Meet Me at the Pier Head

by Ruth Hamilton

  ‘Thank you, headmaster.’

  Shaking his head, he climbed into the Rolls.

  They sat side by side. ‘Married,’ he murmured. ‘Mr and Mrs Quinn.’

  ‘Two chiefs and no Indians,’ was her typically smart reply.

  ‘Don’t count on it, baby. I own you now.’

  She grinned broadly. ‘Oh, yeah? Wanna bet?’

  Theo shook his head. ‘Are you American?’ he asked.

  ‘Only half and only by marriage.’ She kissed him hard.

  For almost the whole journey, Tia wore an enigmatic smile.

  Theo studied her. She is up to something. She wore that look the day she built the dolls’ house extension and when she made that low table for Harry the Scoot. Oh, and when she beat me soundly at archery class. My beautiful Portia has a secret. When we go to bed, I’ll tickle it out of her. My wife . . . oh, she is gorgeous, hates to be tickled, says it’s a form of torture. Silence me with kisses, eh? Wait till I get you back to Rose Cottage, you besom.

  ‘Are you happy?’ she asked, the voice calmer than a sleeping baby.

  ‘Yes, very happy, but you’re keeping something from me. I can tell by your quiet voice that something’s going down.’

  ‘Would I do that to you? You really think I’d keep a secret from the man I love?’ She tutted sadly. ‘Oh, ye of little faith,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t you trust me, Teddy?’

  He raised an eyebrow and asked the driver not to be startled. ‘I’m going to tickle her now till she crumbles. I have a situation that requires immediate attention. Things may get noisy back here.’

  The uniformed man spoke. ‘OK, sir.’

  ‘Not in my wedding dress,’ Tia said haughtily.

  ‘Take it off.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘This is day one, and your refusal to cooperate is noted.’

  Tia sniffed and poked out her tongue.

  Her husband patted his pockets. ‘I’ve an envelope and a stamp here somewhere. I’ll find a use for that tongue, Mrs Quinn.’

  She grabbed his arm. ‘I’ll tell you this much, old man. There is a surprise, and you are going to love every minute of it, so hush. I can say no more, because I have no details. Ma hadn’t enough time to make thorough arrangements.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Hush.’

  ‘Make me hush.’

  She kissed him again. It was the only way to stop him talking.

  It was an amazing sight. The main street of Chaddington Green was lined with people. There were farmhands in smocks and battered hats, men in Tudor clothing that included tights and breeches, children in Victorian costume with the compulsory cover-all aprons on girls, the knee-length trousers on boys. But the most stunning were women in Tudor dresses hired by the bride’s mother. This was a Bartle Hall wedding of the eldest child, and historical pageantry must endure. ‘Ma’s been working hard on the phone,’ Tia said.

  Theo closed his gaping mouth. ‘These chaps in frocks,’ he began.

  ‘Smocks, Teddy.’

  ‘What are they throwing under our wheels?’

  ‘Ah, that’s corn almost ready for harvesting. Had we married during a different season of the year, they would have thrown seeds. It’s to wish us fruitful so that the manor house will have an heir. From today, no matter where we live, Bartle Hall will be our official address.’

  He grinned. ‘It’s wonderful. Americans would pay a few bucks to see this. We should have sold tickets, could have made a fortune.’

  Tia laughed. ‘Yes, it’s fun.’

  ‘You’re right, as usual.’

  Tia’s smile mirrored his. ‘This is only the beginning, my darling. Ma didn’t get too much time while we made up our minds, but she will have pulled out many of the stops. I wonder what Rosie thinks of these crazy carryings-on?’

  ‘She’ll love the madness of it,’ he replied. ‘And so do I. But I love you more.’

  ‘Same to you, Teddy.’ She turned. ‘They’re doing the walk now. Even the grand ballroom will be packed. See? They’re following us. Just be grateful that they’re not leading goats and cows like they did in bygone days.’

  When they reached the manor house and entered the large hallway, a boy dressed as a page handed Theo a pewter mug, while a man in blue and gold livery presented him with a sword in a decorative scabbard. ‘Guard thy house,’ the man ordered before relieving the groom of this heavy burden.

  Theo blinked a couple of times and watched his wife. She was crowned with a coronet of flowers, and a piece of material was placed in her hands. ‘What’s that?’ he whispered, looking at the cloth.

  ‘It’s a placket.’

  ‘A what-et?’

  ‘To be let into my gown when I am large with child. Don’t drink that water yet – there’s an order of . . . well, there are rules.’

  Isadora dashed in. She kissed her daughter and son-in-law before explaining that their thrones were in storage with the rest of the valuable furniture. ‘We got you a couple of carvers from the Punch Bowl. Follow me into the ballroom and sit down while the girls do the dance.’

  In the huge ballroom, the man who had presented the sword nodded at some small children. They gathered in a circle, all standing stiffly and with upper limbs rigid by their sides. Blue Regalia, who was clearly master of ceremonies, spoke. ‘Take up the hands of friendship and love. We pay tribute to all who died of the Black Death plague and pray God it shall never again blight our cities.’

  The little ones joined hands and performed Ring-a-Roses.

  ‘Why?’ Theo whispered.

  ‘Because they sneezed and dropped dead. The song is about the plague.’

  ‘Cheerful for a wedding,’ he complained.

  ‘Shut up, or I’ll gag you with my placket, Teddy.’ She would tell him later about Elizabeth I, a great monarch who had decreed that green land must be preserved around cities to separate them from villages, thereby saving farming communities from pestilence. She would give him the history of a master of Bartle Hall who, unwilling to bring disease home to Chaddington, had died of the plague in London. For now, she whispered, ‘Children dancing and singing tell the Black Death to bugger off. We can’t celebrate unless we follow the rules.’

  ‘I’d better shut my mouth, then, but I will get you later.’

  Things cheered up after the Ring-a-Roses dance was over. Blue Regalia ordered the groom to allow his wife the first taste of Chaddington Green well water from the tankard. After fulfilling that task, Theo was allowed to taste it himself. The pair were then handed a lovers’ plate whose shape imitated a number eight. From this article, each fed the other salmon with salad while Morris dancers arranged themselves in the middle of the floor.

  Theo stared at the men who jingled when they moved. An elderly chap played an accordion badly while eight fully grown males in abbreviated trousers and with bells on their stockings leapt about with sticks. A ninth man, clearly the village idiot, jumped in and out of the set trying to avoid the clashing weapons. ‘They’ll kill him, Portia.’

  Tia shook her head. ‘They’re skilled in the art of lunacy. When they’re not busy, we use them as scarecrows.’ She winked. ‘Joke,’ she said. ‘Two are lawyers, one’s an accountant, and the lunatic is our vicar.’

  ‘Is anyone here normal, Portia?’

  ‘No. We don’t do normal; normal is boring.’

  The newly-weds spotted Nancy. Reunited with her knitting, she sat happily in a corner with Maggie and Tom. There was no sign of Rosie. She should have been easy to spot in all that pink, but she seemed to have disappeared. Ah, there she was. The pink had been abandoned, and she wore a bonnet, a floor-length black dress, and a white, cover-all apron over the sombre garment. She was Victorian, and she was playing with two older girls in costumes that celebrated the turn of the eighteenth into the nineteenth century, very high-waisted and Jane Austen-esque. ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’ Tia sighed.

  ‘And brainy,’ Theo answered. ‘Emily Garner can go to hell.’

 
Blue Regalia approached the couple once the Morris dancers had finished larking about. Theo stared hard at him; he had never seen anyone dressed like this except, perhaps, in some very bad film about olde England.

  ‘The Charges,’ Tia whispered. ‘At each pause, say aye.’

  ‘I?’

  ‘A-Y-E. And don’t make me laugh.’

  ‘OK.’

  The room was suddenly silent.

  ‘Wilt thou hear the Charges?’ Blue Regalia asked.

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Wilt thou honour this woman?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Wilt thou guard her and lay down thy life to save hers?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Wilt thou cleave to her and only to her?’

  ‘Aye.’ From the corner of his mouth, Theo whispered to his beloved. ‘There’s a lot of wilting. What if I wilt?’

  Tia exploded with laughter, and covered her mouth with the placket.

  Even Blue Regalia showed signs of mirth. ‘Wilt thou mind her health and sustain her with food and drink?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Wilt thou guard and shelter thine issue, feed and clothe them well?’

  ‘Aye, I wilt.’

  Blue Regalia chuckled quietly. ‘Then unto thee we give this maiden, daughter of the house of Bartholomew. Go now to the feast prepared by wenches of this parish.’ He bowed, backed off, then turned to walk away. Shaking shoulders betrayed him – he was laughing hard.

  ‘Who the hell’s Bartholomew?’ Theo asked.

  ‘The original owner. He got cut down to Bart, and there was no anaesthetic back then; it must have been traumatic. He was king of all he surveyed, yet he worked the land. Come, I’ll show you.’

  ‘Are we allowed to move?’

  ‘Of course. Protocol ended with the Charges.’ She led him through to her father’s study. On a wall hung a framed item, a page covered in scrawl and blots of ink. ‘See?’ she said. ‘Bart’s work. The house took his name and added a couple of letters – hence Bartle.’

  Theo stared at it. I did plant too many feedf in the rowef and my crop did not thrive. ‘So the F is S?’ he asked.

  ‘Fometimef,’ was her reply. ‘Look at this line here.’

  He stared closely. I did buy for mine wyffe a placket. ‘So she was pregnant?’

  ‘Permanently.’

  ‘Bugger.’

  ‘Yes, that too. They had to get their fun wherever they could back then.’

  ‘Lock up your daughters?’

  ‘And your animals, Teddy.’

  ‘No,’ he exclaimed.

  Tia giggled. This was unusual, as she seldom giggled. Her laughter was loud and unrestrained, yet here she was, almost behaving herself.

  She looked him up and down. ‘You have a terrible mind. There were rustlers, just as there were in the wild west of America. If you stole a man’s horse, you’d get into more trouble than if you made off with his wife or his daughter. They had their priorities right. Now, we eat.’

  ‘Good. I’m ready to expire.’

  Tia narrowed her eyes. ‘Don’t you dare die on me. Not yet, anyway. You just agreed in the Charges to lay down your life for me, and I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough of you.’

  She isn’t going to improve, is she, Theo? And underneath all the banter, she’s a loving girl, all bark and no bite. Would I prefer a gentler, quieter wife? No. I haven’t felt so alive in years. And I will deal with her later, because that’s part of my job. She’s staring at me. ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘I just noticed – you’re very handsome.’

  ‘You’re right. You’ll have to work hard to deserve me.’

  She pushed him towards the door. ‘Eat,’ she commanded.

  Trestle tables were being set up in the ballroom. Because Isadora had shifted most valuables, the hall suffered from a serious deficiency in the furniture department, so the local school and inn had been raided.

  ‘Oh, look,’ Tia declared. ‘We have a three-piece suite. It should be four, but Mr Blake’s missing. Ah, here he comes. We’re having chamber music. He’ll be on the spinet. Gloria Marchant is violin, Sam Sparrow plays the viola, and Judith Collins drapes herself over a cello.’

  Enough food to nourish a small African nation was carried in by ‘wenches’, of which number Rosie was one. To the strains of ‘Greensleeves’, platters, tureens and a wedding cake were placed on tables. Mrs Melia arrived with Mickle, who ran to greet her master before embarking on a good old skulk beneath laden boards. Lurking was one of her skills, and she knew that the two-legged often dropped tasty morsels, especially when faced with the tragic eyes of a hound. The place was noisy, but she would cope with that as long as she got food.

  ‘My dog is a thief,’ Theo complained.

  ‘She’s just being a dog,’ his wife advised him.

  Rosie was having a great time. She had to say everything twice, but she didn’t mind, because the reverse was also true, since her companions owned an accent. She noticed that Delia and Juliet were surrounded by chattering people and that Mr and Mrs Quinn went everywhere hand in hand, wandering from group to group. There was so much joy that even a room as large as this could scarcely contain it. She sat down to watch.

  Over in the same corner as before, Nancy was making progress with her knitting, while Tom lingered near a door talking to a group of men in smocks and daft hats. Nana was grinning at small playing children, and Mrs Melia was handing something in a bottle to Nana. Everyone was smiling. It was a huge room and it overflowed with happiness.

  Rosie crawled under a long tablecloth and lay down, with Mickle acting as her pillow. So this is rich. It’s the same kind of rich as the hotel in Broadstairs, all sweeping and dusting and such a long way to bedrooms. My kind of rich might be a flat like Mr Quinn’s and a car and gardens and a dog like Mickle.

  Mam isn’t going to get better. Nana told me on Tuesday while I was making sandcastles with my bucket and spade. Mam is like a little girl or even a baby again. She’s gone backwards and needs looking after. They done tests on her and said she’s not a grown-up no more. There’s a bit of sadness in Nana’s eyes, even when she smiles or laughs, and I think it’s because of Mam. Sometimes, she seems far away, as if she’s talking about one thing and thinking about something else, something not nice.

  If Mr Quinn and Miss Bellamy – I mean Mrs Quinn – decide to stay here and I go back to Liverpool with Nana, we will have to live in Nana’s house. Nana’s is better than ours was, but there’s still no garden and no cat and no dog. But I mustn’t be greedy, cos I’ve been lucky with this holiday and everything.

  A lot has happened today. We got picked up at the hotel and taken to another hotel in Canterbury. I didn’t know I was a bridesmaid until they had me all dressed up in pink and told me to mind the rings. They bought my frock at a shop, but it fitted all right.

  Tom and Nancy didn’t know, either, but Nana did. We all got ready in a room at the new hotel. When we got to the office place, Nancy started crying. They should have let her bring her knitting. She’s happy as long as she’s knitting. Nana says Nancy’s knitting would probably stretch all round the fattest part of the world if somebody stuck all the knitting together.

  Juliet joined Rosie and the dog under the table. ‘Are you tired?’ she asked.

  Rosie nodded.

  ‘It is an exhausting business, being a bridesmaid. You did very well, though, like a professional. Have you done it before?’

  ‘No. I never had nice clothes.’

  ‘You looked beautiful.’

  ‘So did you. You look like Miss Bellamy, but smaller. She’s Mrs Quinn now.’ A short pause followed. ‘Juliet, will they live here?’

  ‘No.’ Juliet watched as relief flooded the little girl’s face. ‘But Tia owns Rose Cottage, so I expect they’ll come during holidays.’

  Rosie beamed. She told Juliet about Harry the Scoot and Martha, his sister, before recounting the tale of her life so far. ‘Uncle Miles was murdered and my mam couldn’t
get gin in hospital or prison, so she tried to go to Jesus. We’ll have to look after her, cos she can’t look after herself no more.’

  The bride’s youngest sister took hold of Rosie’s hand. ‘Did you like Canterbury?’

  ‘Yes, it was pretty.’

  ‘Will you come with me to Canterbury tomorrow? Tia and Mr Quinn will come, too.’

  ‘They’re not getting married again, are they?’

  Juliet laughed. ‘No, but they may have a church blessing while they’re here in Chaddington Green. Dr Heilberg’s father’s partner and I have arranged to get you examined to see if Uncle Miles hurt you. There will be special photographs that show your bones.’

  Rosie pondered. ‘Why? He’s dead, so he can’t get in trouble for hurting me now, can he?’

  The youngest daughter of the household bit her lip. This child was so precious, so knowing, yet innocent. ‘We just want to make sure you’re well, Rosie. Afterwards, we’ll go and have afternoon tea at the Pack Horse where we got dressed this morning. The owners moved here from Devon, and they do cream teas. You’ll love it.’

  ‘All right. Shall I wear my best dress?’

  ‘Not the bridesmaid one.’

  ‘No, I have a red check with matching bag and shoes.’

  ‘That will do nicely, Miss Stone.’

  They both giggled.

  ‘Will you marry Dr Heilberg, Juliet?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Is that probably nearly yes?’

  Juliet nodded. ‘Our secret, yes?’

  ‘Assolutely.’

  ‘Oh, Rosie, I love you.’

  On the evening following his wedding, Theodore Patrick Quinn realized that he had learned several things. English eccentricity could be extreme and charming; Queen Elizabeth I had ordered the creation of green, clean areas around cities in order to stop the spread of plague; an owner of Bartle Hall, once Bart’s Manor, had died of said plague in order to save his community; Kent, once known to Theo as Hellfire Corner, was a beautiful place; lovemaking without any barrier was bliss.