by Anna Jacobs
‘Thank you, Mary.’
Sarah washed herself, dressed as far as her stays, chemise and petticoats, and pulled a house gown over them till it should be time to finish dressing and leave for the church. The wedding was set for ten in the morning and it was only seven o’clock by the time she had finished. How would she manage to fill the hours till it was time to leave?
There being no sound from Mr Jamieson’s bedroom, she wandered down to the kitchen. Mary squeaked and rushed to close the back door. ‘’Tis bad luck to sight your man afore the weddin’!’ she warned. ‘And Will Pursley is still around.’
‘Bad luck!’ scoffed Hannah. ‘That’s a pagan idea, Mary, and you should beg the Lord’s forgiveness for ever uttering it!’
‘‘Tis, too, bad luck!’ muttered Mary under her breath, but she didn’t pursue the matter, for Hannah had a very sharp way with her at times. Furtively, Mary made a sign to ward away evil and went back to her work.
‘I don’t feel very hungry,’ Sarah protested, as a platter of food was placed in front of her.
Hannah spoke firmly. ‘You need to break your fast, mistress, or you’ll be feeling faint before the morning’s over. Come now, try a bit of this nice crusty bread with some honey on it. You can’t beat honey for settling the nerves,’ she threw challengingly at Mary, in case the other woman got the idea that she, Hannah, subscribed to the silly customs that folk with no more sense followed on their wedding day, such as eating honey for fertility.
Sarah dutifully nibbled at the bread, but it might have been baked from sawdust for all she could taste. Several chunks of it were gobbled down by Bella and Betty under the table when Hannah’s back was turned, and Mary so far forgot her place as to wink at her mistress to show that she could keep that little secret.
Politely, but just as firmly, Hannah refused her mistress’s offer of help in the kitchen, and suggested that Mistress Sarah go and sit in the little parlour to rest until it should be time to get ready. With dragging feet, Sarah went to fidget over a piece of sewing, setting in stitches so crooked that she had to pull them out again when next she took up her work.
At half past eight, Mr Jamieson joined her in the parlour and consumed a hearty breakfast of roast beef, bread and hard-boiled eggs on the little table by the window. The sight of the food made Sarah shudder, but she managed to make tolerably sensible replies to his attempts at conversation - at least, she thought she had done, though he looked at her strangely once or twice.
At nine o’clock, she thankfully escaped up to her bedroom to finish making her toilette. Hannah came up soon afterwards to bring her a posy of choice blooms that Daniel had picked for her from his garden, and to see if she needed any help. She didn’t, but was glad of Hannah’s company, because foolish fantasies, like Will changing his mind at the last minute, seemed to fly away in the face of her maid’s sturdy common sense.
The lilac silk dress looked quite elegant, Sarah thought, twisting and turning in front of the mirror. How lucky she’d been to find ribbons in one of her grandmother’s trunks, so that she could make herself a neck band. Round the edges of her bodice was heavy lace, also her grandmother’s, brought up carefully and lovingly by Mary, who was good at laundry work. It edged her sleeves, too, and she shook one arm to watch if fall delicately around into place. Her full skirts were spread wide over well-starched petticoats, for lack of a hoop.
But oh, her hair was as fine and flyaway as ever, and wisps of it would drift down from under the fine lawn of the small new headdress she’d made for herself, fashioned rather like Lady Tarnly’s, using more of the lilac ribbon to trim it.
Soon after that, the boy’s halloo as he drove up to the house in the freshly washed and polished trap from The Golden Fleece brought Sarah away from the mirror and made her hurry down the stairs, panicking now lest they be late at the church and keep everyone waiting.
The sun was hot on her face. The sides of the lane were a-flutter with flowers and even the corn in the great village field seemed to be bowing her along her way. In the back of the trap, Mary’s broad face beamed at the world around her, its shiny pink colour a testimonial to the thorough scrubbing she had felt the occasion to warrant. She was wearing a new dress cut down for her by Sarah from things found in the cupboard and she smoothed its brown linen folds over her knees once or twice with rough red fingers, proud to look so fine. She wished Petey could have come too, but going into the village would have upset him and he would be better off with Daniel.
Beside her Hetty jigged up and down with excitement and even Hannah wore a pleased expression on her gaunt face, for she felt that the Lord’s will was being done and that His plan showed a tender, fatherly care for His daughter, Sarah, who, in Hannah’s stern estimation, fully deserved this chance of happiness. For once, Hannah was happy to visit the Established Church.
Everything was peaceful on the village green, though more people than usual had found business there in order to catch a glimpse of the bridal party. Hugh and Izzy had been observed earlier lingering in the vicinity of the church, preventing anyone from going inside. They had been cracking coarse jokes and looking as if they intended to create a disturbance.
When Will arrived, they slipped behind some gravestones, but when Lord Tarnly’s carriage drew up, they left, knowing their master would not wish to offend his lordship, much as Mr Sewell had wanted the wedding disrupted.
After they had gone, a few of the village women crept into the back of the church to watch the ceremony.
As Sarah limped down the aisle, one or two of them turned to smile and nod at her, which heartened her greatly. Part way down the church sat the Parson’s housekeeper, Mistress Jenks, rigidly upright, and Prue Poulter beside her, smiling fondly. At the front, in the Bedham pew, sat Lord and Lady Tarnly and a very nervous Jessie Pursley, who had begged in vain not to be forced to hob-nob with these august personages.
In front of the altar stood Will, and as soon as he saw her, his stern expression lightened. He was dressed in his dark Sunday best, for lack of any more festive garments, but wore the new shirt of fine linen which she had sewn for him. Beside him stood Mr Rogers, who smiled encouragingly down the aisle at her.
What was she hesitating for? This was what she wanted more than anything. Taking a deep breath, she began to move slowly forward on the lawyer’s arm, walking with as even a gait as she could manage.
‘You’re sure of this?’ Mr Jamieson whispered to her as they started to move, for he could feel her fingers trembling.
‘Oh, yes, I’m very sure! I’m just a little nervous. I don’t like to be the centre of attention.’
‘You look very fine today, my dear.’ She had surprised him, for her hair was gleaming like best honey in the sunlight, and her skin flushed slightly, in a way that made her look younger, somehow. And that lace framed her neck and face very prettily. He had always liked lace against a woman’s soft skin.
As they reached the front of the church, Will turned to stand facing Sarah and they gave each other shy half-smiles.
She began to feel a little better then. How handsome he looked! To think that such a man was marrying her! How happy her mother would have been for her.
Her nervousness made Will feel protective towards her, for the hand he was clasping was quivering! He realised suddenly that she was more important than the land, much more important. A woman like her would be friend, helpmeet and lover - all that a man needed. This one would not desert him if times turned bad. He squeezed her hand gently as he spoke his first words of response and smiled at her again as he finished them.
She too spoke firmly and with confidence the words which would bind them together for life, and when the ceremony was over and she heard Mr Rogers pronounce them man and wife, her heart swelled with joy.
Will whispered his personal promise. ‘I shall look after you, Sarah, for all the days of my life.’
‘And I you, Will.’
Again they gazed at one another, neither attempting to move,
then the people at the back of the church cheered, reminding them that they were not yet alone. Lord and Lady Tarnly were smiling at them benignly, Mistress Pursley was wiping away a tear, but was also smiling, and Mr Jamieson was blowing his nose vigorously to hide his emotion.
Afterwards they were all invited to dine at the parsonage, where Mistress Jenks had surpassed herself and prepared a meal that would not have shamed royalty.
Lord and Lady Tarnly were very gracious. (‘We are become quite democratic and hobnob with farmers and all classes of person in their own homes,’ Lady Tarnly later wrote to one of her daughters.)
My lord, a noted trencherman, didn’t worry about who was there, he was too busy doing full justice to everything that was set before him.
Mistress Pursley sat mumchance, completely overawed by this exalted company, but enjoying the sight of her Will, looking so handsome and mixing with the gentry as if he’d been born to it. If only his father had lived to see this day! How proud her Fred would have been!
After the meal Mr Rogers made a little speech, rather rambling, for even two glasses of wine had gone to his head, and Lord Henry made another one, very jovial, for he had drunk several glasses of claret, was well-fed and felt benevolent towards the newly-wed couple. He wound up by proposing a toast to their health and wishing them a long life together, many good romps in their marital bed, and a large family to prove it. He guffawed heartily as he said this, ignoring his wife’s frowns.
(‘Your father made his usual wedding jokes, to the embarrassment of all concerned,’ wrote Lady Tarnly, embellishing the statement with a blot. ‘The poor bride blushed scarlet, but the groom took them in good part.’)
It seemed strange to Jessie Pursley to hear her Will addressed as Mr Bedham, when he had been christened Will Pursley in the very same church where he had just got wed, but she supposed she must try to get used to that, too. And she must get Daphne Jenks to give her the recipe for those tartlets - honey and almonds, she’d guess - very light and toothsome! She had noticed that Lord Tarnly, nobleman or not, had gobbled down a full half dozen of them like a greedy little boy. It made her feel more at ease to see such a human weakness in one of his rank.
Eventually, the festivities started flagging and Will began to talk about getting home.
‘I would enjoy a stroll after such a good meal,’ Mr Jamieson declared. ‘Mistress Pursley, may I invite you to accompany me back to the Manor on foot? It would be delightful to take the air, would it not?
That would leave the newly-wed couple some time to themselves, he thought complacently, as he watched them make preparations to leave.
‘I hope they’re happy together,’ he said when they had driven away.
Mr Rogers smiled after them. ‘I’m sure they will be.’
Which sentiments were echoed by everyone present.
* * * *
After some discussion over a pot of cider in The Golden Fleece, Hugh and Izzy made their way towards the Manor, to see what mischief they could wreak there, but before they had even reached the gates, Ted Haplin materialised from behind some bushes, his gun cocked. One of his sons stood behind him, similarly prepared for trouble.
‘Lost your way, hev you?’ Ted inquired sweetly.
‘Just takin’ a walk,’ snapped Eb. ‘It’s a public lane, ain’t it?’
‘No, ’tain’t! This be Bedham land, so you can just take your walks somewhere else in future. You’re not welcome here, an’ a watch’ll be kep’ over things from now on. Fond of Mistress Sarah, we are. Fond of a bit of peace, too.’
His dog, who stood nearly waist high, growled behind him. ‘Thass right, Nan, lass, you tell ’em!’ He grinned evilly. ‘Nice strong teeth, she has, my Nan. Keeps ’em sharp, a-chewin’ on bones. Crunches them bones up like they was made of piecrust, she does.’
The two men retreated.
* * * *
When Matthew Sewell heard that Lord and Lady Tarnly had attended the cowman’s wedding, when they would scarce give him the time of day, he was furious. And at the thought that they had even stayed for the wedding feast at the parsonage, he grew so angry that Mistress Sewell took to her bed again with the megrims and remained there for a whole week.
The servants at Marsh Bottom had a very hard time of it, with cuffs and blows scattered around on the slightest pretext, and even Sewell’s two henchmen not immune to his anger.
‘What if that woman produces an heir?’ he said to his son. ‘It is not to be borne. I will not allow it to happen!’ His fists clenched at the mere thought.
‘Do we really need their land?’ Edward asked. ‘After all, our estate is bigger than theirs, now.’
‘I not only need their land, I want them out of the village. I’ll have no other family trying to lord it over me. Some of those clods still consider Bedhams to be members of the squirearchy, and will not grant me my rightful title until I remove them, lock, stock and barrel.’
‘But - you can’t do that. It’d mean . . . ’ His voice faded away.
‘I can do what I please, you poltroon! Might is right and always will be.’
‘But - ’
His father’s face grew even redder. ‘Hold your tongue, you blithering fool! How are we ever to be accepted in the county if we do not have land - and more land than others? I’m doing this for you, but I don’t know why I bother. Fine heir I’ve got myself. Too dull-witted to understand anything, you are. Get out of my sight, damn you! And somebody bring me the rum.’
Edward was pleased to leave him, going to sulk in his room and finger the fine clothes he’d rather be wearing in a town. He’d never wanted to live in the country and longed for city life. He wanted fine clothes and witty company, not talk of cows and crops. But when had his father ever asked any of them what they wanted? His father only told them what to do. And was even now planning his sister’s marriage to an elderly but rich widower whom she detested.
But one day, even his father would die and then Edward would sell this place. That thought was his greatest comfort.
Several days later, Hugh came up with an idea that raised his master’s spirits greatly, an idea which horrified Edward and set his mother weeping with fear.
Chapter 12
I think it all went very well, don’t you?’ Sarah asked Will as they drove out of the village.
‘Aye, I suppose so. But it’s a lot of fuss over nothing, I reckon.’
She felt hurt and couldn’t hide it. ‘Would you call our wedding nothing?’ she asked in a small, tight voice.
He noticed how upset she was and berated himself for speaking so clumsily. He let the horse slow down - something Lally was not loathe to do - as he answered. ‘I call the fuss and show nothing, not the promises we made, Sarah. It’s what we do with our lives together that counts now, how we keep our bargain and spend our days together.’
‘Well, I enjoyed the fuss, myself,’ she muttered. ‘Once the ceremony was over, that is. That was an ordeal to me, everyone staring at me!’
‘Aye. I could feel your hand trembling.’ He captured the hand and raised it to his lips.
She found it hard to breathe and it was a good thing Lally now knew her own way home, because Will had completely forgotten to watch the road and was contemplating the strong firm hand of his wife instead. ‘I like your hands. They’re capable, those are. I look forward to seeing them holding my son one day.’
Warmth spread through her. ‘Oh, Will, so do I!’
As they approached the Manor, Ted Haplin stepped forward to greet them and open the gates.
‘Any problems while we were away?’ Will asked.
‘Nothing we couldn’t handle.’
Sarah looked from one to the other in dismay. ‘Why should there be trouble?’ When he didn’t answer, she said in a firm voice, ‘I wish to know, Will. You are not to hide these things from me.’
‘Oh, we were just taking precautions,’ he told her. ‘In case certain gentlemen found the thought of an unattended house tempting.’
He cleared his throat. ‘They got as far as these gates, then they saw us.’
All colour left her cheeks and her expression was so stricken that both men exchanged unhappy glances.
It was Ted who saved the day. ‘Got something for you, Mistress.’ He went behind some bushes and came out with a little plant wrapped in sacking. ‘My Poll sent you this, for a wedding day present. It has yellow flowers in early spring and she thought if you planted it in your gardens it might remind you of today.’
Sarah’s smile returned. ‘How kind of her! Please thank her for us.’
Will clicked to the horse and it began to move on.
Ted watched them go, his expression losing its geniality as soon as they were out of sight. ‘There’s trouble ahead for those two,’ he told his son. ‘I can feel it in my bones. If you see any of Sewell’s men sneaking around, you’re to tell me at once, you hear?’
‘Yes, Da.’
‘Or any strangers - any at all!’
‘Yes, Da.’
When they got to the Manor, the bridal couple unloaded their presents. ‘I never thought to receive anything today,’ Sarah said, picking up the clock, which Lord and Lady Tarnly had given them and which she had carried carefully on her knee, not trusting it to the back of the trap.
In the parlour, she unpacked the other presents from Mrs Jenks’ a fine new shopping basket containing several jars of her best preserves. There was a silver tray from Mr Jamieson, who had gone into Sawbury by himself one day to buy it and had cunningly left it at Mr Rogers’ house on the way back, so that it should remain a secret until the wedding day. Parson had given them a pair of very pretty silver candlesticks which had once belonged to his mother.
‘Presents are well enough,’ said Will, ‘And ’tis a kindly thought to give us something, but I shan’t need a clock to tell me it’s time to rise in the morning or to milk the cows, or when I’m hungry for my dinner. And,’ he drew Sarah close, ‘I shan’t need a clock to tell me when to kiss my wife.’
