'Come in, will you wait here while I fetch my husband?' she suggested, pointing distractedly at the horsehair sofa.
'Perhaps that would be best,' Richard agreed, and held Marigold's hand firmly in his when she tried to move aside.
When he had grasped the situation John sat down opposite Richard, regarding his visitor angrily.
'You have ruined my girl, and now you come and calmly expect me to give you my blessing! How do you have the nerve!'
'He is trying to make it right with her,' Mary put in timidly.
'Quiet, woman! I'm ashamed that my daughter, who's been brought up clean and God-fearing, should become a whore! That's the truth of it, and I wonder why such a posh gent wants to marry her when he can get her into his bed for nothing!'
She had expected abuse and recriminations to be heaped on her own head, but this attack on Richard could not be allowed to pass.
'Pa, that's not fair – '
Richard intervened.
'Mr Smith, I can understand your anger. What you must understand is that I love Marigold. I want to marry her whether or not she's carrying my child. We need your consent, but if you will not give it you'll be the one responsible for her bearing a bastard. If there were time, and this abominable war didn't mean I might be killed in less than a month, I'd say be damned to you, we'll marry when Marigold is twenty-one and doesn't need your permission. But I could soon be killed. I can provide for Marigold and my child. I'll do that in any event, whatever you say, but if she's my wife she's better protected. Surely you prefer that for her rather than what you see as a disgrace?'
'I'll not have her wed here in Hednesford, for all to sneer at,' he said more mildly, and Richard breathed a silent sigh of relief.
'That I understand. I've made arrangements for us to be married tomorrow morning in Birmingham. If you wish to come you will be very welcome.'
'I won't condone it by being there,' John snapped.
'I hope you'll change your mind. But a letter from you will suffice.'
Grumbling, John wrote as Richard dictated, and then looked across at Marigold.
'Where are you staying tonight? Do you expect to stay here, or will you go to your seducer?'
'She will stay with my cousins in Birmingham,' Richard said swiftly. 'I do hope you'll forgive us and come tomorrow. I'm taking Marigold to my parents' home afterwards.'
Marigold held out her hand to her mother, and Mary, ignoring John's muttered protest, went to her and hugged her close.
'I'm sorry, love,' she murmured. 'Pa's had a hard life, and tried so much to do well for us. He'll come round.'
'I know. I'm sorry, but I love Richard so much!' Marigold sobbed, and clung to her.
'Then go with him and be happy. He's a good man.'
*
'Marigold's marrying a man who owns a motor car?'
Poppy was incredulous.
'She's leaving me?' Ivy was distraught.
'She's doing nothing of the sort!' Poppy snapped. 'Marigold left home ages ago, it'll be no different.'
'Yes, it will! She won't want to belong to us any more,' Ivy wailed.
Poppy resolutely ignored her, bending over Scrap and combing the short brown and white hairs. Her hands were shaking, but the regular stroking movements helped to calm her.
Mary was sitting with her usual sewing in her lap, but her hands were clasped together, and her thoughts far away. John sat by the fireside, frowning and sucking hard on his pipe. For once he was not busy with his carving. Ivy took a deep breath.
'Can I be a bridesmaid?' she demanded. 'Marigold always promised I could be a bridesmaid when she got married. She loves me more than Johnny does.'
'No one's going to be a bridesmaid,' John said curtly. 'She's being wed tomorrow, he – is going overseas. Now it's time you were both in bed. Go up, now, no arguments!'
Realising that although he was not shouting as he often did when in this mood, her father was in one of his ferocious rages, Poppy tugged Ivy out into the scullery.
'Shut up!' she ordered in a fierce whisper. 'Get washed and don't say another word! Can't you see he's mad about something?'
It was more than she could bear, having to control Ivy's impetuous outbursts when she wanted to lie on the floor and scream with frustration and jealousy herself. Marigold! Her older sister who'd never looked at boys, never wanted to walk with them on the Chase in the evenings, never confided any dreams of love and marriage to her, was marrying a rich man!
It was unfair! It was wrong, she didn't want it with the intensity Poppy felt when she dreamed about escaping from her dreary existence. Marigold was happy being nursemaid to Mrs Roberts' brats. She'd be happy living in this sort of house, cooking and cleaning all day long for someone like their Pa. It was Poppy who needed, was destined to get away.
In the depths of her mind Poppy was dimly aware that the chances of two of them achieving such unlikely marriages were remote. While Ivy lay at her side bemoaning the fact that she could not be a bridesmaid and flaunt herself in her finery before her schoolfriends, Poppy silently cried herself to sleep, eaten up with jealous fury.
*
Marigold and Richard were welcomed warmly by the Cranworths.
She discovered that Archie was Richard's distant cousin, a former soldier who limped from a wound sustained years before in India. He had a long, lean face on which lines of pain were etched deeply, and looked much older than the late thirties.
Alexandra was several years younger, petite, lively and pretty, with wide set grey eyes that sparkled with irrepressible fun. Her fair hair was puffed out wide over her ears and coiled into a neat bun low down on her neck. She wore a very elegant day dress in silver-grey crepe-de-chine, with a cross-over bodice, tight sleeves and hobble skirt.
'I'm so pleased to meet Richard's darling Marigold at last,' she greeted them. 'He talks incessantly about you when he's here!'
'He's mentioned me before?' Marigold was astonished.
'Endlessly. We thought he would go into a decline when you quarrelled. He came here, you know, when you didn't reply to his letters. Now I can quite see why he fell in love with you. You're beautiful. Come upstairs with me, and take off your hat. You must call me Lexie, Alexandra's such a mouthful.'
'Thank you. It's so kind of you to have us,' Marigold said shyly, overwhelmed by her friendliness, and warmed by the knowledge that Richard had confided in these cousins.
'I'm delighted. I'm bored with doing the polite round in Edgbaston. Now, don't be shy. You and Richard are to have the best guestroom.'
Marigold looked at her, startled yet again.
'Don't you disapprove?'
'Of what? That you love one another? My dear, half the bedrooms at country house parties are occupied by people who have no right to be in them, or are with other people's wives! The only rule is they must not be caught, and if they are they don't cause a scandal. It's hypocrisy! You and Richard are honest about your love, and anyway will be married tomorrow. And you don't want to waste the rest of the time you have together,' she added seriously. 'I know what it's like, I hated it whenever Archie was away, while we were in India.'
That night Richard was gentle and especially tender in his loving. Marigold clung to him, unaware just how much she'd missed his kisses, his closeness. It had seemed a dreadful deprivation, being separated, but until she experienced the joy of reunion she hadn't fully comprehended the depth of her need for him.
In the morning Lexie helped her dress in one of her own gowns.
'No arguments, it's my wedding present to you.'
Marigold hadn't even stopped to consider what she could wear for her wedding, and she blushed at the thought she might have been forced to appear in her only dress, the faded blue cotton print she'd had for the past two years.
Lexie's dress was a slender skirted, sophisticated gown of delicate apple green tussore, with darker green edgings, and a matching wide brimmed hat trimmed with dark green tulle and osprey feathers. The morning was chilly
and Lexie produced a long ermine stole and muff which she insisted on Marigold borrowing.
When they were ready the Cranworths accompanied them to the nearby church. There were only a few curious bystanders outside to see them all arrive together. But as they stepped out of the Cranworths' motor another, sporty model arrived with a flourish and Henry leapt out.
He looked very dashing in his soldier's uniform, and very like Richard so that Marigold guessed his identity immediately.
'Richard, you old dog! I only heard yesterday! Wouldn't have missed your wedding for anything! And this is my sister-to-be?'
'Henry! I'm so glad to see you, but what brings you here? How did you know? Marigold, darling, this is my brother.'
Gallantly Henry bent to kiss her hand, and she blushed furiously as his candid eyes appraised her.
'Don't blame you, old boy. Wish I'd seen her first! I've joined the Prince of Wales', and we're at the barracks over at Whittington, Lichfield way. Archie telephoned me late last night, after you'd gone to bed. Had the devil of a job to get here in time. But you mustn't be late. We can talk afterwards.'
He waved airily as he went into the church. He was so like Richard, Marigold thought, but not quite so tall, nor quite so dark, and certainly not nearly so handsome!
They followed him and Richard led her up the aisle to where the rector awaited them. Marigold wondered if it was all a dream. There had been no time to arrange for flowers, or music, but Marigold didn't notice.
Then she stopped suddenly. There was a woman dressed in a black skirt and white blouse, with a familiar, brightly coloured shawl round her shoulders, kneeling in the front pew. She broke away from Richard and in a moment was clasped in Mary's arms, sobbing.
'There, there, child. I couldn't bear you to be married without being with you. But don't tell your father or anyone. They think I'm at work.'
Forcing back her tears, Marigold kissed her mother.
'Thank you, Mom. I'm so glad you're here.'
'I appreciate it too, Mrs Smith,' Richard said quietly, and then, as the rector gave a suggestive cough, drew Marigold away.
The ceremony was short, simple, austere. Afterwards Lexie tried to persuade Mary to go back to the house with them, but she smilingly refused.
'I have to get the train to Hednesford and I daren't be late. But thank you, I'm so thankful Marigold has such good friends.'
Marigold kissed her goodbye, promising to write in a day or so, then went to the hastily prepared wedding breakfast the Cranworths had organised. Marigold was oblivious of what she ate or drank, and almost as little aware of the activities of the photographer who had been summoned to take photographs.
'We must leave now,' Richard said regretfully. 'It's a long drive home.'
By this time it was raining and he had to drive slowly. Marigold huddled under the hood of the motor car, wrapped in a fur coat of Russian sable he had given her as a wedding present, and further rugs Lexie had tucked round her before they set off.
'I'm terrified,' she confessed as they passed through Cannock and left familiar country behind.
'There's no need to be. Father can be rather gruff and autocratic at times. He hated the idea of Henry and me enlisting but he came round in the end. And Mother is preoccupied with village affairs. Being an American, she's in love with the idea of being the squire's wife, organising the peasantry. Not that Father is the squire,' he added, seeing Marigold's apprehensive look. 'There are several other even larger houses nearby, but Mother is the one who is most involved. No doubt she's already organising the women into knitting socks for the troops, and collecting food parcels to send. She'll love having you to take care of.'
Then he had to concentrate on driving, for the rain had become a downpour, and the roads were slippery with mud. Marigold hardly noticed Stafford, or the villages they passed through. She was cold despite her furs, and sleepy. By the time they came to Newcastle and began to climb the hills beyond she was half asleep, waking only when Richard swung in through a pair of gates and along a short, laurel bordered drive.
'We're home,' he announced proudly, and she looked up through the early dusky, wet gloom, to see a simply enormous house looming in front of her. It was one of the largest she had ever seen.
'This is your home?' she gasped. 'It's far bigger even than Old Ridge Court!'
'Not much, it hasn't many more rooms, but they're bigger. And draughtier, as you'll discover,' he said with a laugh as he came round the motor car and disentangled her from the rugs.
'Welcome home, Mrs Endersby,' he whispered as he lifted her down.
She didn't reply. Behind him, silently, the great oak door had swung open. A butler, stately and impressive, stood impassively at the top of a short flight of steps.
'Mr Richard,' the apparition intoned. 'We were not expecting you back so soon.'
'Marigold, this is Kemp. He's been with us since I was a little boy. Kemp, this is my wife.'
The butler inclined his head slightly, and Marigold was shaken with a fit of nervous giggles she had difficulty in suppressing. She wondered if, in the privacy of his pantry, he ever unbent.
'Welcome, Miss,' he said woodenly, and stood aside.
'Come, darling, we'll go and see the parents. Are they in the drawing room, Kemp?'
'The green drawing room, Master Richard, since no company was expected.'
Richard nodded to him and put his arm round Marigold, leading her through a vast square hall. A flight of wide shallow stairs disappeared off one side, and opposite she could see through an archway into a seemingly endless corridor with windows all along one wall.
Richard led her forwards along it, and opened the first door. Marigold gasped at the magnificent room they entered, bigger and more richly furnished than any she'd seen before.
The brightness of the electric lighting dazzled her. Portraits hung on every wall, surrounded by red flocked wallpaper, rich and glowing in the light from several crystal chandeliers. Below the portraits were cabinets displaying a bewildering array of china ornaments. A huge Turkey carpet covered the floor, and what seemed like dozens of damask covered chairs and sofas and footstools, each with attendant pie-crust tables, filled the room.
'We only use this when we have a large party,' Richard said, taking her hand and leading her to a set of double doors. Beyond was another room, almost as grand, but the pictures here were landscapes, the wallpaper was gold, and there were vast numbers of small gilt chairs arranged round a dais on which stood not only a grand piano but also several music stands.
'Mother is very musical, we often have performances in here,' Richard explained. 'The parents are in the next room.'
When he opened the doors into a much smaller room, plainly furnished with oak tables and chairs, a William Morris wallpaper on the walls, Marigold sighed with relief. Although large by normal standards it was a far cosier room. This was a room she could like.
To her dismay, however, there was no-one present and Richard walked across to the further pair of doors.
'I thought they'd be here,' she said faintly.
'Here? Oh, this is the anteroom. We sometimes have breakfast here in the winter, it's got a very good fireplace.' Before she could respond he'd opened the door and ushered her into yet another vast room. This must be the green drawing room. She had a confused impression of green wallpaper, plain but overpowering, and more portraits, before her gaze became rivetted on one of the most beautiful women she'd ever seen, sitting in a chair beside a roaring log fire.
'Richard! Darling, why didn't you tell us you'd be home?'
Her accent revealed her to be an American. As Richard crossed the room to drop a kiss on her cheek Marigold studied her.
She was tall and slender. Her dark hair was piled high on her head, against the fashion, but it suited her wide cheekbones. Her complexion was flawless, although as she drew closer Marigold could see a web of fine lines round her mouth and eyes. Her evening gown was of silk, a deep ruby, hobble skirted but with float
ing, diaphanous panels and trimmed with a profusion of cream lace, the finest Marigold had ever seen.
'Mother! Is Father not down yet?'
'He'll be along in a minute. Introduce your friend to me.'
Richard came and put his arm round Marigold.
'Mother, I know this is sudden. Blame the war. I'd hoped to introduce Marigold to you soon, but as I'm going away – well, there wasn't time. Mother, this is my wife. We were married this morning.'
'Married? Richard!'
She seemed incapable of further speech, just stared from her son to the girl beside him. Then she made an effort to pull herself together. 'I don't understand. My dear, I apologise. I am so startled my wits have deserted me. Come and sit down. How did Richard meet you? Who are you?'
'I met Marigold when I spent Christmas at Oxford, with Mr Professor and Mrs Roberts.'
'Ah, yes. Then you are a relative of hers?'
Marigold shook her head, incapable of speech.
'A visitor. Don't be shy of me, my dear. Where is your home?'
'In Hednesford,' Marigold managed to find her voice.
'Hednesford? Isn't that a mining village? Near Rugeley somewhere? Is your father a colliery owner?'
'He works in a colliery,' Marigold told her. 'I am – was – Mrs Roberts' maid.'
'A maid? A servant?'
Mrs Endersby stood up suddenly, looming over Marigold. Suddenly she swung round on Richard.
'Have you gone mad?' she demanded harshly. 'Are you utterly crazy, throwing yourself away on some trollop from the kitchens? Or worse? I don't believe it! This is some trick, some stupid masquerade! Tell me it's not true!'
Richard stood up to face her, his face white with anger.
'It is perfectly true, Mother, and you are behaving disgracefully! I will ask you to treat my wife with the respect she deserves. What she did to earn a living and what her father is are quite irrelevant. What she is herself is what matters, and she is the one woman in the world for me, the girl I love, my wife!' 'No, Richard.' His mother was calm now, and she stood facing him, dark eyes implacable, her chin thrust forward aggressively. 'You may believe you are married to this – wench! You may have gone through some form of ceremony, but I doubt very much it is legal! I will not accept it is, ever! And I will see your father is not foolish enough to be bamboozled into accepting it. There are ways, there must be, of annulling this foolishness. You'll be grateful to me one day. Marrying a servant! How can you demean us, your family, and yourself so?'
The Cobweb Cage Page 19