by Betty Neels
‘You are to return home very shortly,’ he said, ‘and there is no reason why you shouldn’t resume a quiet life again. We shall all be glad to see you back in the village.’
‘Why do you want to see me?’ asked her mother.
‘Matilda and I are to be married.’ He took Matilda’s hand as he spoke and smiled at her. ‘In a month’s time at the village church. When you return home after Christmas you can discuss things with Matilda. She is, of course, staying with me. My mother and family are with me for Christmas.’
Her father was the first to speak. ‘Matilda, my dear, what happy news. I am delighted for you both and wish you both every happiness.’
Mrs Paige said slowly, ‘But how will I manage? I’m sure it’s splendid news but you can’t marry so soon. I must have help. Besides, there’s no money for a wedding. You could have a very quiet one, of course.’
The doctor said blandly, ‘We are having a big wedding; I have a large family and many friends and I want them all to come and see us married. As for the reception, I believe that Lady Truscott will have it at her house.’
‘Oh, well, in that case—I must say I’m very surprised.’
Mrs Paige went to Matilda and kissed her cheek. ‘At least you will be living near enough to see us frequently.’
‘As to that,’ said the doctor pleasantly, ‘that may not be possible.’ He turned to Mr Paige. ‘Quite by chance an uncle of mine has asked me if I know of a scholar who would consider taking the post of curator of the ecclesiastical library and museum housed in a large country property near Cheltenham. There is a house with the job, a very fair salary and a fairly lively social life. I’m sure Mrs Paige could deal with that side of the job. It is a permanent position and they prefer an older man. I wondered if you would be interested? You would have plenty of leisure to continue your own writing.’
Mr Paige said slowly, ‘It sounds a most promising offer. But will this recent illness be a deterrent?’
‘Most unlikely. The work involved will be well within your capabilities.’
‘Well, this is indeed a happy day for me. My dear, what do you think? Would you feel strong enough to undertake some social duties?’
Mrs Paige was smiling. ‘Of course, my dear. It sounds ideal for you. When are you to go?’
The doctor said, ‘I’ll drive Mr Paige over after Christmas and if everything is satisfactory I imagine you can move there whenever it is convenient. But not before our wedding; you will want to help Matilda with that, will you not?’
Matilda listened to this in silence. Henry had told her not to worry, to leave everything to him, but all the same she had been worrying. And there had been no need; he was arranging everything exactly as he wanted it to be.
They went soon after, leaving a quietly contented Mr Paige and an excited Mrs Paige. Most of her excitement was at the idea of leaving the village but she spared a few thoughts about Matilda. She was going to lose someone who had always been on hand to help her, with money and time and a willing pair of hands; on the other hand dear Henry—he was already dear Henry—was well off and well connected. Very desirable in a son-in-law.
‘You’ve made Father very happy,’ said Matilda as they drove back. ‘Do you suppose they’ll accept him? It’s exactly what he would like.’
‘He’ll be accepted, sweetheart. Have we any more problems?’
She had one—the wedding dress—but she wasn’t going to bother him with that.
The next day it was work as usual. There would be a surgery tomorrow and then hopefully it would close down until after Boxing Day except for emergencies. The family would start to arrive tomorrow evening; Matilda inspected the pink dress and hoped that it would do, and while she was doing that Mrs Inch came to see her.
‘I dare say you’ve got plans of your own, miss. But you might like to know that Mrs Vickery—she dressmakes, you know—has a length of white silk crêpe going begging. A customer decided not to use it and Mrs Vickery bought it off her. She was wondering if you’d like her to make you a wedding dress from it? She makes nicely…’
‘Mrs Inch, that’s exactly what I would like. Could I go and see her after Christmas? Would you tell her if you see her? I’ll go the day after Boxing Day.’
There was another small problem: she had some presents but still nothing for Henry and his mother. She nipped across to Mrs Simpkins’, who, full of enthusiasm at the turn of events, delved into various boxes and drawers. She had a little water colour of the village, painted by a visiting artist and put away ready for the tourists in the summer, and a silver pencil which Matilda thought Henry might never use; but there was nothing else…
It was Christmas Eve, and the family had all arrived by now—pleased to see each other, delighted to meet Matilda and make much of her. Going down in the pink dress for dinner, she found the doctor waiting for her.
The hall was empty and he held her close and kissed her. ‘Come into the study; I’ve something for you.’
A ring: sapphires in an old-fashioned gold setting. He slipped it onto her finger. ‘It was my grandmother’s; she left it to me to give to my bride.’
Matilda said, ‘It fits and it’s beautiful. Thank you, Henry.’ And she thanked him suitably, which meant that she had to tidy her hair before they went to join everyone else.
And Christmas Day was a day never to be forgotten. Everyone went to church, even Mrs Inch and Kitty, although Mrs Inch did slip off halfway through the service to baste the turkey. And there was coffee for anyone who wanted it after the service, although the doctor left his mother to act as hostess while he drove Matilda to the hospital. She sat close to him and Sam had his head pressed against her. She was almost too happy to talk.
Mr Paige looked to be almost his old self and Mrs Paige, with the prospect of a future more to her liking, was prepared to like everyone. Her friends were coming for her presently; she told Matilda that she would stay until Mr Paige had had his Christmas dinner.
The doctor had left them briefly and when he returned it was to tell them that Mr Paige could go home in a week.
‘I must pull myself together,’ said Mrs Paige, ‘for there will be a great deal to do if you are determined to marry so soon.’
The doctor was a splendid host. Nothing had been overlooked: there was a tree, presents, a magnificent dinner table, champagne. Matilda, sitting beside him as he carved the turkey, wondered how he had found time to plan it all. She caught his eye and they smiled at each other—two people very much in love.
They had just finished breakfast on Boxing Day when the doctor was called to a small farm some miles from the village. One of the boys in the family had cut himself badly.
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Matilda.
It wasn’t very serious, only needing a few stitches, an injection and instructions to go to the surgery in a few days’ time. They stopped in a lay-by to talk on the way back.
‘I shall have to go home to get ready for Mother and Father.’ She tucked a hand in his. ‘I can go on working for you?’
‘Yes, until I can find someone to take over. And you have no need to go home until the day before their return.’
‘But Mother will want to start packing up…’
‘They won’t move until after our wedding and I’ve no doubt that there will be some help available.’
So she stayed at his house and part of the day she was Miss Paige in the waiting room and part of the day she was Matilda in her future home.
But she was home to welcome her parents and almost the first thing her mother said was, ‘Your wedding dress, Matilda; you had better hire it—there’s a shop in Taunton.’
Mrs Vickery was making a splendid job of the white silk crêpe. Matilda said, ‘There’s no need, Mother. I have my dress.’
‘Well, really; am I to have no say in the matter?’
A question which Matilda prudently didn’t answer.
The year was a month old. It was a still day with the pale sun shining on early m
orning frost. Matilda got up early, made tea, got the breakfast and found her father’s spectacles and zipped her mother into her dress, then she went to her room.
She took her wedding dress from the empty wardrobe and put it on, fastened the little buttons on its long sleeves, fastened Henry’s pearls around the modest neckline and then sat down to arrange her veil before the mirror. A simple one lent to her by his mother.
When her mother came in, she was standing by the open window listening to the church bells already ringing.
Mrs Paige stopped short at the door. ‘Matilda—why, you look so pretty.’ And just for a moment she forgot to be selfish and thoughtless. ‘I hope you will both be very happy.’
Matilda kissed her mother’s cheek. ‘We shall be, Mother. We love each other.’
The drive to church with her father in the be-ribboned car was short. There was a small crowd outside the church gates, calling out to her and wishing her well, and in the porch the two small bridesmaids, Henry’s nieces, waited. Through the open door she glimpsed a packed church. Henry had told her that he wanted the whole world to see them wed and he had achieved his wish; the village had turned out to a man, mingling with his family and friends.
She saw grey waistcoats and top hats in the pews, splendid creations on the ladies’ heads, early spring flowers, old Miss Clarke thumping away at the organ and the choir ready to burst into ‘The Voice that Breathed o’er Eden’. Not one single embellishment of their day had been forgotten.
Miss Clarke allowed the organ to dwindle to a few soft notes and the choir opened their mouths as the congregation rose to its feet, every head turned to see the bride. All except Henry.
Matilda tweaked her father’s sleeve and they started down the aisle. When they were almost at the altar steps the doctor looked round. And such was the look of love on his face that she wanted to break into a run and feel his arms around her. But she didn’t; she paced slowly to his side and smiled up at him as he took her hand in his.
Mr Milton opened his prayer book. He began, ‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here…’
For Matilda’s wedding…!
ISBN: 978-1-4268-3652-7
MATILDA’S WEDDING
Copyright © 2000 by Betty Neels.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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