I love you! she thought with a smile.
Catherine handed her bouquet to Poppy, her matron of honor, and then glanced back at their seated guests. She smiled at her mum and dad, at Aunt Vivi and Arthur’s Uncle Herbert and Aunt Eleanor. Poppy’s husband was there, too, along with Mirin and Susan and their families. To Catherine’s delight, dear Angus McDuff had journeyed all the way from Scotland to attend. Arthur’s friends attended as well, chief among them Clive Wakefield, who stood beside him as best man. Catherine made a mental picture of the moment, vowing to remember this always, everyone joyful and content.
“Shall we begin?” the vicar asked, but then he surprised Catherine by giving her a big wink. He looked beyond her, toward the entrance of the chapel.
What in the world…? As if on cue, Arthur and everyone else joined him by facing the doors.
What’s going on? Puzzled, Catherine looked to Arthur for an answer, but he merely gave her a mysterious smile.
Suddenly, the doors opened, revealing three men. One wore a dark suit, while the others had red jackets. The men in red came inside and held open the doors, waiting for someone who stood just beyond Catherine’s line of sight.
She glanced back at Arthur. “I don’t understand—”
“Just wait.” His gaze sparkled. “I’ve been sworn to secrecy, love. It is a wonderful surprise, just for you.”
Heart racing in expectation, Catherine got the surprise of her life as a beaming Princess Elizabeth and Prince Philip walked into the chapel, followed by Princess Margaret and two ladies-in-waiting!
As everyone bowed and curtsied to the royals, Arthur took Catherine’s trembling hand and led her away from the altar. Elizabeth and Philip came forward to greet them, along with Princess Margaret.
Elizabeth wore a suit of shimmering blue silk, which matched the color of her striking eyes. Catherine felt at a loss of what to do or say, but then remembered herself and curtsied to the crown princess, her husband, and sister.
Elizabeth smiled. “You are such a beautiful bride.”
“Thank you, Your…Your Royal Highness,” Catherine sputtered. “But how…?” She glanced back and forth between Elizabeth and Arthur. “I can’t imagine how—”
“I saw you at the gates of Buckingham Palace,” Elizabeth said. “I watched the proposal. Despite what you may think, we don’t often have such wonderful events happening at the gates. It took some doing, but my people eventually tracked you down. You see, Arthur Howard,” she glanced at him with a twinkle in her eye, “has a few well-placed friends, one of whom is an elderly gentleman I’m rather fond of…”
Who—? Catherine’s eyes suddenly widened in disbelief. “Churchill? Gosh, will he be attending, too?”
Everyone laughed, and Elizabeth merrily said, “No, but he and Lady Spencer-Churchill did ask that I convey their fondest felicitations, along with a present for the bride and groom on the occasion of their wedding.” She glanced at her husband and sister. “Speaking of which, shall we take our places so that the ceremony can commence?”
Arthur led the still-trembling Catherine back to the altar, while the royals seated themselves in the front row, near George and Lily. The other guests took this as their cue and sat with a rustling of silk, satin, and organdy.
The vicar cleared his throat and began his welcoming speech to the congregation, followed by the opening prayer and declarations.
“Catherine Ellen Hastings, will you take Arthur Bertrand Howard to be your husband?”
The air was charged with excitement, the wedding vows a happy whirl of sparkle, color, and sound, until Arthur placed a simple gold wedding band on Catherine’s finger. At that instant, the world stilled in crystalline perfection, the moment captured by her heart, never to be forgotten. The circle was complete, their love eternal.
“I therefore proclaim that they are husband and wife…”
Catherine thrilled at the vicar’s words. It was done!
Arthur lifted her veil. “Catherine Howard, you’ve made me the happiest man in the world.”
Her married name, used for the first time by her handsome husband.
Arthur kissed her, his lips touching hers gently at first, swiftly changing to wild abandon, his joy apparent as he swept her back and dipped her low.
He righted her and grinned. “Shall we?” he said, tucking her arm in his. They faced the royals and made obeisance. After Catherine and Arthur signed the marriage register, they happily proceeded toward the doors, acknowledging their family and guests, who showered them with white and pink rose petals as they left the chapel.
…
Catherine and Arthur stood together in their honeymoon suite at the Savoy, about to open the wedding gifts from Elizabeth and Philip and the Churchills. They had saved these for a private unveiling, the other gifts awaiting them at her parents’ home in Stratford. While Arthur unwrapped the present from the former prime minister and his wife, Catherine ran her finger along a red satin ribbon on the royal gift box, which was wrapped in gorgeous golden paper emblazoned with the princess’s crest.
“Beautiful,” she said. “Seems a shame to tamper with it.”
“Well, see here!” Arthur exclaimed as he removed tissue paper from the inside of the Churchill box. “Cigars! The PM’s own brand!” He removed the cigar box and added, “Ah, there’s a bit more. Something for you.” Grinning, he held forth a boxed bottle of Pol Roger champagne.
“Smashing! I should like some of that tonight,” Catherine said as she opened the royal gift and gasped at a large, sterling silver loving cup, nestled in a bed of red velvet. The cup had been etched with an elaborate A&C. Beautiful, fit for a queen! She lifted it from the velvet cushioning—heavy!—and admired it. The silver work on the handles was particularly stunning, an intricate depiction of flowering vines. Turning the cup around, she saw Elizabeth’s royal crest had been placed on the side opposite their initials.
Arthur whistled. “That looks old,” he said. “Perhaps Georgian?” He took it and hefted it, then gave her a wicked grin. “What in God’s name is one supposed to do with this? A doorstop, perhaps? Or, shall I fill it with champagne? We could get quite a bender on if we dared drink that much!”
“Oh, you!” Laughing, she fell into his arms and kissed him with passion.
After a long moment, he drew back and pretended to gasp for air. “Mrs. Howard, I do believe I shan’t need to get you drunk tonight.”
She gave a giggle. “Indeed, no, Mr. Howard,” she replied, glancing at the bed. “I am more than willing.”
He pulled her close, his expression grown serious. “Catherine, I will cherish my days with you, now and forever.”
Her mood shifted, and she grew sober as she reflected on how lucky she had been that day at Buckingham Palace. She remembered the grief and turmoil she’d experienced before that point in time, and all the subsequent anguish she’d felt until she finally realized her future lay with Arthur. The past was behind her, most certainly, but she would allow herself one last moment of reflection as a way of saying good-bye.
She closed her eyes and saw a man with blue-black hair and dark-blue eyes, her memories of him filled with gentle warmth and a single, fervent wish.
Wherever you are, she thought, I pray you will also find love. True love.
Catherine opened her eyes, then raised herself on tiptoe and kissed Arthur tenderly, before whispering, “Yes, my darling husband. I will also cherish my days with you, now and forever.”
Epilogue
25 May 1953, Chelsea, London
Catherine was heavy with her first child and suffering because of the unusually hot weather. Arthur brought her a glass of ginger ale and repositioned the electric fan. With Arthur’s help, she eased herself onto the sofa and then luxuriated in the cool stream of air.
“I’m as big as a blooming elephant,” she groused.
“Yes, and did you know I happen to love elephants?”
She laughed. “I never dreamt it would take me years and ye
ars to get pregnant, and it just so happens we’re having the hottest weather of the century this year. Gosh, what’s this summer going to be like? Even after the baby comes, I fear I’ll be an enormous, sweating heap of flesh.”
“My poor darling.”
She could tell he was trying to hide a smile, the dear, and she smiled back. “I’m thrilled about the baby, of course, but I do also have the right to complain.” She raised her leg as best she could and waved her foot about. “Puffy ankles. And please don’t get me started about my fingers. At least I had the foresight to remove my rings before my fingers grew fat as sausages.”
His smile finally shone through as he sat by her side and kissed her cheek. “You look beautiful, love.”
She chuckled. “No, I don’t. You obviously can’t tell the truth. But you do know how to charm an elephant, don’t you?”
He grinned just as the doorbell chimed, and Catherine watched as he rose and left for the foyer.
She heard the front door open and recognized a voice—Clive Wakefield. She glanced at the clock on the mantle. Quarter past six. What was he doing here at this time of the evening? She no longer held any hope of finding out anything about Jonnie’s whereabouts, or what had happened to him, the case having grown ice-cold despite Arthur and Clive’s persistence.
But still…
Muffled conversation ensued, and Catherine tried to discern what was being said, but then she heard the men move off, presumably to the library. Sipping her ginger ale, she looked around the lounge, confident her new home gleamed with care and polish, everything in its place and ready for unexpected company. Their new television set had been placed center stage in the room, and Catherine was thrilled with the shows she’d watched so far, especially a new series on the BBC called Robin Hood, starring Patrick Troughton. As far as she knew, they were the only people on their street with a telly, and, despite her advanced pregnancy, they’d invited everyone to come over and watch the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II, which would be shown live on 2 June.
The thought of witnessing such an event in her own home took Catherine’s breath away. Her parents had also purchased a telly, and she guessed that in the next week more than a few of her friends would do the same. And to think she had met their new queen in the most extraordinary circumstances! Elizabeth had continued to keep in touch with Arthur and her via lovely Christmas cards. Without fail, she graciously included a personal note, along with a photograph, the most recent of her adorable little children, Prince Charles and Princess Anne.
And her coronation was just a few days away! To help with their forthcoming party—and with life in general—Arthur and Catherine had a new housekeeper, a young Scotswoman named Trudy MacCunn, who happened to be the daughter of the day maid her mother had hired the year before. Trudy proved herself a blessing, now that Catherine was so near to term and unable to do any cleaning or heavy lifting.
Trudy came in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “I see Mr. Howard saw t’ the door. Is there anythin’ else you’ll be needin’, Mrs. Howard? I’ve got some tidying up t’ do in the kitchen, and then I’ll let Duffy in from the garden. After that, I’ve got a date with Mr. James Bond. He’s a charmer, he is.”
Catherine smiled. “Really, Trudy, you are itching to get me to read that spy novel, aren’t you?”
“Casino Royale, ma’am.”
“Well, as soon as you’re finished with it, please do pass it my way. I’ll give it a try, although I would guess it’d be more Arthur’s cup of tea. And yes, I shan’t need anything more tonight. Thank you, and have a good evening.”
Trudy nodded and headed back to the kitchen just as Arthur showed Clive into the lounge. Catherine felt a sense of expectation given the unusual nature of Clive’s visit, but dampened her feelings because of the string of disappointments and cold trails leading up to this moment.
Clive made his apologies to Catherine about the disruption. “Forgive me for barging in, my dear.”
“It’s quite all right,” Catherine said. “Please, do sit down.” She indicated a chair. “May we get you anything, Clive? A ginger ale, perhaps, or something stronger?” When he shook his head, she asked, “What’s this about?”
As Clive took the chair, Arthur sat on the arm of the sofa near Catherine. His tone betrayed his excitement. “Darling, Clive has some rather interesting news. It might be mere coincidence, but it is intriguing, nonetheless.”
“You see,” Clive explained, “I’ve gotten word a letter has been advertised in the current Sotheby’s catalogue, one addressed to a Catherine Hastings. The bloke who discovered it knows Arthur, too, and he thought it an amusing coincidence this particular missive bears your maiden name.”
Perplexed, Catherine asked, “I don’t quite understand.”
“I can’t say I do, either,” Clive said. “But my instincts have flared, for the good, I might add, and I always trust my instincts. Lucky for us, they’re having a viewing of the auction goods this evening at Sotheby’s until ten o’clock, and I thought it might be well worth the effort to go there and examine the letter. Besides, the man gave me one additional bit of information, one that makes a personal examination even more imperative.”
“Wait until you hear this, Catherine!” Arthur exclaimed.
Heart racing in anticipation, she looked from her husband to Clive. “What in the world are you talking about?”
“It’s a stunner,” Clive said. “You see, the letter is signed with the initials JB.”
Catherine gasped. No, it can’t be true! It must be a jest, or a mistake.
“I am sorry to say I have no other details,” Clive told her. He glanced at Arthur. “We should hurry if we’re going to make it to Sotheby’s before closing time. I know we must try to contain our enthusiasm, should this turn out to be a coincidence, but if it is genuine, and I would emphasize the if, then we may actually find out what happened to Jonathan Brandon.”
Catherine regarded her pregnant belly with dismay. Oh, bother! She bit her lip and looked Arthur squarely in the eyes. “I’m going with you.”
“Catherine, no. You mustn’t tax yourself,” he implored.
“Oh, don’t be silly. I’m not an invalid, Arthur. Besides, I’ll go barmy with the waiting, and it might set me off so that I have the baby right here on the sofa for all my nervousness.” She smiled, suddenly feeling strong and determined. “I shall accompany you both, and nothing you say will stop me.”
…
Catherine, Arthur, and Clive arrived at Sotheby’s an hour and a half later.
To her annoyance, she had to waddle into the auction house. Yes, bloody waddle, she thought, cursing under her breath. To make matters worse, Arthur seemed to hover over her as if she were a porcelain doll.
A very large porcelain doll, she thought wryly as she waddled on. Elephant-sized, just the way Arthur loves them.
A banner strung across the entrance to the exhibit hall suddenly caught her attention: The Hastings Family Collection of Rare Books, Manuscripts, and Memorabilia.
“Hmm,” Arthur murmured. “What do you think of that? It might explain things. They’re no doubt your distant relatives, Catherine, and I would guess others in the past bore the same name: Catherine Hastings. The letter was addressed to one of them, I presume.”
Her heart fell. Of course, he was right. It had to be a coincidence, and Jonnie would remain among the missing.
Clive nodded. “Yes, but whilst that may be true, we’ve come this far, and we should examine the letter.”
“Lead on,” Arthur said, as he and Catherine followed.
Given the late hour, there were only a few potential buyers in the exhibition hall, along with several security guards. Hundreds of items were on display, most held in glass cases, the exception being a rather elaborate lot of sixteenth through nineteenth century furniture, along with some clothing displayed on mannequins.
As the clock ticked toward closing time, they searched the glass cases for the letter, to
no avail, before Clive said, “Perhaps I should flash my badge and ask for the curator.”
Catherine was about to agree when Arthur called out, “I found it!”
He stood before a case filled with documents.
Upon arriving at his side, Catherine caught Arthur’s stunned look.
“Bloody hell,” he said.
“What is it?” Catherine asked, suddenly fearful.
Clive came alongside, and together they gazed down at the letter, brown and spotted with age.
Catherine read.
Miss Catherine Ellen Hastings
Stratford, London
Dearest Catherine,
I am well. As well as a man with a broken heart can be. I shall always endeavor to return to you, but have little hope in that regard. Fear not, for in the meantime I have found safety and acceptance in Smithfield, at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital.
I hope and pray my words shall find you one day, or that I may somehow be able to deliver them in person. Know that I love you still.
Yours ever,
JB 3627555
25.2.1559
Catherine felt faint. This couldn’t be. It doesn’t make sense.
She swayed, and Arthur caught her. With Clive’s help, they got her over to a chair. People swarmed about, someone bringing her a glass of water, another fanning her with a Sotheby’s brochure.
“My God, Catherine,” Arthur said. “Should we call for a physician?”
She took a sip of water and shook her head, feeling stronger. “No,” she reassured him. “I’ll be all right.”
Catherine looked at Clive, her thoughts crystal clear. She motioned him forward and whispered into his ear, “Use your badge. Pull that letter from the exhibit. Say it is evidence. I can’t take the chance of losing it in a bidding war should it go to auction. Arthur and I shall pay the asking price—higher than the asking, if we must—but it must come home with me. Tonight.”
Clive nodded. “Jolly good plan,” he said, reaching into his breast pocket for his badge. “This is obviously a forgery. I’ll need it as evidence.”
Once he left, Catherine looked at Arthur.
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