In Distant Fields

by Charlotte Bingham

  The next morning, the last full day that Almeric had before returning, Kitty prepared for her wedding, helped by Partita.

  ‘This wasn’t how it was meant to be, Kitty,’ Partita grumbled, fastening the buttons on the dress they had both chosen from one of the many collections of gowns in the Duchess’s ownership. ‘It should have been a proper wedding. After all, you’re going to be a duchess one day.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Tita,’ Kitty replied. ‘This is how it is going to be because of the war. We can always have another ceremony when it’s all over.’

  ‘If and when,’ Partita continued to grumble. ‘For once I was really looking forward to being a bridesmaid.’

  ‘You’re still going to be a bridesmaid. The only bridesmaid.’

  ‘Oh, what a photey for the Tatler and Bystander!’ Partita cried mockingly. ‘The Lady Partita Knowle, sister to the bridegroom and bridesmaid to the future Duchess of Eden, now the Marchioness of Knowle, married today in the Church of St Hole in the Wall, Nowhere in Particular.’

  ‘You are particularly dreadful, Tita. The whole point is Almeric and I are getting married.’

  ‘I get the point, Kitty,’ Partita said, suddenly a little sad. ‘I was just trying to get around the point – so that we wouldn’t think about it. I know why you’re getting married, but I just can’t bear to think like that, that’s all.’

  ‘Then don’t, Tita darling,’ Kitty said kissing her. ‘Don’t think that. I’m not. So don’t you.’

  ‘Sorry, Kitty,’ Partita replied, breathing in deeply and pulling herself together. ‘Don’t know what came over me. A bit stretched, I think – probably a bit overcooked. Now. Let me look at you – oh yes. Yes, Kitty, you look, if I may say so? You look ever so.’

  Kitty took one last look at herself in the glass, seeing an image so contrary to the one she had imagined she would see on her wedding day. The borrowed dress was old but beautiful, of that there was no doubt, as were her borrowed hat, gloves, shoes, silk underwear and stockings, but not being married in white, in a wedding gown of your choice, and not being led up the aisle clutching a wedding bouquet of fresh summer flowers in your hand while the man who was to be yours waited, hardly daring to look in case his bride vanished or he was turned to stone in front of a packed church, was not the same as hurriedly organising a special licence to be married in an unfamiliar church by an unfamiliar vicar in day clothes, however expensive and exclusive they may be, and spending one’s wedding night in a room at a local hostelry. But as Kitty knew perfectly well, there was a war on. The plain fact was that the man she was to marry that day might never return, that this might be the only chance they would have to love each other before her bridegroom returned to the fighting line.

  ‘The car is here,’ Tinker told them, hurrying into the room and then stopping to look at Kitty. ‘You look simply lovely, Miss Kitty,’ she sighed. ‘You look really beautiful.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Tinks,’ Partita said, making a last adjustment to her own hat and dress. ‘She always looks beautiful.’

  ‘She looks particularly beautiful, Lady T. Really.’

  ‘As do I, Tinker,’ Partita put in, pulling a little face.

  Kitty turned back to the maid. ‘Thank you, Tinker,’ she said. ‘And I think now we really ought to be leaving.’

  It was to be a very simple service, with just Partita and her parents, Tinker and Bridie, Wavell and of course every one of the patients who was well and strong enough to make the five-mile journey to the church in the hay wagon, organised and driven by Jossy, who, of course, was also to attend the ceremony. Everyone arrived at the church at the appointed time, Almeric driving himself in the ponytrap, which had been specially bedecked with white ribbons and hung with cherry blossom, while the Duke and Duchess had been driven there in a hired motor car, much to the Duke’s quiet disgust, two of the carriage horses being lame, and so ruling out his favoured form of transport. So too did Kitty and her retinue arrive on time, entering the church to the quiet strains of Bach being played on the harmonium by an earnest-looking woman in a heavy woollen cardigan and mittens, even though outside the day was mild and sunny.

  The only person they were short of was the parson.

  ‘Anyone seen the fellow?’ John wondered at full volume. ‘Hasn’t slipped his mind, I suppose?’

  ‘Perhaps he had another service to conduct,’ Circe suggested. ‘There is quite a shortage of parsons at the moment, you know, with so many going off to war.’

  ‘And even more staying behind, if you ask me,’ John grunted. ‘Perhaps one should take a look in the vestry?’

  Taking his cue from his father, Almeric went to see if he could find the vicar, but the vestry was empty, although he did notice an overcoat hanging on a peg, which he took as a good sign. The exact moment he returned to his place the main door swung open and a small, rotund man dressed in cassock and surplice rushed in, his face red from his haste and his obvious anxiety.

  ‘I am so sorry, everyone!’ he cried, taking off his spectacles, which were steaming up on him, and wiping them on his surplice. ‘I really am so frightfully sorry!’

  ‘Perfectly all right, Vicar,’ John replied as the vicar hurried up to the group waiting below the altar. ‘Long as we get it done some time today.’

  ‘Ah yes, Your Grace,’ the vicar sighed, putting his glasses back on. ‘But I’m afraid that is now not going to be possible.’

  Everyone stared at him, unable to believe their ears.

  ‘There is some sort of hitch?’ John wondered.

  ‘Obviously there is some sort of hitch, John,’ Circe put in impatiently.

  ‘What’s the matter, man?’ John demanded. ‘This was meant to be done under a plain sail. We’re all gathered, so what the devil can be the problem?’

  ‘It really is not my fault, Your Grace,’ the vicar sighed in return. ‘This is really none of my doing.’

  ‘What isn’t? Out with it!’

  ‘Alas, it appears they have sent the wrong licence,’ the vicar informed them all, with a long, doleful look. ‘It is not only the wrong licence, it is totally the wrong licence. Not only is it made out for the wrong date, tomorrow to be precise, it is also made out for the wrong couple. A Mr Albert Hillier and a Miss Eugenia Nares-Pillow.’

  ‘Nares-Pillow?’ the Duke exploded. ‘Never heard of such a name. This has to be someone’s idea of a hoax. Or a joke.’

  ‘I’m afraid not, Your Grace,’ the vicar assured him, showing him the licence. ‘It’s not even for the correct church.’

  ‘You’ve only just discovered this, Vicar?’

  ‘The licence only arrived an hour ago, Your Grace. I telephoned the appropriate authorities at once, and they told me they would call me back immediately, which they did not. I then called them back again—’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes, just get to the point, will you?’

  ‘The long and the short of it is, alas, Your Grace – everybody – I am very much afraid the marriage cannot proceed until the correct licence is produced.’

  ‘And when might that be?’ Circe enquired, as Almeric took Kitty’s hand in his. ‘Later today, perhaps?’

  ‘No, I am very much afraid not, Your Grace,’ the vicar replied, taking off his spectacles again, this time to pinch the corners of his eyes. ‘No, due to the volume of the paperwork on the authorities’ desks and the demands for special licences at this particular moment in time, it would seem the best we can hope for is late tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I shall be gone by then,’ Almeric said. ‘And I can’t buy any time.’

  ‘I am truly sorry, milord, but there is nothing I can do.’

  ‘You can marry them, blow it,’ the Duke suggested. ‘You could go ahead and marry them and fill in along all the dotted lines later.’

  ‘I could, but it would be neither proper, Your Grace, nor legal. We must have the proper licence or this young couple cannot be deemed to be married, whatever words I may say over them.’

  ‘
Ridiculous. Preposterous. You can say all our hail and farewells without a bit of paper in your hand, can’t you? So why can’t you marry this young couple, eh? That’s what I want to know.’

  ‘Because it would not be legal, Your Grace. And in light – in light of the – in light of the circumstances I fear it would not be in the best interests of the young couple here were I to pronounce them man and wife and that they should not be so. In the eyes of God.’

  There was nothing that could be done, in spite of a dash by Almeric into town to try to get the damage repaired, only to find the necessary official had already left his office to travel to another twenty-mile-distant church in order to try to undo another of the mistakes that had precipitated this disaster. Finally it became clear that there was simply nothing they could do until the morrow, and even then there was uncertainty on the part of the registrar that the mayhem could be entirely undone in twenty-four hours, the party returned sadly and slowly back to Bauders to regroup and to decide what, if anything, could be done.

  In spite of considerable resistance from Almeric, John did his best to pull strings at the War Office, but to Almeric’s relief it was proved to be of no avail.

  ‘Yes, what has happened is sad,’ Almeric agreed when his father fulminated at the inefficiency, and the heartbreak it had caused Kitty. ‘It’s lamentable, but I really must say, sir, that I could not live with my conscience if I had to rely on a favour. The same rules must apply to everyone – officers and men.’

  ‘I must agree with Almeric,’ Kitty found herself saying, despite the fact that she had spent the previous hour struggling not to break down.

  John sighed heavily, knowing as everyone else in the room knew, that Almeric and Kitty might not get another chance to tie the marital knot, just as much as he knew that there was no further use for his opinions, one way or another. Children did what they had to do, or what they should not do, or what they considered they must do, and that was that.

  Before luncheon was served, leaving the men to have a drink, Partita took Kitty aside, and the two young women went outside onto a terrace, Partita moving them along to make sure they were out of earshot.

  ‘What are you going to do, Kitty?’

  ‘There’s nothing I can do, Tita. There has been a mistake and that is all there is to it.’

  ‘I don’t mean that. What I mean is – what are you going to do?’

  ‘Hope and pray Almeric gets another leave soon so as we can get it properly organised next time.’

  ‘And suppose he doesn’t? Or suppose he gets wounded again – or worse?’

  ‘That’s not the sort of thing I will let myself suppose, Tita. There’s no point. You know that as well as I do.’

  ‘Be sensible, Kitty! You are such a practical person, as well as a bright one – so think. Just suppose you won’t get this chance again – I mean, you love my brother—?’

  ‘Of course I do! I love him with all my heart, he is the best and kindest of men, and today I was to marry him.’

  Partita shrugged and regarded Kitty a while. ‘Not necessarily one and the same thing, Kitty – love and marriage. Except I’ve seen the way you look at Al, and I think I know the way you feel.’

  ‘I hope you do, truly I do.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Partita kept looking at Kitty and waiting. ‘Look, Kitty,’ she continued, ‘let’s try and put it this way, shall we? This was meant to be your wedding day and this was meant to be your wedding night – and to all intents and purposes that’s just what it is. Al’s going back tomorrow, first thing – and you heard what he had to say. He said he wouldn’t ask for any favours, so it’s only fair on him – and on you – I mean it’s only fair all round if you – if you do what you were going to do anyway.’

  Now it was Kitty’s turn to stare at her friend in silence.

  ‘You mean? You can’t mean …’ She petered out into a bewildered silence, still looking at Partita.

  ‘Oh, don’t be so – so old-fashioned, Kitty! You’re a woman, in love with a man – a man who has to go back to the fighting. He might not come back at all, Kitty – and this is the twentieth century, not the Dark Ages! You must follow your heart, not your head! You don’t have to slink off to that hotel – you can stay here! No one will know – least of all Mamma and Papa – and even if they did I dare say they would be the first to understand.’

  ‘You’re the one who doesn’t understand, Tita,’ Kitty replied quietly, turning away and walking further down the terrace to prevent Partita from trying to read her thoughts, something she knew Partita was particularly good at doing. ‘I’m not like that. I couldn’t. I’m just not like that.’

  ‘How do you know until you’ve tried?’ Partita insisted, following Kitty closely. ‘Be sensible, Kitty this isn’t the time for any old – fashioned morality and all that fandango. You might never see Almeric again. Think of that – never, ever, ever.’

  ‘I know!’ Kitty rounded on Partita, suddenly hurt, not just by Partita’s suggestion. ‘You’ve just said I’m not stupid and I’m not! But this wouldn’t be right – it just wouldn’t! And because it isn’t right, or proper, I can’t. It wouldn’t be right and so it wouldn’t feel right – and it might ruin it! It might spoil everything!’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. The way we were brought up – that doesn’t mean anything now, not now we could all be killed tomorrow. Not just Almeric and Gus and Peregrine and Pug and everyone – but all of us. We could be in London and they could drop bombs on us! They’re dropping bombs on Paris all the time and Papa said London is shrouded in complete darkness every evening in case of Zeppelins – so what does all the stuff we were taught to believe, what does it all mean? You heard Almeric. The Germans are gassing our soldiers! They’re using poison gas – so what on earth are they going to stop at? Nothing! You have to! You have to be with Almeric before he leaves. You might not ever have the chance again.’

  ‘Tita,’ Kitty took Partita’s hands, seeing how close she was to tears. ‘Tita, I know what you mean just as I know how well you mean it. No one could have a better friend in the world than you, and normally I would listen to you and probably take your advice, but not on this occasion. I couldn’t – I couldn’t be with Almeric tonight because it wouldn’t be right, for me.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ Partita said, turning away in despair.

  ‘I’m sure Almeric feels the same.’

  ‘Have you asked him?’

  ‘Of course not. How could I?’

  ‘You could ask him. I think you owe him that.’

  ‘Now you’re the one who’s being stupid, Tita.’

  ‘Don’t speak to me like that.’

  ‘I’ll talk to you any way I please. This is something between Almeric and me – it has nothing to do with you.’

  ‘He’s my brother!’

  ‘He’s my fiancé.’

  The gong sounded for lunch but they were going inside anyway, their argument done. Kitty knew Partita was right, but that what she proposed was wrong, while Partita knew that Kitty was wrong while what she believed was right.

  Yet it was all academic because Almeric and Kitty never discussed it between themselves, even though they both knew exactly what each other was thinking. Instead – with Kitty having been excused all her duties for her wedding day – they spent the afternoon going for another of their long walks where they once again discussed everything – poetry, horses, friendship, anything and everything – except Almeric’s return to war and the matter of their cancelled wedding night.

  They had long conversations about their friends, they talked about the patients, they talked about the beauty of spring and the state of the gardens. They worried about the Duke and Duchess growing ever more short-handed as more and more people on the estate and in the house left to go to work in the factories. They even talked about the afterlife, and whether or not there might be one and if so, what it might be like. But it was a very abstract discussion, because neither of them really knew
quite what to think.

  In the evening they all had dinner together in the family dining room, the rest of the family retiring early so that at least Almeric and Kitty could have a little time alone together, leaving them sitting on the floor by a log fire in the library, the dogs curled up beside them.

  Here again they talked into the small hours, sitting opposite each other at first, but ending up with Kitty leaning against Almeric, her head on his shoulder while they fell to silence, Kitty knowing that he would be gone in a few hours, and Almeric staring into the flames, watching as the life of the fire died and its warmth faded.

  ‘Kitty,’ Almeric said finally, when they had turned to each other and kissed passionately and in Almeric’s case most longingly. ‘Kitty, I’m not being presumptuous when I say this, only honest. I know what you’re feeling – at least I think I do because that’s what I’m feeling too. That bit’s pretty obvious.’ He took her hands and looked deep into her eyes. ‘You know how I feel. This was to have been our wedding night.’

  ‘I know, Al. And of course I feel the same as you – you know I do.’

  ‘I want this more than anything in the world, Kitty. I promise you I do.’

  ‘I want this too, Almeric, my darling. I promise as well.’

  Yet she knew what he was going to say because it was what she herself was feeling. Had it been otherwise, by now he would have swept her up in his arms and carried her upstairs. If he had, she knew she would not have resisted or forbidden him, but simply have given herself to him, and tomorrow – in fact what was no longer tomorrow but today – in a few hours’ time he would be putting on his captain’s uniform and going back to war. But he had not. Instead he was standing with her still in his arms, talking to her and explaining why they mustn’t, and she was listening to him and agreeing with him.

  ‘We mustn’t, my darling, not because it is wrong but because we feel it might be,’ he was saying to her. ‘And if that is really so, if that is what we both feel, then we must wait. It doesn’t make any difference to the way we feel about each other, does it?’