about that.

  ‘What does it say?’ Kate asked eagerly.

  ‘It is from Great-Uncle Henry,’ Margaret said, stifling her disappointment that it had not come from her groom. ‘He says my mother was to have worn it at her wedding, but there was no wedding, not in Winterford at any rate. I didn’t know that; she never told me. Oh, poor Mama! He says it has been in a trunk in a box-room at Sedge House all these years. He sends it with his felicitations.’

  ‘Oh, how romantical! Try it on, do! Does it have a petticoat?’

  Margaret looked in the box. There was a white silk petticoat and a bonnet of matching slipper-satin, trimmed with ribbon. She slipped out of her clothes and put them all on. They fitted perfectly, as she had known they would. She and her mother had been very alike, both in looks and figure. She stood before the long pier-glass, swaying this way and that, admiring the richness of the fabric and noticing the brightness of her eyes and the colour the cold air had put into her cheeks. Suddenly she felt happy. How could anyone clothed in such a wedding-dress not be happy?

  ‘Oh, let’s go and find Roland and tell him,’ Kate said.

  ‘No!’ Margaret said suddenly. ‘I want it to be a surprise.’

&
nbsp; ‘Oh, what a lovely idea! I won’t say a word, I promise.’

  Margaret took the finery off and hung it carefully in the mahogany wardrobe and dressed again in her simple blue merino; then they went downstairs to find that Roland had put the idea of a double wedding to Lady Pargeter and obtained her agreement. What he would not countenance was that Henry Capitain should be invited to the ceremony.

  ‘But he is my only relative,’ Margaret said, feeling that the least she could do was to allow her great-uncle to see her in the gown. ‘Surely it cannot do any harm?’

  ‘I am surprised you can suggest it,’ he said. ‘You know what he is like.’

  ‘I know he is a little ill-groomed, but I am sure he would dress suitably for such an occasion.’

  ‘And bring his doxy with him, I don’t doubt.’

  ‘You could ask him not to.’

  ‘No,’ Roland said, so firmly that Margaret knew further argument was useless. She said no more, but made up her mind to write a little thank-you note and have it sent to Sedge House.

  She saw little of Roland in the next few days because he was busy directing the digging of a new drain and the building of a flood barrier, but he did return to accompany Charles and the girls skating.

  The huge field was two or three miles away and the girls went in the sled, while the two men rode. The narrow roads were crowded as everyone from miles around converged on the area which had been set aside for the skating. Men with brooms had been out sweeping it free of debris and already there were people on the ice, young and old, competent and novice. There were friends of Roland’s there, who came over to speak to him, asking him if he intended to enter for the championship.

  ‘I’m a little rusty,’ he said, laughing. ‘But why not?’ Then, turning to take Margaret’s hand, he asked, ‘May I present you to Mistress Donnington, who is staying at the Manor with us and is shortly to become my wife?’

  ‘Roland, you old dog!’ they cried as they bowed to Margaret. ‘Where have you been hiding her?’

  ‘Where the likes of you could not claim her first,’ he said. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I have a skating lesson to give.’

  He sat on the edge of the sled to strap his long fen pattens on over his boots, and then turned to help Margaret on with hers. ‘Now stand up,’ he said, holding out his hands. ‘Hold on to me. Tight as you like; I won’t fall over.’

  Tentatively she took a step forward and fell into his arms. He laughed and righted her, then stood facing her, holding both her forearms in his broad, strong hands. ‘I’ll go backwards and pull you along,’ he said. ‘Just concentrate on keeping upright. I know you can do it.’

  Skating backwards, he towed her out on to the ice and soon her natural sense of balance took over and she found she could push one foot forward and then the next, but when he let go of her she floundered and then found herself sitting on the ice with her feet straight out in front of her. He hurried to help her up. ‘Are you hurt?’

  She laughed. ‘Not at all, my lord.’

  ‘Come, we will skate side by side. So.’ He took her right hand in his and put his left around her waist and pushed his left foot forward. ‘Come, follow my steps. You are quite safe; I will not let you fall again.’

  She felt secure in his arms, secure enough and brave enough to glide along beside him, two people moving as one in perfect harmony, oblivious to the crowds who laughed and jostled about them, aware only of each other, their minds and bodies perfectly in tune. The cold air brought a colour to her cheeks and a sparkle to her eyes. She turned to look up at him. His brooding look had gone and he was smiling. ‘You are doing very well. Shall we attempt to turn before we run out of ice?’

  She laughed and gripped him the harder as he leaned over to make the turn to take them back the way they had come. Behind them the sharp edges of their skates left two parallel sets of lines, followed by two perfect curves. In no time at all, they were back where they started, to find Kate and Charles waiting for them. ‘Well done!’ Kate cried as Margaret slowly skated back to the sled and sat down.

  ‘I think I’ll just watch for a while,’ she said.

  Roland followed her and carefully tucked the sheepskin rug round her. ‘You mustn’t catch a chill now. Are you sure…?’

  ‘Yes,’ She smiled. ‘Go on, let me see what you are made of.’

  He laughed boyishly and set off after Kate and Charles, who were already out in the middle of the arena. Kate skated gracefully, turning pirouettes with ease, while the two men raced each other across the ice at such a frightening speed that Margaret was sure they would be unable to stop and would end up in the river which ran alongside the field.

  In the afternoon the ice was cleared for serious racing and people came from miles around to watch the champions test each other’s mettle. Roland, urged on by Kate, entered one of the heats and Margaret, on the sidelines, found herself cheering him on as he flashed past where she stood, and clapping excitedly when he won. He returned to her, sliding easily over the ice and stopping in front of her to hold out the rosette he had been given as a trophy. ‘For my lady.’

  She laughed and tucked it into her hair. ‘In medieval times the lady would have given her knight a favour before the joust.’

  ‘What favour have you to give me, my lady?’ he asked, half in fun, half serious. ‘I have yet to compete in the final.’

  She took a lace handkerchief from her pocket, one she had made herself in the days when her mother was alive and she was happy. ‘Here, my lord. Do well.’

  He took it and tucked it into the top of his shirt, then, with a long, lingering look at her, skated off to join the line-up for the final. The moment the signal was given, he went into the lead and he never lost it, though his fellow competitors went after him and closed on him at one stage. He felt rather than saw them behind him and surged forward again, his hands nearly touching the ice as he turned the bend at the end for the return run.

  ‘He’s done it!’ cried Kate as the cheers went up for a popular win, and Margaret found herself clapping and smiling as if she had had no little hand in the success.

  It was growing dark when they returned to the house for dinner with cheeks glowing and eyes sparkling. If anyone had asked her, Margaret would have told them she was very happy, but, deep inside, there was still that apprehension, the feeling that all was not as it should be. And it was all to do with Roland’s attitude towards her.

  On the ice he had been merry and boyish, with no inhibitions, holding her up as she’d taken her first tentative steps and always on hand to help her to her feet whenever she’d fallen, but as soon as they returned to the house he changed, and was once again scrupulously polite but distant. It was as if the familiarity they had shared on the ice had been expunged from his memory. She kept telling herself that he had never promised her anything more than courtesy and she had asked for nothing more. It was a business arrangement to give her a little independence in a year’s time, and the excursion on the ice had been no more than a pleasant interlude. But oh, how easy it would be to fall in love with him. And how disastrous!

  Her uneasiness was not lessened when Kate told her that the road to Huntingdon had become passable and she and Charles were going to leave immediately after the ceremony. ‘It will give you and Roland the house to yourselves,’ she said, smiling. ‘Except for Grandmama, of course, but she will no doubt keep to her rooms. It will be like a honeymoon.’

  Margaret suddenly realised why Roland had been so compliant about the double wedding; with Charles and Kate out of the way, she and her husband could have separate sleeping arrangments without arousing comment. Roland obviously intended to stick to his side of their bargain. That was good, she told herself firmly, trying to ignore the fact that his attitude was less than flattering. But flattery did not come into it; she did not want empty compliments.

  She would miss Kate, and began to wonder what life would be like in Winterford when the young couple had gone. Would she and Roland get to know ea
ch other better? Would they be good companions and pleasant company for each other? It was all she had a right to ask.

  There were no more falls of snow and the wedding-day dawned bright and sunny. Margaret rose and went to the window. It was almost impossible to tell where the land ended and the water began; everything was covered in snow, like a great white carpet. Overhead, in the blue bowl of the sky, one or two pink-edged clouds drifted, and below them a whole flock of swans came flying gracefully in, their wings sounding like distant drums. Nearer they came, hundreds of them, like sky-born ships in battle line, necks outstretched, webbed feet tucked under them. They landed, wave upon wave, four hundred yards away on the only piece of open water for miles, almost covering its surface.

  ‘That’s a lucky omen, miss,’ Penny said. She was standing just behind Margaret, holding a pile of soft towels and a block of scented soap which she had fetched from a cupboard. ‘The swans have come to your wedding.’

  Margaret laughed and turned from the window to have her breakfast, which had been brought in on a tray. ‘Do you believe in omens, Penny?’

  ‘Of course, mistress, don’t everyone?’

  ‘I do not think I do.’

  ‘You will if you stay here, mistress,’ Penny said. ‘You’d have a hard job not to.’

  Margaret smiled. She had heard that the fen people were more than usually superstitious but she did not argue with her maid; she had other things to think about.

  She was too tense to eat, but managed a slice of bread and butter and a cup of hot chocolate before Penny set about helping her to prepare herself for the most important day of her life. At least, that was what everyone said it was and she had to believe them. But oh, how she wished Roland had done more than give her a curt goodnight when she had left him the evening before. If only he would smile!

  Her toilette took hours. First she had to be bathed and anointed with sweet-smelling oils, then clothed in the finest silk underwear and stockings before sitting at the mirror to have her hair dressed. ‘It would be easier if you wore a wig,’ Penny said, brushing vigorously.