‘But what do you mean?’ Eliza demanded, mystified.
‘Trust me,’ Margaret replied. ‘Trust me to do what I can. You may never see your mother again, but you may at least be able to marry in church the man you love.’
‘Never!’ Henrietta once again began to pace agitatedly around the room. ‘Never will I give permission, although in two years’ time she will not need it. She can marry whom she likes when she is of age ...
‘But why make her wait? Why cause her to suffer?’
‘Because she must suffer,’ Henrietta said implacably, putting her handkerchief to her mouth. ‘She must suffer as she has made her family suffer.’
‘You have not suffered,’ Margaret said scornfully. ‘She is the one who is suffering. She is an outcast in the town.
Good. She deserves it. In the olden days she would have been pilloried for less.’
‘I can’t understand you at all, Lady Woodville.’ Margaret had an expression of distaste on her face. ‘You are a most unnatural parent.’
‘I will thank you, madam, to keep a civil tongue in your head,’ Henrietta snapped. ‘You talk about being unnatural.
What is more unnatural than a daughter behaving as she did, and bringing shame on her family ...’
‘The Woodvilles have suffered no real shame,’ Margaret burst out. ‘It is your pride that is hurt. You can’t honestly say that people have ignored you in the street, that you have been refused admission to houses because of what Eliza did.’
‘People know,’ Henrietta said bitterly. ‘That is the point. They know. They may not say anything, but they know, and they look. That is why I long to get away from this neighbourhood ...’
‘Then you may do so,’ Margaret said suddenly. ‘I have decided to change my mind even though you reneged on your promise, and to buy you a house of your choice, so long as ...’
‘So long as what?’ Henrietta asked, her eyes flashing.
‘So long as you give your permission to the marriage of Ryder and Eliza, and persuade Guy to give his. That way your wish will be granted immediately. Eliza may have to wait eighteen months or two years; but you, Lady Woodville, will have to wait for ever.’ Margaret lifted her head defiantly. ‘I will never relent, never change my mind if you refuse this time. You will be bound to me and this place by an invisible chain that will hold you fast to Pelham’s Oak, Wenham, the places you hate, for the rest of your life.’
If the righteous folk of Wenham had snubbed Eliza while she was living with a man to whom she was not legally married, they had no hesitation in peeping out of windows, peering round corners or loitering along those parts of the route which lay between the Yetman house and the church on the date of the official wedding. The ceremony was timed for 10a.m., and the distance between the Yetman house and the church was only a third of a mile; but it was astonishing how many people, who one might have supposed would be otherwise engaged, managed to be out of doors or to find business in the vicinity.
Some of the good women of the parish (who had been among the most critical} even found work to do inside the church, and others openly hung about outside gawping.
This was, however, no fancy society wedding; it was a matter of business between man and God, sanctioned by the law. Eliza did not wear white, but a pretty oatmeal-coloured dress with a slight bustle, chastely ruched at the neck and with long sleeves, again ruched at the wrists. She drove to the church in the carriage with John Yetman. Ryder, accompanied by Prosper Martyn, who, disgusted by the attitude of his sister, had insisted on being best man, had gone before her to await his bride at the altar. The Rector waited too, staring sternly at them above his pince-nez, while in his hand he held the Book; the word of God.
There was no music, and at a sign from the verger John Yetman and Eliza began their slow march up the aisle. No guests had been invited, so the congregation was a pitiful one. There was the witness from the Registrar’s office, prescribed by law, and two of the women who had been cleaning the church stopped their labours while the ceremony was on and leaned on their mops watching the proceedings with interest.
It was a beautiful day and the sun shone through the ancient stained-glass windows upon the bride, whose heart was full of tranquillity, her eyes on the man she already called husband. As he stepped forward to take his place by her side there was the sound of a commotion outside, and the church doors were thrown open, causing the ladies propping themselves up on their mops nearly to fall flat on their faces. Both Ryder and Eliza, about to take their vows, turned expecting some disaster, but their expressions relaxed as they saw Margaret Woodville walk quickly down the aisle followed by Ted the groom, his hat in his hand. As Margaret took her seat in the front pew Prosper Martyn turned to smile at her approvingly. Ted sat a respectful two pews’ distance behind. Across the aisle, as though anxious to keep her distance, Mrs Lamb never took her eyes from her prayer book.
‘Dearly beloved...’the Rector intoned in the time-honoured ritual of the wedding service according to the Established Church.
It did not take very long. Ryder replaced on Eliza’s finger the ring they had used at Gretna and only removed that morning. It seemed a bit farcical and they smiled at each other as if in secret amusement. But the ring felt like an old friend, and they clasped hands firmly as the Rector pronounced them man and wife. Then, removing his pince-nez, he raised his noble, craggy head towards the rafters as if to pronounce a benediction over them. Instead he joined his hands in front of him, lowered his eyes and began in the plummy voice he used for preaching:
‘Dear children of God, the Gospel of St John tells us how Jesus sat preaching in the Temple when the Scribes and the Pharisees brought to him a woman taken in adultery. They set her before Our Lord saying “Master, this woman was taken in adultery, in the very act. Now Moses in the law commanded us, that such should be stoned: But what sayest thou?”’
Ryder and Eliza stood impassively before him, their hands still tightly clasped. Behind them Prosper Martyn looked daggers at the Rector, who ignored him. He also ignored Lady Woodville, who shook her head at him in violent disapproval. Meanwhile a small crowd had silently gathered at the rear of the church, and the Rector seemed, by the way he projected his voice, to be addressing them as much as the couple before him, as though he wished to distance himself as far as possible from the ceremony he had been required to conduct, clearly against his better judgement.
Jesus, you will remember,’ he went on, ‘wrote with his finger on the ground. And this is the remarkable thing that he said: “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.”’
‘Whereupon they all departed, one by one, until the woman and our Blessed Lord were left alone together. He asked her where were all those who had condemned her? “Hash no man condemned thee?” he said. And she replied “No man, Lord.” So Jesus said “Neither do I condemn thee.”’
The Rector’s pause was almost as resonant as his preaching.
His silence filled the air. It was a protracted one, and then, fastening his eyes directly on Eliza, he intoned in a deep, sonorous voice: ‘Go, and sin no more.’
Mr Lamb abruptly turned his back on the congregation and, approaching the altar, bowed. Then, clutching the hem of his surplice, the golden stole around his neck, he disappeared into the side chapel.
From the back o£ the church the crowd slunk silently away as though they, too, did not wish to be seen.
After the ceremony the bride and groom left by the side door, avoiding the Rector and any of those who lingered outside the front of the church. They were not ashamed or afraid, but they wanted to be by themselves. Ryder put his arm round Eliza, a gesture of familiarity and protectiveness that Prosper approved of. He smiled at Margaret Woodville, walking by his side, and she smiled back.
Ted had brought the carriage round and driven John Yetman, to whom the whole thing was an ordeal, back to his home.
Agnes had left for London the night before. She had hardly addressed a word to
her sister-in-law in the weeks she had been in the house. Meals had been taken in silence, and it was a relief when her trunk was put on the carrier’s wagon, which happened to be going to Blandford, and she went with it. Back at the house a small collation had been prepared, which was more in the way of being breakfast, because neither bride nor groom had felt like eating before they set out.
‘I would like to have that man defrocked,’ Prosper said as he stood by the open window in the drawing room drinking a welcome glass of sherry.
‘He was only trying to make a point,’ Eliza said. ‘He was within his rights, I suppose.’
‘I felt like making a public objection,’ Prosper said grimly. ‘I thought you were going to.’ Margaret smiled at him. No wonder her father liked him and liked doing business with him. He had risen greatly in her estimation.
‘I expected nothing better from the Rector,’ John Yetman said. ‘I think I shall be praying with the Methodists in future. I will never set foot in that church again while the Reverend Lamb is the incumbent.’
‘Oh, I think we should forgive the Rector.’ Ryder smiled broadly at his bride. ‘That will make us even better than him, because we shall be more charitable.’
It turned into a happy party, five people welded together by affection and love. John Yetman seemed the most affected, and perhaps the most bitter. He had been part of the parish all his life, much longer than anyone else present. He had been baptised in the church and married there. Now he called for silence and turned towards them.
‘Friends,’ he said, ‘we few are met here to celebrate the marriage of my son and a woman I have come to love very much in the short time I have known her. What Ryder has told me about her, about the past, has made me love and admire her more and more. This feeling was increased today as she stood, with such dignity, by Ryder’s side while the Rector gave his sermon, which was as uncharitable as it was unscheduled.
‘I want to thank you, Lady Woodville, and you, Prosper Martyn, for showing that Christian charity so conspicuously lacking in the Rector, and others we could name.’ He then raised his glass and, in a voice that shook with emotion, said: ‘To Ryder and Eliza. May they be happy, forever more.’
When the time came for departure Eliza, with tears in her eyes, said to her sister-in-law: ‘It was very good of you to come.’
Margaret seemed surprised by Eliza’s emotion. ‘I’m only sorry we were late and thus gave the opportunity for those gawpers to enter the church. But one of our horses went lame and we had to go back for another.’
Eliza held out her hand to Ted, who, cap in hand, was creeping slowly towards her.
‘Oh, Ted,’ Eliza said taking his hand, ‘it is so lovely to see you again.’
‘And you too, Miss,’ Ted said in a shy, faltering voice. ‘How is Lady, Miss?’
‘I had to leave her behind.’ Eliza’s voice was tremulous. ‘But she is well taken care of.’
‘You left her behind?’ Ted sounded incredulous. ‘But you and Lady wus inseparable, Miss Woodville.’
‘Mrs Yetman, Ted,’ Margaret corrected him gently.
‘Can’t get used to it yet, ma’am,’ Ted said. ‘Honest I can’t. I always spoke of her, and thought of her, as Miss Woodville. I reckon I always shall.’
‘Ted,’ Ryder said suddenly, ‘if your mistress gives you permission, how would you like to go on a journey with me?’
‘A journey, sir?’ Ted looked at him uncomprehendingly.
‘Why yes,’ Ryder said, slapping him on the back. Just the fellow I need to help me fetch back Lady. I promised her to my wife as a wedding present.’
Looking round the valley, so balmy in the sunshine, with the meadows full of cowslips and buttercups, it was difficult to believe that it was the same place he and Eliza had left in a gale, blinded by a snowstorm. The sky was the cerulean, almost Mediterranean, blue of high summer, and the fells were lush green, covered with wild flowers. The fields of corn and hay were ripening, and the lambs who had bleated so pitifully in the cold were gambolling as if with joy at the end of winter. The pellucid waters of Lake Ennerdale, surmounted by high crags still capped with snow, were ruffled here and there by tiny wavelets caught in the soft breeze. Overhead gulls circled, giving their shrill cries, and from the chimney of the farmhouse low down in the valley a thick column of smoke spiralled lazily upwards.
Ted, who was not an emotional man, drew in his breath sharply.
‘What a lovely place, sir,’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s like paradise.’
‘You should have seen it four months ago,’ Ryder said. ‘It was like hell, if hell can be cold. When my wife and I left here it was in a driving blizzard. That’s when we had to leave Lady behind.’
‘I can see it would be grim in winter,’ Ted nodded.
‘And that is the house where we lodged.’ Ryder pointed through the window of the hired carriage to the humble shack, scarcely a cottage, by the side of the lake. Ted was unable to stifle a whistle.
‘Miss Woodville lived there?’
‘Aye, and suffered.’ Ryder’s face was grim. ‘Drive on,’ he called through the window to the coachman, and they completed the short journey to the farm in a few minutes.
There were a few hands at work in the farmyard, and they looked up curiously as the well-dressed man sprang down from the carriage. Ryder was an imposing figure clad in a frock coat, a shirt with a high, stiff collar, a carefully tied bow-tie and a top hat with a curling brim, and carrying a cane. He strode over to the group of men cowering in the yard, one or two of whom recognised him instantly.
‘Is Farmer Frith here?’ he asked, and without speaking one of them pointed inside.
By this time Ted had also got out. He was dressed in a smart check travelling coat, a newly bought bowler on his head. He went round to have a word with the coachman who had been engaged, after a night spent in Cockermouth, to drive them to the farm.
Ryder rapped sharply with his cane on the door of the farm. It was flung open by Beth, who failed to recognise him. She wore her habitual look of abject terror.
‘Is your master inside, Beth?’ Ryder asked, and the girl looked astonished that such a smartly dressed gentleman should know her name. She bobbed and stood back, and at that moment the farmer appeared at the far end of the room and looked intently at his visitor.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ He came as close as he could, something about Ryder appearing familiar.
‘I have come back for Lady,’ Ryder said without preamble, and as he removed his hat both Beth and the farmer simultaneously recognised him. Beth started gibbering and pointed to the carriage and servant in the yard.
‘Well I’m damned,’ the farmer said, slapping his thigh. ‘Got yourself fine airs, have you, Mr Yetman? Is it a confidence trickster you are now?
Ryder stretched out his cane and struck him lightly on the cheek.
‘I am itching to bloody your nose, Frith, and I’ll not hesitate. I don’t think one of your men will move to save you. Now go and saddle that mare you stole from my wife, because I have come for her.’
‘I paid good money for her. She certainly does not belong to you,’ the farmer said, gingerly feeling his cheek. ‘I’ll still have the police ...’
‘You will be so bloodied by the time I have finished with you, Frith, that even your wife will not recognise you. Do as I say and open the stable door. I have come to claim Lady in lieu of the wages you owed my wife and me. Now saddle her quickly because my man will ride her back, and see –’ he put out his cane again until the tip came to rest like a rapier at the unfortunate man’s throat ‘– that you do it now. We want to be back in Cockermouth by nightfall.’
Frith stared at him, knowing he was beaten. He backed nervously away from the point of the cane and, straightening his jacket with all the dignity he could muster, ‘went into the yard, where he barked orders to the goggling farm hands.
Ryder strode to the door to watch him and, feeling something tickling his palm, turned to see Beth crouching
at his side.
‘Please take me with you, sir,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve looked after Lady, sir, as I promised. I’ve given her extra hay. I’ll work for no wages. I ...’
‘Run and get your things,’ Ryder hissed. ‘Quick now, before he organises his men. They’ll soon come to their senses, even if they hate him. If he orders them to attack me, in the end they will do it.’
Beth gave a squeak of alarm and scurried away, while Ryder walked into the yard, ordering Ted to follow him. Frith was struggling angrily with the bolt on the stable door.
‘This is theft, Yetman,’ he called out. ‘I’ll report you to the magistrate ...’
‘And I will report you,’ Ryder said, seizing him once again by the scruff of his neck and spinning him round. ‘I will report you for maltreatment of the people you employ here, the low wages, the disgusting conditions. Now let me see if my wife’s horse is in any way damaged ...’
Pushing Frith roughly to one side, he drew back the bolt and stepped into the darkened stable. It seemed that Lady recognised him at once, because she whinnied and pressed her muzzle into his hand.
‘I’ve come to take you home, Lady,’ he said softly, ‘back where you belong. Now ...’ He ran his hand along the horse’s flank. She was in good condition, perhaps because the daughter of the house had seen to it that she was well looked after.
‘Come on, man, saddle her,’ he said, poking Frith in the ribs again with his cane.
‘Oh, but the cost of the saddle ...’
‘That is in the back wages too. However, there is something I’ll give you.’ He took out his wallet from his breast pocket and extracted some notes which he kept in his hand. ‘I’m relieving you of the services of Beth. Doubtless you owe her wages and have mistreated her for far longer than you had the chance to mistreat us.’ He held up the notes so that they could be seen not only by Ted and the coachman but by the farm hands who stood around staring, open-mouthed. ‘This is payment of a kind. Not for the girl, because we do not buy or sell human flesh, or the horse, or the saddle. It is so that I am not called a thief- taking what does not belong to me.’ He thrust the money at the farmer who, grabbing it, began to shake as though he were on the verge of an apoplectic attack.
The People of This Parish (Part One of The People of this Parish Saga) Page 23