Matilda's Wedding

by Betty Neels

  ‘No, Mother. I’m glad Father is so much better. Will you phone me tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course.’

  A good burst of tears helped. Matilda mopped her face, ate the lunch she didn’t want and, although it was raining, went into the garden and started to clear the overgrown vegetable patch at the end of it.

  Evening surgery over, the doctor came into the waiting room.

  ‘I’ll drive you back,’ he told her. ‘It’s a wretched night.’

  It’s astonishing, reflected Matilda, how quickly one can think up a parcel of lies when desperate.

  ‘Thank you, Doctor. But I’m going across to Mrs Simpkins’ and Mr Simpkins will take me home later.’

  She gave him a bright smile.

  He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Your mother won’t mind being alone?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Matilda airily. ‘She doesn’t mind at all and it’s only for an hour or two.’

  Rather mystified, he wished her goodnight and went to his study to work. He would go and see her in the morning, drive her somewhere quiet so that they could talk. He abandoned his writing and sat back in his chair, Sam at his feet, and allowed his thoughts to dwell on Matilda.

  She was avoiding him, he was aware of that, but she hadn’t drawn back when he had kissed her. And of course she thought that he and Lucilla were engaged. That they were meant for each other was so obvious to him that he had supposed that she must have been aware of that too.

  He picked up his pen again and started to fill in forms and make notes. He was interrupted by Mrs Inch, who came in with such an air of urgency that he put his pen down again and asked what had upset her.

  ‘There’s something you should know, sir. Mrs Simpkins has just been over. Ben—the milkman, you know—went in for his groceries; she puts them aside for him. His brother works as a porter at the hospital…’

  ‘Sit down, Mrs Inch. He saw or heard something, perhaps, this porter?’

  ‘Indeed he did. That Mrs Paige—begging your pardon, I’m sure—leaving our nice Matilda alone! He was doing a job right by her when she was talking to one of the sisters. She’s staying with friends over Christmas, not coming home, and that her daughter would be with friends and her duty was by her husband, though this man heard one of the doctors telling Mrs Paige that there was no need for her to be there each day now. And there’s that dear girl all alone, and over Christmas too, and not said a word to anyone.’

  Mrs Inch paused for breath. ‘I’m that upset, sir. Not that she’ll be lonely; there’ll be invitations enough from half the village when they know and Mrs Simpkins won’t be slow to tell it around.’

  The doctor was sitting back in his chair. ‘Thank you for telling me, Mrs Inch, and please tell Mrs Simpkins that I shall go and fetch Matilda to stay here—now, this evening. So would you delay dinner for half an hour or so and get a room ready for her? The balcony room at the back of the house, I think; we mustn’t forget Rastus.’

  Mrs Inch blew her nose and mopped away a stray tear. ‘Oh, sir, I knew you would know what to do.’ She went to the door. ‘We’ll all be so pleased.’

  The doctor’s feelings were a good deal stronger than pleasure but he gave no sign of his rage. He supposed that since Mrs Paige was to be his mother-in-law he would have to make an effort to like her; at the moment he merely felt murderous towards her.

  He went through the house and along the little passage which led to the garage, got into his car, and drove away much too fast.

  The kitchen window was at the side of the cottage; he could see that the room was lit as he went up the path and thumped the knocker.

  He had to thump again before the hall light was switched on and Matilda’s voice wanted to know who it was.

  ‘Let me in,’ roared the doctor, ‘before I break the door down.’

  Which he will surely do, thought Matilda, for my dearest Henry is in a bad temper. So she opened the door. He swept past her, taking her with him.

  ‘How dare you,’ he demanded. ‘How dare you not tell me? Do you suppose that I would have left you alone for one minute if I had known? I must in time learn to like your mother but for the moment my feelings towards her are unmentionable…’

  ‘You are extremely cross,’ observed Matilda in a reasonable voice calculated to make him even crosser. ‘Perhaps you will tell me why you are here?’

  ‘Go upstairs and pack a bag. You’re coming back to my house and don’t argue about it; the entire village knows that’s why I have come. Where do you keep the cat basket?’

  Matilda said, ‘On the bottom shelf of the cupboard by the sink.’ And added, ‘I won’t pack a bag…’

  ‘Please yourself; come as you are. Mrs Inch will have a nightie for you.’

  He looked at her across the little room and smiled. ‘This isn’t the right time to tell you but Lucilla has decided not to marry me.’

  ‘Well,’ said Matilda, ‘I have always known that she is most unsuitable for you but I can quite see why you fell in love with her. Are you unhappy?’

  He said gravely, ‘I am the happiest man on earth. Now go and pack that bag.’

  So she did. And came downstairs again, looking rather untidy. He took the bag from her and thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world.

  He turned off the lights, shut the windows and, with Rastus in his basket, locked the cottage door behind them then popped her into the car. Matilda tried to think of something to say for his silence unnerved her. Her head teemed with snatches of poetry, first lines of hymns and nursery rhymes, none of which were any use as conversation. Perhaps it would be best to remain silent…

  The doctor stopped outside his front door, got out to open the car door for her and, under the interested eyes gazing from neighbouring windows, ushered her into his house.

  Mrs Inch came to meet them in the hall.

  ‘There you are, Miss Matilda. Just you come with me; I’ll take you to your room. Bring the little cat with you; there’s a balcony—so handy for him.’

  The doctor gave Matilda a little push and she followed Mrs Inch up the staircase, not speaking, only nodding when he said quietly, ‘Come down again, Matilda, to the drawing room.’

  The room was charming. Not overlarge but furnished with a brass bed covered by a patchwork quilt, a little tulip wood dressing table with a triple mirror, a bow-fronted chest of drawers and a delicate bedside table with a pink-shaded lamp on it. There were rose-pink curtains at the window and a door opening onto a small covered balcony.

  ‘The bathroom is next door,’ said Mrs Inch. ‘Just you tidy yourself and come down to your dinner.’

  So Matilda combed her hair and did things to her rather pale face and went back down the staircase, feeling that she was in a dream and not at all sure what to do next.

  That was settled for her as she reached the hall. The drawing-room door was opened and the doctor said, ‘In here—have a drink before we have dinner.’

  He sounded exactly the same as usual, as though her sudden and unexpected arrival was all part of his day.

  She took the chair he offered her and when he handed her a glass of sherry tossed it down so that his eyes widened with hidden laughter. But he refilled her glass and sat down opposite her, Sam, as usual, at his feet.

  ‘I think,’ said Matilda, much emboldened by the sherry, ‘that you must explain.’ She frowned. ‘No, perhaps I’d better explain.’

  The doctor stretched his long legs and began to enjoy himself. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, I ought not to be here. I mean, I’m quite all right at the cottage and it’s so convenient that Mother can stay with her friends and see Father each day, and I quite see what she means; it would be very dull for her to come home with just me—I mean, at Christmas and all.’ She paused. ‘Of course I was a bit disappointed but it’s a splendid idea.’

  ‘It’s nothing of the sort. It’s a splendid arrangement for your mother to enjoy Christmas with her friends. Your father is now out of danger; the
re is no need to visit him each day and he’ll have all the care and attention he could possibly need.’ He added gently, ‘You should have told me, Matilda.’

  She took a sip—a large sip—of sherry. ‘Well, I would very much have liked to, only I couldn’t, could I? You’d have felt sorry for me…’

  ‘I don’t feel at all sorry for you despite the fact that I do know. Sorrow is not what I feel, Matilda.’

  He took her empty glass from her. ‘Here’s Mrs Inch to tell us to come to dinner.’

  There was soup—Mrs Inch’s own version of French onion soup with cream on top and a circle of toasted bread—grilled salmon steaks with tiny new potatoes and salsify, and a mincemeat tart with clotted cream. And a white burgundy to go with it.

  They didn’t talk much; the doctor had a great deal to say but not yet, and Matilda, fed and warm and nicely vague from the sherry and the wine, was in no state to listen.

  They had their coffee at the table and when they had drunk it he suggested that she might like an early night. Mrs Inch, waiting, as it were, in the wings, whisked her upstairs before she could say more than goodnight.

  Someone had attended to Rastus’s needs. Matilda had a quick bath and tumbled into bed and he joined her, pressed close to her side, smelling strongly of sardines. ‘You had a good dinner too,’ said Matilda sleepily, and closed her eyes.

  In his study the doctor lifted the phone. ‘Mother…’ He talked at some length and then picked up the phone again and dialled Aunt Kate’s number.

  There was just one more problem. He looked up a number and dialled it. Having a bishop in the family could be useful…

  At breakfast he was casually friendly, giving her no chance to utter her doubts and questions.

  ‘I’ll run you back to the cottage.’ He saw with satisfaction the instant dismay on her face. ‘You’ll need a hat and coat if we’re going to church.’ It was the morning of the vicar’s special pre-Christmas sermon, traditionally delivered on the last Saturday before Christmas.

  ‘Very well. Thank you for having me, Dr Lovell; you have been very kind. Would you mind if Rastus comes with us? And my bag.’

  ‘Yes, I do mind. Rastus stays here and so does your bag. I suggest that you pack a few more clothes while we’re at the cottage.’

  ‘Oh, but…’

  ‘Darling girl, will you do as I ask?’

  She stared across the table at him, the colour rushing into her face. ‘Darling girl,’ he said again, and smiled. ‘And Henry is my name!’

  ‘I can’t…’ she began, and stopped, not knowing how to go on.

  ‘We had better go if you’re finished; Mother and Aunt Kate will be here by the time we get back. They hadn’t intended to come until Christmas Eve with the rest of the family—I think you will like my mother.’

  ‘Christmas…’ began Matilda.

  ‘You are spending it at my house with my family—aunts and uncles, cousins—the house will be packed to the roof.’

  ‘Mother…?’

  ‘We will telephone her later. Your father is making excellent progress; he—and your mother—should be home before the New Year.’

  Matilda felt that she was being swept away by a raging torrent, only raging wasn’t quite the right word. Loving and caring were.

  She went with him to the cottage and packed a case—the pink dress, woollies, a thick skirt, the grey jersey dress, undies, dressing gown and slippers. Was she to stay with the doctor until her parents came back? She didn’t like to ask.

  Mrs Lovell and Aunt Kate were placidly drinking coffee when they got back. They turned smiling, composed faces to them as they went into the drawing room. The doctor kissed them in turn. ‘And here is Matilda,’ he said to his mother, and stood back while that lady embraced Matilda.

  There had been no need to be nervous, thought Matilda. This plump little lady had nothing but kindness in her elderly face.

  ‘I’ve always wanted a daughter,’ said Mrs Lovell, and beamed at her as Aunt Kate in her turn kissed Matilda.

  Nothing is quite real, thought Matilda, sitting in the Lovells’ pew, aware that the congregation were looking at her from under their hats. Mrs Lovell had said that she wanted a daughter but Henry hadn’t said that he wanted a wife. She sat, not listening to a word of Mr Milton’s sermon, fuming quietly, unaware that her hands were clenched tightly in her lap, until the doctor’s large hand picked one up and held it fast. And when she peeped at him he smiled so that she glowed with happiness.

  It took a long time to leave the church for so many people stopped to speak to them, talking trivialities, smiling and nodding to themselves as though they had discovered something interesting. Only Lady Truscott voiced the thoughts of the more discreet friends and acquaintances.

  ‘Hear that Armstrong girl has thrown you over. Always thought your heart wasn’t in it. But the best of luck this time, eh?’

  She laughed heartily and tapped him on the arm, looking at Matilda, who, much to her annoyance, blushed.

  Lunch was a cheerful meal; the talk was all of Christmas—the members of the family who would be coming, Christmas cards and presents—and how splendid it was that Mr Paige had recovered so well.

  They had coffee in the drawing room and presently the doctor put down his cup. ‘Matilda and I are going for a walk with Sam. Mrs Inch will bring the tea about four o’clock but we should be back by then.’

  He turned to Matilda. ‘Ready? You’ll need some sensible shoes.’

  She fetched the shoes, put on the coat and tied a scarf round her head. In the hall she said tartly, ‘I wasn’t asked if I wanted to go for a walk with you.’

  He swung her round to face him. ‘But you do, don’t you? I didn’t need to ask you because I know you so well—all of you: your thoughts and feelings, your kindness and delight in life. I’m not going to kiss you now or I shall be unable to stop. Come along.’

  They went up the lane by the church, shrouded by trees, bare now, their leaves thick under foot. It was quiet and cold and the air was like wine. The trees thinned presently and the lane lay ahead of them, winding between wintry fields.

  The doctor came to a halt and took Matilda in his arms.

  ‘I fell in love with you a long time ago although I didn’t know it at the time, and now I love you so deeply that I cannot go on without you, my darling. You are so beautiful…’ He ran a gentle finger down her cheek. ‘Will you marry me?’ And then he added, ‘No, don’t answer yet; first this…’

  He bent to kiss her and Matilda, who had often wondered what heaven was like, knew now that it was a lane between bare winter fields with Henry’s arms around her. Presently she said, ‘Yes, of course I’ll marry you, Henry. I’ve been in love with you since the day you asked me if I would start work on Monday!’

  She smiled up at him and was kissed once more. ‘But it’s all a bit difficult.’ She went on, ‘There’s Father and Mother. They won’t miss me very much but Mother isn’t very happy cooking and doing housework and Father forgets to pay the bills.’

  ‘Leave that to me, dear heart. When shall we marry? Don’t, I beg of you, talk about June weddings; I’m not prepared to wait.’

  ‘Well, I can’t see just what to do—and I haven’t any clothes…’

  The doctor tightened his hold. ‘My love, I said leave it to me. We’ll have the banns read next Sunday. I’m prepared to wait a month but not a moment longer.’ He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘You may have all the clothes you want once we’re married but you must be the loveliest bride the village has ever seen. I want the whole world to see you—the village, at least—I want the church full of friends and family, the organ and the choir and you coming towards me down the aisle with your father.’

  Later, much later, they went back and found Mrs Lovell and Aunt Kate sitting over the remains of the tea tray.

  ‘Matilda and I are to be married,’ said the doctor.

  Mrs Inch, coming in with fresh tea and more cakes, so far forgot herself as to say, ‘I saw
you going up the lane and I said to myself, He’ll pop the question, and I was right.’ She arranged the tray just so. ‘I’ll just pop across and tell Mrs Simpkins; the village will be that glad…’

  The doctor rang the hospital then. Mrs Paige would be in in the morning, he was told, and Mr Paige was sitting up in a chair.

  ‘Then be kind enough to ask Mrs Paige to wait at the hospital until we come tomorrow morning, around eleven o’clock.’

  ‘I’ll still be your receptionist?’ asked Matilda.

  ‘Of course. Until I can find someone else. Mother, we intend to have a village wedding in a month’s time.’

  Mrs Lovell was unperturbed. ‘Quite right, dear. A white wedding after the first dull weeks of January is just what we all need. Kate and I will be entirely at your disposal. Morning coats and wedding hats and a large reception?’

  ‘Yes. As soon as the Paiges are back we can perhaps talk things over with them.’

  Matilda said in her sensible voice, ‘We couldn’t possibly have a reception at the cottage.’

  ‘I’m quite sure that Lady Truscott is longing to lend you her house,’ said Aunt Kate. ‘You have no need to worry about anything, Matilda.’

  She went to bed that night with her head in a whirl, only certain of one thing: Henry loved her and they were to be married.

  The next morning he drove her to Taunton. They went to the ward where her father was and found him in a chair and Mrs Paige walking to and fro impatiently.

  ‘Dr Lovell, Matilda, I’ve been waiting for hours. Couldn’t you have phoned?’

  Matilda went to kiss her father and the doctor said nothing but went to greet his patient.