The Birthday Present

by Pamela Oldfield

  After a futile glance around him in search of further enlightenment, the driver agreed and assisted both women into the carriage and whipped up the two beautiful chestnut horses. They set off in the opposite direction, his expression grim, his stiff back an indication of his disapproval.

  Inside the church, the vicar had retired to the room which served as a registry to sit and stare blankly at the page on which the unhappy couple would not be placing their signatures. In all his days as a vicar he had never before been faced with such a disastrous turn of events and he blamed himself for not having taken control of the situation. Was there something he ought to have done? Was there a way he could have saved the day? He was plagued by the idea that he had failed in his duties. It would be all over the village by morning and he would go down in everyone’s estimation.

  He thought fleetingly of the loving attention given in the previous days by the two ladies who prepared the church – polishing the woodwork, cleaning the brass and the silver plate, and arranging small posies of flowers at the end of each pew along the centre aisle. How heartbroken the ladies would be, he thought. All that hard work for nothing. No one to appreciate their efforts – and all because of that dreadful young woman . . .

  He recalled the feelings of anger he had experienced when she stood up to challenge him in the middle of his duties as a man of the church. She must have been sitting there, waiting for the right moment to ruin everything. He could willingly have strangled her, he thought guiltily and sighed. ‘Not very Christian,’ he told himself and wished his wife were still alive. She was more down to earth and might have come up with a solution.

  Meanwhile Carlotta was standing face to face with Bernard, demanding an honest answer. ‘You don’t love her. You as good as told me so. Perhaps you would like to forget what you said that day. Well, I won’t. You said you would marry me if you could but that matters had gone too far.’

  Nora Todd glared at her daughter. ‘You didn’t tell us that! You let us go on thinking . . . all that time we were preparing for the wedding . . . oh, you wicked girl!’

  Bernard finally glanced up and said, ‘Don’t blame her – blame me! It’s all my fault.’

  Simon Todd glared at him. ‘Oh, we do blame you! Don’t fret on that score. You’ve been leading them both on and now you’ve broken that poor young woman’s heart! I hope to God you’re thoroughly ashamed of yourself!’

  Alicia da Silva suddenly stood up, her expression wild. ‘We can’t sit here raking over the coals. We have all the guests to think about! Some of them have come from miles away . . . and there’s the reception waiting at Henry’s place. We can’t just waste it!’ She looked round desperately for someone to advise her.

  All around people were discussing the predicament and some had already drifted out of the church and were standing in groups in the small churchyard.

  Marcus nodded. ‘I think we should announce that the reception at Longley Manor will go ahead and we will make explanations and apologies then.’ He glanced at the da Silvas who nodded eagerly, relieved to have had someone else make the decision.

  Marcus cleared his throat and made the announcement and then went outside to repeat it. The wedding breakfast would go ahead, but without the bride and groom.

  Half an hour later, in Wissant, Clarice, Gerard and Marie were sitting round the large kitchen table, raising their glasses to the happy couple on the other side of the water. Although he made plenty of good wine for the family’s use, Gerard had bought a bottle of champagne to celebrate Letitia’s wedding.

  Marie said, ‘I hope Bernard makes her happy. It’s a shame we couldn’t all be there but . . .’ She shrugged.

  Clarice said quickly, ‘We can’t change the way things are but I’m sure Bernard will take care of our lovely daughter.’ She smiled at her husband.

  He nodded. ‘She will look like a princess!’ he boasted. ‘One day per’aps they will visit us – or we shall be invited to visit them. We must be patient . . . But if Bernard does not make her ’appy, he will ’ave me to deal with!’

  Marie laughed. ‘We must cross our fingers then, Gerard.’ She opened her mouth to speak about the grandchildren but then closed it again. She had no delusions about the time remaining for her. She would never see Letitia’s children but maybe her sister would call one of the girls ‘Marie’, after her.

  Clarice had made a large cherry cake and she and Marie had decorated it with icing, and the initials L and B had been added in sugared violets.

  Seeing his wife glance at the back door, Gerard said, ‘No good to wait for Jean-Philippe! He’s always late. He blame it on the fish! We’ll start without him.’

  Seeing her mother reach for the knife Rose said, ‘It seems a shame to spoil it. It’s such a beautiful cake! Should we send Letitia a slice, do you think?’ Without waiting for an answer she said, ‘Do you think she likes the tablecloth?’ Marie had embroidered the wedding present with loving care and it had been sent back to England with Marcus and Rose.

  ‘Of course she will,’ Clarice told her. She put a slice of cake on a plate and handed it to her husband, then cut a second piece and then a third. They had begun to eat when a knock on the door brought Jean-Philippe into the kitchen with a cheery greeting and an apology for being late.

  Marie said, ‘Let me guess! It was the fish that delayed you!’

  He washed his hands at the sink. ‘Les poissons! They not ’urry!’

  Gerard poured him a glass of champagne and Clarice handed him a large slice of the ‘wedding cake’.

  Marie said, ‘Good health and happiness to the bride and groom!’

  ‘Exactement!’ he replied and took a large bite and then the four glasses clinked cheerfully.

  An hour later Rose sat in Letitia’s bedroom trying to cope with her friend’s moods which swung from deep grief and shock to a great anger. Still wearing her wedding dress, she had snatched the silk roses from her hair and thrown them on to the floor. When Rose tried to pick them up, Letitia screamed and stamped on them, then snatched them up and tore them to shreds. The pink petals lay everywhere, much to Rose’s dismay for she had secretly hoped to spirit them away for herself.

  Now, her hair dishevelled, the abandoned bride lay face down on the bed, sobbing hysterically while Rose patted her arm and prayed for guidance which was not forthcoming.

  ‘He isn’t worth your tears, Letitia,’ she told her. ‘If he can treat you this way . . . then he’s not worth—’

  ‘It’s not him, it’s her!’ Letitia turned over awkwardly and sat up. Her face was blotched and her eyes red rimmed. ‘It’s Carlotta. She’s the one to blame. That miserable little hussy! I’d like to scratch her eyes out!’ She glared at Rose. ‘What a spiteful, scheming creature! If Bernard marries her then I pity him – but he will deserve all he gets! Who would want a shrew for a wife? Oh Bernard, what a blind, stupid fool you are!’

  Rose was exhausted by seeing so much raw emotion but she was also aware that the reception was taking place regardless of the disruption to the wedding, and she would rather have been enjoying the celebrations, however muted they might be. But she told herself that she was needed here and, in any case, she didn’t know how to extricate herself. Letitia needed her.

  Letitia sighed deeply, momentarily drained by her passions.

  Rose asked, ‘Would you forgive him if he begged for a second chance?’

  Letitia pointed. ‘Top drawer. Clean handkerchiefs on the left. Would you fetch me one, please?’

  Rose handed two across the bed and waited for Letitia’s answer.

  ‘Seriously, Rose, I don’t think I could.’ She dabbed at her eyes. ‘Although it would put that dreadful Carlotta in her place. It would serve her right . . . but then how would I ever trust him again? Oh Lord! This is a nightmare.’ Her face crumpled again. ‘I don’t think I shall ever properly recover from it.’

  Rose tried desperately to think of something positive to say. ‘Look at it this way, Letitia. Suppose the wedding had
gone ahead and then Carlotta had interfered . . . and maybe tempted him away from you. Men can be such idiots.’ She had no idea if this were true but she hoped it sounded like the voice of experience. ‘If he is so weak that she can twist him round her little finger, maybe she has done you a favour. That might be the way to look at it.’ She regarded Letitia hopefully. ‘Maybe you are better off without him! There are probably dozens of men who would appreciate you more than Bernard does.’

  ‘Maybe . . .’ She gave another deep sigh, regarding Rose earnestly. ‘I had no idea that affairs of the heart could be so complicated. I always thought that Mother had been foolish to become involved with Gerard . . . Love is so difficult, Rose. You’ll understand that one day. Things can go wrong so easily . . . ’ She shook her head. ‘I should be Mrs Bernard da Silva by now, and look at me. Breaking my heart over a worthless man who has treated me abominably.’ She sniffed and blinked and pushed her tousled hair back from her face.

  ‘Carlotta has to take half the blame,’ Rose pointed out cautiously. ‘She should never have spoken up like that, of course, but all Bernard had to say was that he loved you. Then she would have been totally humiliated and ushered from the church and the service would have continued. He didn’t say it because he’s a weak man and you’ve discovered that just in time, Letitia.’ She waved a hand towards the window. ‘Somewhere out there is the right man for you just waiting for the two of you to meet. That’s what you have to believe.’

  Letitia dabbed at her eyes. ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘Certainly I do. If I were in your shoes I’d write to Bernard and thank him for showing himself in his true colours. And say that you see quite clearly now that you were wrong to believe in him! That would rattle him. Don’t let him think you’re broken hearted or—’

  A knock on the door interrupted her. It opened to reveal Mrs Bray with a tray. She, too, had been crying but she now forced a smile. ‘Rose, dear, you have been marvellous but I will sit with Letitia now. Marcus is downstairs waiting for you. Letitia, I’ve brought you some warm barley water and some biscuits. You have had a terrible shock but you must keep your strength up.’ She turned to Rose and forced another smile. ‘Nothing is ever as bad as it seems, is it, Rose?’

  ‘No, Mrs Bray, it isn’t. Letitia is being very strong. I really admire her.’ Rose flashed a smile at the jilted bride and, afraid that she might protest, slipped out of the bedroom and closed the door behind her with a heartfelt sigh of relief. Well done Marcus, she thought. He had ridden to the rescue.

  To Rose’s surprise, when they arrived at Longley Manor, the sumptuous ballroom was full of excited chatter, the wine was flowing and the hired staff were scurrying in and out with plates of food. She and Marcus found their seats and sat down and were at once bombarded with questions about how Letitia was coping with the betrayal. They answered as best they could.

  The man next to Rose introduced himself as an old school friend of Bernard’s and shook his head mournfully. ‘Can’t understand the fellow! Damned bad show. Not like him at all. Beautiful young woman like Letitia. What a bounder! What a way to treat the poor woman. Mind you, the other one was a bit of a looker, too! Two women! The sly dog! Would never have thought it of him.’

  Curious, Rose asked, ‘What was Bernard like at school?’

  ‘At school? Good Lord. Now you’re asking.’ He paused to accept a serving of game pie and waited for the potato salad to reach him. Satisfied, he returned to the question. ‘He was a year younger than me so in another dorm but we were both in the cricket team and he was a useful bat, as I recall. Steady but not exciting, if you know what I mean.’

  His wife said, ‘Oh darling, please don’t start on about your beastly cricket!’ She rolled her eyes at Rose.

  Undaunted he went on. ‘Not much good at fielding. We used to call him “Butter Fingers”!’

  Rose suppressed a sigh of exasperation. ‘I meant, as a person.’

  ‘A person?’ He looked puzzled. ‘Personable, I’d say. On the skinny side. A bit precocious, though. Teacher’s pet. That sort of thing, but we soon knocked that out of him!’ He laughed. ‘Scared of the opposite sex but then we all were then!’

  His wife, a little tipsy, said, ‘You still are, darling,’ and smiled at Rose. ‘The British boarding schools have a lot to answer for in my opinion.’ She leaned across the table. ‘That poor young woman. Letitia, I mean, of course. She’ll never recover from this disaster. Never. Such a setback leaves a permanent scar.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘A friend of my sister was jilted at the altar. Years ago but I remember it as if it were yesterday. The fellow simply failed to arrive at the church. At least Bernard was there, ready to make his vows . . . I mean he did actually turn up but then this ghastly young woman ruined everything for them!’

  With a mouthful of salmon pâté, Rose could only nod. Most of the other diners had finished the first course and were being offered game pie and salads, and she realized that she was very hungry.

  The man next but one to Marcus was suggesting that someone should horsewhip Bernard ‘to stiffen his spine’ and another was suggesting that Letitia should find a suitable nunnery and spend a few months there in peace and contemplation.

  The wife of Bernard’s ex-school friend said, ‘We’ve travelled all the way from Dorset for this wedding! And we gave them a set of silver cutlery. I suppose they will have to return all the gifts.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘What a dreadful bore for them.’

  At the far end of the table the vicar sat hunched in his chair, looking pink with embarrassment. He was trying to eat but was obviously suffering a severe loss of dignity. He met no one’s eyes and it was painfully clear that he felt partly responsible for the collapse of the wedding service. Rose felt sorry for him. He would probably wonder for months to come what, if anything, he could have done to avert the catastrophe. She made up her mind to have a few heartening words with him later if she was given the chance. She could not see that he was in any way to blame but she imagined he, too, would take some time to recover from the ordeal.

  Rose finished her pâté just as her serving of game pie arrived. For the first time she spared a thought for the humiliated da Silvas and their errant son. What was happening there, she wondered. And what of Carlotta? Were her family going to stand by her or would they send her away to a distant aunt in disgrace? Or would she and Bernard marry and quietly disappear from the local landscape?

  Marcus, who had been very quiet, leaned closer to her and said, ‘I don’t know what this will do to Mother when she hears. Or Gerard.’

  Shocked, Rose stared at him. ‘Oh Marcus! How shall we tell her? They’ll be terribly upset. And Marie, too!’

  The ramifications of the day’s events appeared endless.

  The following morning was Sunday but the idea of the usual attendance at church was not even mooted as the family tried to come to terms with the recent events. While Rose sat with Letitia, who was still in bed, and Steven remained in his room pondering his brother’s offer, Marcus was in the study drafting a very difficult letter.

  July 6th, 1890

  Dear Mother and Gerard, There is no easy way to tell you that yesterday’s wedding did not take place. I hate to be the one who breaks the bad news . . .

  He changed ‘bad’ to ‘sad’ and continued

  I know how keenly you will feel this unhappy ending to Letitia’s betrothal to Bernard. I daresay that Bernard is not entirely to blame but must bear most of the responsibility for what happened . . .

  ‘Oh Lord! This is going to be impossible!’ he cried, laying down the pen. Carlotta was certainly the trigger but if Bernard had been emphatic in his love for Letitia . . . and if Letitia had stayed and faced her down . . . and supported Bernard . . .

  He sighed. Could the marriage have gone ahead? Should it have continued in the light of Carlotta’s revelations . . . if they truly were revelations and not the spiteful lies of a rejected sweetheart?

  The bald facts are that when the vi
car asked if anyone knew ‘just cause or impediment’ Carlotta Todd stood up and shouted that Bernard loved her and not Letitia. You can imagine the confusion which followed until Letitia ran from the church in distress. Rose went after her and they were driven home . . .

  For Bernard it must have been a nightmare, thought Marcus with a glimmer of sympathy, but he should immediately have declared his love for Letitia and he did not do so. Sighing, he reread what he had written. He imagined them reading it and the grief it would cause but it had to be sent. They deserved to know the truth, however distasteful.

  At this moment we have heard nothing from the da Silvas and have made no attempt to contact them. The truth is, we simply don’t know what to do next although we have sent for the doctor as poor Letitia is in a state of deep shock, which you will understand. We are taking good care of her and expect the doctor within the hour. He will most likely give her a sleeping draught and something to calm her nerves.

  He paused to read it through and sharpen the pencil. It sounded rather stark, he thought, but there was really no way to sugar this particular pill. However gentle the language the facts were severe and nothing would lessen the shock for them.

  So please try not to worry but trust that we will do everything to help her through this terrible time. My own feeling is that if Bernard cannot defend her at their wedding then maybe he is not good enough for her and that in time she will meet and marry a man who is worthy of her. Your devoted son, Marcus.

  It was far from perfect, he decided, but he wanted to be free, when the doctor arrived, to consult about Letitia. To add to his worries, Mrs Bray had been taken ill with a bout of stomach trouble which she blamed on ‘all the upset’. Miss Evans was holding the fort until the housekeeper returned but although she tried her best, they missed Mrs Bray’s motherly ministrations.

  Reaching for the best notepaper Marcus dipped a pen into the ink and began a decent copy of the letter.

  He was halfway through it when the front door bell rang and he heard Miss Evans answer it. He did not hear the door close and waited, frowning, pen in hand. As expected Miss Evans came upstairs and knocked on the study door.