CHAPTER FORTY NINE
The Reception
Although this was not new information for Louisa, she nevertheless turned very white and burst into tears. ‘Oh, that ghastly George!’ she gasped in between sobs, ‘I knew he would be the end of me.’
‘Don’t forget, Mama, that it takes two people to run away together,’ Charlotte pointed out. ‘Agnes is the other guilty party.’
Louisa momentarily stopped crying. ‘And how did you come to that conclusion? George Brearly has had a long history of breaking young women’s hearts. My poor Agnes is just another one of his innocent victims.’
Charlotte looked out the window towards St Mark’s. The memorial service had just concluded, and streams of black-clothed mourners were making their way outside, into the dazzle of the hot sun. Some were crying, and others needed help just remaining upright. At that moment, it was difficult to tell just which party was more upset.
‘You know that’s not true, Mama,’ Charlotte murmured.
Louisa fixed her angry eyes on her daughter. ‘And what is that supposed to mean?’
‘Agnes has never been innocent,’ Charlotte claimed more confidently. ‘She’s been getting away with things for years.’
This time it was Michael’s turn to speak. ‘Ladies, please, this is hardly the time for bickering. What matters now is reclaiming Agnes before George takes her to Melbourne. If we get to the terminal now, I feel certain we can overtake them.’ Despite the distraught look on his face, his voice was tinged with hope.
‘And what if Agnes doesn’t want to be reclaimed?’ Charlotte rejoined. ‘Knowing her as I do, I suspect that she doesn’t wish to be found.’
Michael sat forward in his seat and looked earnestly towards Charlotte. ‘What do you mean by that? Why would she not wish to be found? She doesn’t even like George! Why would she want to stay with someone she dislikes?’
‘Ask Mama,’ Charlotte retorted. ‘I’m sure she’ll tell you about their past attachment.’
All eyes in the carriage swiftly turned upon Louisa. The unwelcome attention briefly silenced her, but after she had blown her nose and taken a deep breath, she spoke. ‘I admit they shared an affection of sorts some years ago,’ she began slowly, ‘but Harold and I put an end to it as soon as we found out. George returned to Melbourne several days later. As far as I was concerned, it was all over.’
In the background, a disbelieving Michael buried his head in his hands. ‘Agnes and George,’ he was muttering, ‘I, I don’t understand.’
‘But it wasn’t the end, Mama,’ Charlotte declared, ‘it was just the beginning. I have never told anyone this before, but on the day George was banished from Hobart, he promised me that he would never let Agnes go. I scarcely believed him at the time. But, but then something happened, something recently, that made me change my mind.’
‘Go on, Charlotte,’ Cyril urged, ‘tell them everything you know.’
Charlotte reluctantly began her explanation. ‘When Agnes and I were in England, Derbyshire to be precise, George suddenly turned up, unannounced. Agnes assured me that his appearance was just a co-incidence, and that she would send him away. It took me several weeks to realise that she wouldn’t. He accompanied us wherever we went.’
Michael groaned. ‘This can’t be. This isn’t true.’
‘They were inseparable most days, until we got to London. There they had a nasty quarrel, and George unexpectedly vanished. Agnes told me that she had finally sent him away, and that he had returned to Melbourne. She sulked for the next few weeks, and then insisted on cutting short our tour.’
‘Mercy!’ a distraught Louisa cried through stifled sobs. ‘Oh, this is unbearable.’ She dabbed at her swollen eyes with a now sodden handkerchief.
Meanwhile, a dazed Frances remained rooted to her seat. The morning’s disgraceful revelations had had a heavy impact on her, and she was too stunned to say a word.
‘I’m so sorry, Michael,’ Charlotte said. ‘I’m sorrier than you can imagine. I should have told you, but I couldn’t betray Agnes’s confidence.’
Michael lifted his tear-streaked face from his hands, and looked up at the assembled group before him. It was several moments before he could bring himself to speak. ‘I had my own reservations about this marriage,’ he conceded. ‘I won’t deny that I did. I verily believed that Agnes was too good for me, and that I wouldn’t make her a good husband. But in spite of all this, I was still prepared to give up everything for that woman, everything I held dear.’ At this remark, he looked directly at Frances. ‘And for what? What did she leave me with? Nothing. Nothing at all. I have no wife, no brother, and as of now, I have no friends.’ He ran a trembling hand through his hair. ‘I trusted you all,’ he added in a strangled voice, ‘and you all betrayed me. At this moment, I don’t know whose treachery was worse: those who were involved in the affair, those who concealed it from me, or those who persuaded me to go through with the wedding.’ He met Frances’s startled eyes. ‘Don’t follow me either,’ he added, getting abruptly to his feet. ‘I just want to be left alone.’
Before anyone could reply to this, he ripped open the carriage door, and jumped down onto the ground. After slamming the door behind him, he stalked away in the direction of the road. He had not taken two steps down the road, however, when William Wilby set upon him.
‘Ah, there you are,’ Mr Wilby said in a disturbingly jovial voice, for someone who had just conducted a memorial service, ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I am pleased to inform you that the church is now ready for your wedding.’
Michael kept walking at a brisk pace. He had just removed his necktie, and held it limply in his hands, along with his hat. ‘There isn’t going to be a wedding today, Mr Wilby,’ he declared over his shoulder. ‘It has been called off.’ As if to re-iterate this statement, he tore off the rose from the lapel of his frock coat, and flung it onto the ground.
‘Oh,’ the clergyman replied, ‘that is most unfortunate. I hope this isn’t a result of the mix up in the arrangements?’ Michael shook his head and kept walking. ‘It’s just that I’ve had time to consider the incident earlier this morning, and I now know why there was so much confusion with the booking. A young woman came to see me about two weeks ago. I was very busy at the time, but she insisted on speaking with me. She seemed distressed, so I invited her in for tea.’
A disconcerting thought crossed Michael’s mind, and he stopped walking. ‘What did she look like?’
‘Very pretty, if I may be permitted to say so. Mid-twenties. Dark hair, refined face.’ Mr Wilby adjusted his spectacles. ‘She was wearing a very fine gold bracelet on her wrist, and I remember passing comment on its beauty. It had the letter ‘A’ engraved on it.’
Michael closed his eyes and drew a hand to his head. It was the bracelet Michael had given Agnes on her twenty-fifth birthday. When he eventually spoke, his voice was quavering with anger. ‘And may I ask what the purpose of my fiancée’s visit was? Why was she upset?’
‘She told me that her future husband had been injured, and that consequently, the wedding had to be postponed. She thought the accident was a bad omen for her marriage, and she told me that she was having second thoughts about the union. After talking at length with her, I encouraged her to reschedule the ceremony, but she stressed that the date she had chosen was a tentative one only, and that she would confirm the arrangement closer to the day. It appears now that she never did. My clerk subsequently took the booking for the memorial service, and the rest is history, so to speak. I suppose you want to set another date?’
‘Certainly not,’ Michael replied in a biting tone. ‘We will never marry.’
‘Oh, I see. I’m sorry to hear it.’ He allowed a few moments of respectful silence to pass. ‘And your bride,’ he added. ‘Have you informed her that there will not be a wedding?’
‘Oh yes,’ Michael replied with a wry grin, ‘she most certainly knows about this. In fact, it would appear that she knew about this long before I did.’
/> Michael’s face was now mottled with anger, and without saying another word he shuffled off despondently, leaving the young man of the cloth speechless, his eyes wide open in astonishment.
Breakfast at Midnight Page 49