She opened the case and Caroline saw rings, bracelets and brooches resting on velvet cushions in a glittering array. Lady Brecon lifted a tray and drawer from the bottom of the case a tiara of diamonds. It was an exquisite piece, fashioned so that it would encircle the entire head. The stones were set with skilful craftsmanship in the shape of flowers and they glittered dazzlingly in the light of the candles, seeming almost to quiver into life as Lady Brecon gave the sparking crown into Caroline’s hands.
“My wedding present to you, my sweet daughter-in-law to be,” she said.
“Oh, but, Ma’am, how can I take it?” Caroline asked.
“I desire you to have it,” Lady Brecon said firmly. “It is my very own and the best that I have to give.”
“Then thank you, Ma’am, with all my heart,” Caroline said softly, and she bent once again to kiss Lady Brecon on the cheek.
Picking up the lace veil, she said good-night and went towards the door. Dorcas opened it for her and to Caroline’s surprise followed her out into the corridor. She obviously wished to say something which would not be overheard by Lady Breton and Caroline waited for her to speak. Dorcas seemed more than usually gaunt and angular, but when she spoke her voice was softer, and not as harsh as it was ordinarily.
“I would like to wish your ladyship every happiness.”
“Thank you, Dorcas.”
“You will find it, m’lady, for you have a rare courage,” Dorcas said unexpectedly. “Be not afraid, however strange some things may seem to your ladyship.”
The words seemed almost to be torn from her lips as if she spoke against an effort to keep silent.
“Thank you, Dorcas,” Caroline said gravely. “I will try not to be afraid.”
“Yes, try, m’lady,” Dorcas said drily, ‘for things are not always that which they appear to be.”
Caroline wanted to ask Dorcas what she meant by this enigmatic remark, but before she could ask the question the elderly woman had stepped back into Lady Breton’s bedroom and the door shut softly behind her.
Caroline went to her own room. Maria was waiting for her, still in a state of excited agitation.
“Oh, m’lady, ‘tis all of a dither I am, for I was. wondering where you had gone. What is it that your ladyship has in your hand?”
Caroline gave the veil and the tiara to Maria.
“Arrange these for me,” she said and seated herself at the dressing-table.
Maria opened out the veil. It was of the finest Brussels lace and as delicate as a spider’s web.
“Oh, m’lady, ‘tis beautiful.” Maria exclaimed and continued to talk while she draped the veil over Caroline’s head and held it in place with the sparkling brilliance of the tiara.
Caroline did not listen to her. She was thinking of Lady Breton’s sweetness and Dorcas’ unexpected words of encouragement. No, she would not be afraid!
Vane might be angry with her but at least in his anger he had forgotten his previous determination to drive her from his life.
However hard it might prove to be, however horrible the revelations that lay ahead, Caroline told herself that anything was better than being separated from him. She was so sure of her love, so certain with an unshakable conviction that Vane was the right man for her and she the right woman for him that she could view Vane’s secret, now that she would soon be in a position to share it with him, without much apprehension. She was confident beyond the possibility of any doubt that they had been meant for each other and that fate had sent them into each other’s lives in such a strange manner for that very reason and ultimately, Caroline believed, things would work out better than if they had met in a conventional, carefree manner.
She had only to remember her indifference to the other men who had expressed their affection for her to ask herself whether she would have loved Vane so deeply and with such a consuming passion if they had been introduced at a ball and he had courted her with all the frills, elegance and unhurried courtesy of a conventional romance.
Such a course seemed somehow unthinkable in connection with Vane. No, their love was meant to be turbulent and violent. Perhaps it would feed on difficulties, and, passing through them, be tempered so that pure and untarnished their affection for each other would last for all eternity.
Maria stood back to admire her handiwork.
“There, m’lady, I have finished. Never have I seen your ladyship look more beautiful!”
For the first time since she had sat down at the dressing-table Caroline looked at her reflection in the mirror. The soft, shadowy folds of the lace veil framed her face but did not entirely conceal the burnished glitter of her hair. The diamond tiara crowned her head. It gave her a regal look, seeming a fitting ornament to surmount the long elegance of her neck and to enhance the manner in which she proudly lifted her chin.
Yes, she was beautiful, but there was something more than beauty in the depths of her eyes, in the sudden trembling of her soft mouth. Here was the face of a girl who stands at the crossroads of life, reaching out towards womanhood, sensing the mysteries which lie ahead.
For a moment Caroline shut her eyes against the revelations she could read in her own face. It was almost too much to bear, this picture of herself half shrinking, half triumphant a mixture of child and woman, suspended as it were between heaven and earth, yet with it all confident because the greatest of all emotions was stirring within her breast. She rose to her feet.
“What is the hour?”
Maria looked at the clock on the mantelshelf.
“Tis but a minute or two to midnight, m’lady,” she replied, and even as she spoke there came a loud knocking at the door. Maria opened it. James was standing there, but as if he was conscious of the solemnity of the occasion his cheeky grin was missing and he did not even twinkle at her.
“His lordship’s compliments, and he awaits her ladyship below.”
Maria shut the door and turned towards Caroline. There were tears in her eyes now and as she looked at her mistress they overflowed and ran down her cheeks.
“Oh, m’lady! M’lady!”
“Dry your tears, Maria,” Caroline said quietly, “and go ahead of me to the Chapel, for I wish you to see me married. I will follow in one second.”
“Yes, m’lady,” Maria sobbed, “but who will take you to the altar? Oh, if only his lordship, the Marquis, was here! And what will he say at having missed the greatest day in your life?”
Caroline put her hand on Maria’s shoulder.
“I would have liked above all things for Papa, and Mama to be with me, but as they are not, Maria, wish me luck.”
“Oh, m’lady, I wish you all the happiness there is in the world. You know I do,” Maria sobbed, wiping her eyes on the corner of her apron.
“Then run along,” Caroline said, and obediently Maria went from the room, leaving her alone.
For a moment Caroline stood quite still in the centre of the room. Then she went down on her knees beside her bed. With her eyes closed and her hands clasped together she prayed the simple prayers that she had repeated every evening since she had been a child. She said them over very quietly, concentrating on them to the exclusion of all else, and when she had finished she felt suddenly at peace within herself and filled with a quiet strength which, she knew would not fail her.
She opened the door of her bedchamber. Slowly she walked down the passage. It was very quiet save for the rustle of her dress and the soft movement made by the lace veil as it trailed behind her on the carpet. When she came to the top of the Grand Staircase, she looked below and saw that standing alone in the centre of the hall Lord Brecon was waiting for her.
As she came down the stairs, she was aware that he watched her, but as she drew near to him she saw that the expression on his face was inscrutable. It was indeed at that moment, it seemed to her, the face of a stranger. He gave her no greeting, there was no smile on his lips and she knew, as he bowed and proffered his arm, that he was still angry.
In silence t
hey moved through the hall and turned down the passage which led past the dining-room beyond which Caroline had never ventured. Now the candles were lit and the whole way was a blaze of light as far as she could see. There were flunkeys lining the walls. Soon she heard the distant murmur of voices, their tones lowered, it was true, but still the whispering, muttering, gossiping voices of people, and Caroline guessed that the guests were assembled and waiting for them in the Chapel.
She was not mistaken. Footmen flung open two high double doors, there was a sudden burst of organ music, and Caroline saw that the whole company of Lord Brecon’s guests were packed within the narrow stone edifice. Some were squashed into the oak pews, others lined the walls, many of the gentlemen leaning nonchalantly against the marble tombs and monuments, while the servants of the household peeped over the gallery, their mob-caps and powdered wigs white patches against the darkness of the heavily beamed roof. For a moment Caroline felt that she must shrink from the wave of curious faces turned to look at her. Her hand on Lord Brecon’s arm trembled, yet she received no reassurance from him but felt herself drawn relentlessly forward.
The Chapel was a gloomy place despite the great gold candelabra each holding a dozen candles, which had been set one on either side of the altar. It was cold and chill and there was a smell of must and dust which made Caroline feel as if she could hardly breathe.
As Lord Brecon led her to the chancel where the Bishop and his private chaplain were waiting, Caroline looked up at the east window behind the altar and thought for a moment that it was draped with dirty curtains then she saw that it was half hidden by cobwebs - cobwebs, dark and grey with age hanging like tattered lace from the beams of the roof, shrouding the stone arches and stained glass and ornamenting with beggar’s rags the ancient reredos with its carved angels.
It-was eerie and ghostlike, and when Caroline reached the altar steps and had her back to the assembled company, it seemed to her that she and Lord Brecon and the Bishop were a living picture menaced by the decay and dust to which all life must ultimately return.
Little details seemed to Caroline extraordinarily clear. The brightness of the silver cross as if someone had quickly rubbed away its tarnish, the purity of the lace-edged altar cloth, and in contrast the tarnished dimness of the embroidered frontal, its gold thread broken, its crimson surface pitted with tiny holes as if it had been eaten by moths. The floor of the chapel was dirty, but the two cushions placed for the bride and groom to kneel on were of spotless white satin.
The Bishop’s voice boomed out. Once again a dreamlike spell seemed to descend on Caroline and hold her almost mesmerized so that she was able to watch what was happening with almost supernatural detachment. She could see herself standing pale, yet calm at Lord Brecon’s side, hear her own voice clear and unhurried with the responses, watch her fingers, white and nerveless as if they were made of wax, pass from the Bishop’s plump hand into the bridegroom’s keeping.
Still in a dream she heard Lord Brecon say,
“I, Seymour Berkeley Frederick Alexander Treweeke, take thee, Caroline Justina, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health to love and to cherish till death us do part, according to God’s Holy Ordinance, and thereto I plight thee my troth.”
He spoke firmly and audibly but with a coldness which seemed to Caroline to be even more chilling than that of the Chapel itself. She knew that she shivered physically because of his tone, and yet it was not herself who shivered but some stranger - a woman who bore her name and spoke with her voice, but who had for the moment ceased to feel any emotion within a frozen breast.
Caroline held out her hand and Lord Brecon slipped the ring on the third finger of her left hand. It was not a wedding ring, she noticed, but a signet ring which he had taken from his little finger. On it was his crest engraved on an emerald. It was too big for her so that she must bend her finger to prevent it from falling off.
And now the service was ended, and bride and groom knelt to receive the Bishop’s blessing. The organ, which had been playing quietly the whole time, burst into the Wedding March, and turning, Caroline and Lord Brecon faced their guests as they walked towards the door. Before they reached it, they were surrounded. Lord Brecon was being clapped on the back by the men, women Caroline had never seen before were kissing her on the cheek and speaking to her familiarly in flattering tones.
At last they were able to make their way back to the large ballroom. Here there was champagne to be consumed, healths to be drunk, and so many expressions of good wishes to be answered that Caroline wondered when it would ever end. The musicians played, but no one wished to dance. The guests preferred to talk, a glass of wine in their hands, a jest upon their lips. It seemed to Caroline that hours went by until her lips were stiff with smiling. She was tired, with a tiredness which made her whole body ache.
She stood by Lord Brecon, but she might have been a hundred miles away from him. Never once did he address her, never once did he even look in her direction. At last some of the more elderly people began to say good-night. Their carriages were called to the door and one by one they came up to express their good wishes all over again, to shake Lord Brecon’s hand and kiss Caroline’s fingers. Many guests, Caroline noticed, had returned to the card-room. Among them was Mrs, Miller. But Gervase Warlingham stood for a long time, leaning against the wall at the far end of the ballroom, watching the crowd round Lord Brecon and Caroline.
Caroline was well aware that he was there and more than once she found herself glancing involuntarily in his direction. She found it hard not to be conscious of him and she was al-most physically sensitive to the venom he was pouring out in their direction. But when at last a large number of guests had gone, she saw that he too had disappeared.
There was a sudden lull. There was no one waiting for the moment to say good-night. Lord Brecon and Caroline stood alone in the ballroom save for the musicians still playing a melody and half a dozen gentlemen sitting at the far end of the room who, judging by their voices and laughter, were slightly the worse for drink.
Caroline looked up at Lord Brecon. It was the first time that she had looked directly at him or spoken to him since they were married.
“May I retire, my lord?”
She spoke formally and if he had turned his head he would have seen that there was pleading in her eyes, and that her lips asked him a very different question but he barely glanced at her.
“If it please your ladyship.”
He bowed and offering her his arm led her formally to the foot of the Grand Staircase.
“The State Bedroom has been prepared for you,” he said. “You will find your maid awaiting you there.”
Caroline hesitated. She would have spoken his name, she had already put out her hand as if she would lay it in his, but at that moment a party of guests burst from the card-room.
“Ah, there you are Brecon,” they called gaily. “Come and drink a glass of wine with us.”
Lord Brecon turned towards them, and Caroline went quickly up the stairs. She knew where the State Bedroom was, though she had only peeped into it once on her way downstairs. There had been little to see for the shutters were closed and the furniture shrouded in dustsheets. Now the doors stood open and the candles were lit.
It was a vast room, its windows draped with curtains of hand-sewn tapestry, the great bed curtained in the same manner, while ostrich feather fronds surmounted the carved and gilt bedposts. The furniture was of gilt and marble and the walls were inset with panels of rose-tinted brocade.
But Caroline had little interest in her surroundings. All of a sudden she felt too utterly weary to bear even the weight of the diamond tiara, and as Maria hurried towards her she put up her hand to her forehead and swayed on her feet.
“You are tired, m’lady. ‘Tis little wonder,” Maria cried, “for it has been a vastly exciting evening both for your ladyship and for all of us. Come, let me undress
you. You will feel better when you are free of that head-dress and your gown.”
Gently, as if she had been a child, Maria took off Caroline’s pearl and lace gown, drew off her stockings and shoes and slipped over her head a night-robe of transparent softness. Then she brought her a pelisse of crepe trimmed with lace.
“Sit by the fire, m’lady,” Maria suggested, “and I will fetch you a cup of warm milk.”
“No, Maria, that is all for tonight. I only want to be alone,” Caroline said.
Maria smiled knowingly.
“Of course, m’lady, and I will not disturb you again, though you have but to pull the bell-rope should you have need of me. Shall I extinguish the candles, m’lady?”
“Yes please, Maria,” Caroline answered.
The candles were put out, the corners of the great room settled into shadow. But the fire was bright, the flames casting a glow on the ceiling and on Caroline as she sat in a low chair, her chin in her hand, her eyes looking deep into the flames.
How long she sat there she did not know. She was not really expecting anyone, feeling only that time waited and that the end, whatever it might be, was inevitable. It seemed to her that her past had been swept away from her and there was no promise as yet of the future.
The door opened. She did not turn her head, but she knew who had come into the room. Suddenly the feeling of detachment had gone completely. She was no longer tired. She came alive, she could feel the blood running quickly through her veins, her pulses pounding, a sudden excitement galvanizing her to life as if she had been dead and was resurrected. She heard his footsteps moving purposefully towards the centre of the room, and then there came his voice.
“Come here!”
The order was sharp, abrupt. Slowly Caroline turned her head and looked at him. He seemed silhouetted against the shadows, the firelight illuminating his face very clearly, flickering on the blue coat he had worn for their marriage, its diamond buttons twinkling like stars.
Caroline rose to her feet. She hesitated. There was half the length of the room between them.
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