“That is very good of you, my Lord, thank you. My man has informed me that I must visit my tailor in the afternoon and I must see my man of business after that – an early appointment will be very convenient.”
“I remember the days before my own wedding, Sir Thomas – there was a conspiracy to keep me busy, rushed off my feet, so that I had no time to fret!”
“A pity that today is Sunday, sir.”
Mr Walker came within the minute of his time, showed himself to be a man of Tom’s age and equally business-like and efficient in his ways. He was an athletic-seeming person, fit and quick in his movements, nearly as tall as Tom but slightly built, intelligent and making some play of piercing blue eyes and high forehead and an academic manner.
“Sir Thomas? A pleasure, sir!”
“Thank you for coming to my rescue, Mr Walker – I found myself quite at a stand when my man very politely pointed out to me that I had made no provision for a groomsman!”
“Where would we be without our valets, Sir Thomas? Now, sir, you have the ring? Should I perhaps take custody of it now?”
Tom obediently produced the little box and listened as Walker briefly explained all that he must do, and when, and then told him not to worry because he had all in hand.
“I shall collect you at eleven o’clock precisely, tomorrow, Sir Thomas. Good morning, sir!”
Brown kept him busy till the dinner hour and then bullied him into eating, the hotel staff collaborating in sympathetic attention to his every wish, the manager himself making a rare appearance at his table and wishing him well.
“May I say, Sir Thomas, that all is prepared for tomorrow?”
“Excellent, thank you for your concern. The account, of course, will go to my Mr Michael.”
The manager, who had tentatively assumed that such might be the case – he as well knew of the financial state of the Grafhams – smiled complicitously and mentally made a number of modifications to the bill of fare and the wine-list for the morrow, the total increasing by at least a guinea a head now that he was certain it would be paid.
He stood in the church beside Walker, chatting very quietly as the pews filled and he realised that ‘semi-private’ might mean different things to different people.
“I did not realise I had so many relatives and acquaintances, Mr Walker – the pews on my side are filling very rapidly.”
“I recruited a pair of friends of mine, Sir Thomas, to act as ushers and bade them ensure there was no embarrassment – relatives of the Grafhams, of whom there seem to be rather a large number, occupy almost the whole of the bride’s side. The Grafhams have married into many of the leading families of the country in the last four generations and there are first and second cousins by the score in Town for the Season – most of them agog to meet you. The rest of the ‘guests’, the bulk of them self-invited, are being directed left and right impartially to fill up the spaces.”
“I had not realised I would be such a draw – a circus freak, perhaps? More likely they are all coming in respect to Lady Verity and the Marquis.”
Walker smiled, shook his head.
“’Andrews of St Helens’ – which I presume will be your eventual style, Sir Thomas – is a well-known name in select circles. The City was aware of you within the week of Martin’s Bank being rescued, and the City, despite fashionable prejudices, is very close to the government of the day, so you were known to public men within the month. For you to fortuitously wed into the Upper Ten Thousand is a bonus indeed – for there would have been some thought given over the next few years to bringing you into the ruling set. Few of the truly wealthy are left as outsiders, Sir Thomas, for they have power and it is better that power should be part of us than outside our circle.”
It made sense when Tom thought about it; he wondered if they had done the same in France, or whether their Revolution had been in part a creation of the wealthy few who had never been allowed into the ruling elite. Walker, surprised at the idea, more so at its provenance, gave the question some thought then nodded.
“I do not know, Sir Thomas – but it makes more sense than a successful uprising led by the unwashed and uneducated. I wonder… there are men, statesmen and some at the Universities, who will wish to consider this at some length – if they agree then you may expect to hear your words floated as theirs over the next few months - plagiarism is the soul of scholarship, after all!”
The organ began to peal in triumph, warning all that the business of the day was about to commence.
“Old Bach, Sir Thomas, father to London Bach, and remarkable for his organ pieces. I do not know if he is familiar to you?”
“Not at all, sir – but then, very little music is, I fear.”
The bride appeared on her father’s arm, correctly veiled and all in white, her sister and two other identically clad bridesmaids walking demurely behind – Tom wondered how they had achieved that in one week, the dress-maker must have been busy! He noticed that Verity’s sister was parading in front of the other two bridesmaids, her beauty on display and much appreciated judging by the murmurs.
They stood together, listened to a reedy-voiced cleric perform, becoming aware that they were no more than stage props as far as he was concerned – there was a bishopric in the offing, not yet sealed and delivered, and he was determined to be noticed by the men of influence sat in his audience. Tom was inclined to be indignant, Verity was philosophical – the Church of England never changed – it was a tool of government and its senior clerics were therefore political figures and indulged in political manoeuvres – if they saw a back, they stabbed it, if it was an arse, they kissed it.
Out of the church to showers of rice; several hundreds of pigeons sat at a distance, waiting their turn, alerted by the organ.
The Clarendon was ready, prepared for the onslaught, waiters with charged trays stood in a phalanx to meet the massive thirsts that would descend upon them.
Tom was introduced to at least one hundred of the great and good, smiling his best and wondering whether any of the wives would actually wet themselves in sheer terror as the scar creased at them; he said as much to Verity, and then had to cover for her giggles as she involuntarily looked for tell-tale crossed legs.
Viscount Rothwell was shepherded to him by his father at a very early stage in the proceedings – presumably whilst he was still compos mentis – and made very brief conversation, probably through lack of the intellectual powers to do more. It seemed that Verity had a monopoly of brain in the Grafham offspring.
“Glad to meet you, Sir Thomas – never expected old Verry to catch a man, especially one of your sort, sir. Got more going for her than I realised!”
His breath was sour and he seemed rather spotty on the neck – an unhealthy aura; he was sober still but almost stumbled as he turned away, as if his physical coordination was no longer entire, the system out of kilter.
“Does your brother hunt, Verity?”
“He is very enthusiastic, Thomas, will stay with friends of his in Leicestershire for a month at least and be out with the best packs. He had quite a severe fall last year.”
“He will have another this, I suspect, my dear – it may have affected his balance.”
“I would tell him, but it would make no difference, for he will not listen to any advice that goes counter to his wishes. He never has.”
“A pity.”
Lord Jack Masters, the youngest of the family, was brought forward late in the afternoon, after the magnificent wedding breakfast, served in the new fashion of courses rather than as removes. He was a handsome boy, fair like his sisters and tall, and from the sulk on his face had been forced to make his greeting; he shook hands silently, spoke briefly to his sister, not at all to Tom.
“Ungrateful brat!”
“A problem, my dear?”
“An ignorant schoolboy, with all of a schoolboy’s stupid little prejudices, Thomas – he knows nothing of the world and parrots the cant of his elders, schoolmasters who k
now no more than he. He arrived from Harrow last night and dared tell me that he disapproved of my marriage – that it had shamed him in front of ‘the chaps’, his sister involved with a grubby manufacturer, crawled out of some gutter to contaminate his betters.”
“I presume he will not accept his commission from my purse, my dear?”
“Not at all – the damage is done, our standing is fatally compromised whatever he may choose to do, so he had as well take what slight advantage he may from the unsought situation he is in.”
“Ah, the great advantage of an education from the best of our schools! How fortunate that he will sail on the next convoy, will, in fact, be gone before we return from the North Country – it will save me from the temptation of kicking him.”
“He may grow up in the intervening years in India, of course, Thomas.”
“All things are possible, Verity, though some are more likely than others. What is the plan for the rest of the afternoon, my dear?”
“I shall retire to change in a few minutes and we shall then take the chaise north to Barnet where we shall stay overnight, following the Great North Road tomorrow and then cutting across to Northampton and then cross-country to Birmingham and St Helens on successive days. You and Mr Walker should circulate for the while, Thomas, and try to speak to everybody you have not yet met, joining me at the door.”
Viscount Ebchester, who Tom had previously met while buying guns at Manton’s Shooting Gallery, caught his eye as Verity and her train disappeared upstairs, offered his congratulations and introduced his companions.
“I have told these gentlemen of your shooting, Sir Thomas, but I am not sure they believed me! We must meet at Manton’s some day, sir, to show them – for I can understand them not being convinced, sir – had I not seen it, I would have been more than a little dubious myself. Why, by the way, do you choose to use such heavy pistols? Would not a smaller bore be even more accurate?”
“Habit, my Lord – I became used to Sea-Service hand guns, and I was never a small man and in the nature of things was strongly muscled when I was at sea, so I did not notice the kick of the big pistol. My hands are rather large as well, so making the grip easier for me. Do you know, my Lord, I have never shot a duelling pistol – I do not know whether I would have any skill at all with one.”
A few minutes of conversation and Tom excused himself to continue his round. As he moved away he heard an incautiously loud voice saying that he might be a manufacturer but he talked like a sensible gentleman, no subterfuge, no nonsense – perhaps they ought to quietly canvass the possibility of putting him up for membership of the club.
His hand was aching after ten minutes of introductions and good wishes, his face sore from the smile, but he believed he had missed no one in the big room; Walker rescued him and led him to his proper place so that he might hand Verity into the chaise and then join her, chatting quietly the while.
“Thank you for all you have done today, Mr Walker! I understand you are to be member for my seat? You are very welcome, sir and I am sure the Commons will benefit from your obvious ability. You will wish to become acquainted with the area – please come to visit us before the election. You are not wed, I gather, but your wife will be equally welcome when you are.”
It was necessary, and he liked the man in any case; at some stage he would have to raise the question of ‘expenses’ with him, for members were not salaried and he was unsure of the nature of Walker’s private income.
“Sunshine, my dear – a pleasant change. I have eaten too much and have had to pour drink away – there was some sort of flowering shrubs in pots at the back of the room that will never be the same again! I liked Walker, what did you think of him?”
“He will make a very safe politician, I believe, Thomas – he has many ideas and none of them original!”
“Rather like me at the moment, my love!”
“I rather suspect you are being vulgar, Thomas!”
“Not at all, Verity – merely crude!”
“And is there a difference, sir?”
He shook his head, grinning. “No.”
He possessed himself of her hand, instructed her to close her eyes, placed the box from Rundell and Bridge in it.
“I wanted to give you this personally, not as a show before the crowd.”
She looked down at the packet, up at him, eyes wide open, vulnerable.
“Thank you, Thomas, before I see it, thank you for that thought!”
She carefully tucked the tissue paper to either side, stared at the diamonds nestled on their bed of velvet, exactly matching her ring in colour and cut.
“They are beautiful, Thomas! I did not dream of ever wearing stones such as these. For the first time, I regret missing the rest of the Season – I would dearly love to be seen in these!”
“I hoped they would be what you wanted – I had to guess. Over the years we shall choose together, coloured stones as well, but I felt I could not go far astray with diamonds.”
She agreed with him.
Brown and Nurse had reached the White Hart posting inn well before them, had confirmed the best rooms booked by letter and had made very clear to mine host the importance of his guests; the Grafhams were known of old, could be relied upon to stop on their way to and from London for their change of horses and often a meal, even if not open-handed when it came to a tip. Now, came the portentous statement, Lady Verity had married Sir Thomas Andrews, Bart, the millionaire ironmaster from St Helens, the man whose small change had saved his local bank from breaking, and one who expected the best – and paid for it. The landlord thought she had done very well for herself and wondered how best he could share in her good fortune. The rooms suddenly found themselves with a vase of spring flowers in each, bluebells and daffodils artfully arranged, and a lavender bag in each pillow; the cellar was ransacked for the best bottle in the house; a dish of white peaches preserved in brandy with a pot of double cream was added to the cold collation; the groom was ordered on pain of death to have the four best horses the stables possessed ready for the morning, shoes and tack double-checked.
The chaise drew up and the happy couple were ushered into the house, the landlord bent double in his bow, his wife and the maids curtseying to the floor.
“Welcome, Sir Thomas, Lady Verity! And may I make so bold as to wish you happy, sir, ma’am?”
Brown and Nurse took over and ushered their charges to their dressing-rooms to change them into appropriate and casual evening wear, Nurse taking the opportunity to whisper a few private words into Verity’s ear.
They ate lightly, both having made a respectable meal earlier and neither particularly liking the taste of brandy, took a glass of wine apiece.
“A long, long day, my dear, but one of the best days of my life, I believe, one that we can look back on with great delight. There is but the one bed-chamber, Verity, and we must share it willy-nilly, but if you are fatigued, would prefer only to sleep tonight, be sure that I will not force myself upon you. I want to make love to you, most certainly, have no doubt about that, but only when you are quite ready, my dear – I am not your master, you are no slave.”
“I am your wife, Thomas, and will be so in every way. I am not too tired, and neither am I afraid, not of you, but I am aware that there is much I do not know – I intend to be a willing pupil, sir!”
“Then let us retire to our dressing-rooms, ma’am!”
Half an hour later he found her sat up in bed, prim in her nightdress, a candle lit in her chamber stick.
“Nurse said I should have a light, Thomas – better far to see what was happening, she said!”
“She is a wise woman, Verity. Brown insisted that I wear a nightshirt, acting on the opposite principle, I believe.”
He tugged the encumbering folds over his head as he spoke, stood naked in front of her.
“You have hair all over your body, Thomas, and another great scar on your chest – you did not tell me of that, a sword cut, sir?”
&n
bsp; She was inclined to be indignant that her husband should have been in the habit of risking his life – that must certainly stop.
“A French captain, a far better swordsman than I would ever have been. Fortunately for me he had been brought up to believe in the duello and expected a gentlemanly combat in the middle of the rough and tumble of a boarding.” He sat on the edge of the bed as he spoke. “I am afraid I disabused him of his illusions.”
“I assume you did not take him prisoner, Thomas?”
“No, but we did give him a polite burial.”
Despite herself she laughed, continuing to survey him as he sat beside her.
“Rather like Samson – as I suspected.”
“Well, yes, but not identical, I assure you. Is that bow at your neck purely for ornament, or may I untie it, my love?”
He answered the question for himself and then helped her wriggle out of the cloth, throwing back the sheet and blankets the while.
“As I suspected, in my turn, you have a beautiful body, Verry, and lovely legs – such a pity that women’s clothes cover the whole of their limbs – legs like yours should be seen, my dear.”
He kissed her, slowly and gently, holding her to him; it occurred to him that this was the first time in his life that he had made love – he was surprised at just how vast the difference was, how much less the urgency, how much greater the pleasure.
Nearly an hour later she lay smiling, tousled and sweaty in his arms, running a finger down the line of the scar on his cheek.
“I have wanted to touch that almost since the first time I met you – morbid curiosity, I suspect. Does it hurt?”
Nouveau Riche (A Poor Man at the Gate Series, Book 2) Page 8
