by Kira Stewart
Life continued as before.
4.
It was the occasion of her sister Jane’s marriage that the next big event happened in Henrietta’s life.
It was a rather blowy day in June, with the skies grey and subdued and studded with heavy rain clouds. Jane was to marry Harry Stephenson, one of the older boys who had once boarded at the rectory, and was now to become the cleric in a small village just outside Bath. A wealthy friend of his father’s had ordained him the position as a favour to the family.
The village was situated in quite a wealthy parish with several acres of land attached to the vicarage. It would make a decent living for a vicar with a new wife, and eventually a family to support. Harry and Jane had met during the previous summer when the young man had been a boarder at the rectory as part of his clerical training, and it had made a good match.
Her father was presiding over the ceremony that would take place in their small church of St. Andrews. It was meant to be a small affair, but as most of the usual Sunday congregation had turned out to watch the nuptials, the little church was full. The walk to the church from the rectory was luckily short, and arm in arm with her father, the bride set out for the church, with her two sisters as bridesmaids, and George escorting his mother. He would be giving away his sister.
Kitty and Henrietta looked charming in their lilac muslin dresses, and each carried a small spray of wild flowers and herbs.
The boys still boarding at the rectory were also in attendance, and young William followed behind the girls, his head full of weddings and his own hopes and dreams.
A crowd of well-wishers had gathered at the gate of the church, and Henrietta nodded to her old acquaintances, before the wedding party hurried into the safe confines of the vestibule to escape an oncoming shower.
James Maldon took his place, whilst George escorted his mother down the aisle to her seat, before returning back to the girls.
“Good lord, guess who’s here? Tom Langton. He never said he was coming to the wedding. I have not seen him in months. You are honoured indeed, Jane.”
Henrietta felt her stomach lurch, as soon as his name was mentioned—like the opening of an old wound. Of course, she had ceased to romance about him, yet somehow, he had always been with her, part of her—something she could not really understand. Tom had always been there, an obstacle between herself and William. The organ started to play, it was time for the wedding procession, and suddenly Henry began to feel very self-conscious. It was not as if it were her wedding day.
Taking his sister by the arm, George led Jane through the green velvet curtains that separated the vestibule from the main body of the church.
The pews were full and all heads turned, as the small procession made its way down the aisle to the front of the church where Mr. Maldon and Jane’s future husband were waiting. Henrietta could only look straight ahead, her cheeks blushing deeper with every step, conscious that Thomas Langton was sat somewhere in the small church. She could almost sense his presence. A few pews ahead, she could see a gentleman, or at least the back of his head. She could tell by the way his hair curled, the angle of his neck, the shape of his ear, that it was him, sat next to his mother.
Feeling her heart beat quickly within the tight confines of her bodice, Henrietta suddenly thought she would faint. Swaying slightly, she lost her footing for a moment.
A gentle hand reached out to her—it was William sat on the end of a pew. She had forgotten all about the boy, and he looked at her, his face full of concern.
“Henry, are you all right?”
Such a thoughtful boy, why could not she feel for him what she felt for Tom Langton?
Patting his hand, she nodded and smiled, unable to speak, the emotion catching in her throat.
Moving slowly forward, she approached the pew seating Tom, and drawing parallel, could see his head turn, his face angled toward her. Unable to look at him, she instead concentrated on the backs of her brother and sister walking slowly in front, keeping time with their measured steps. Feeling his gaze upon her, the colour rushed to her cheeks, and she was glad when she had passed, yet still felt his eyes upon her.
The ceremony was lost upon her, thinking only of him. It was over quickly, almost too quickly, and the new Mr. and Mrs. Stephenson walked hand in hand back down the aisle, led by the proud father, James Maldon.
There was to be a small breakfast party at the rectory, before the newlyweds were to travel to their new home.
Henrietta glanced furtively ahead to where Tom and his mother were sitting, but with their eyes only on the happy couple, she allowed her gaze to remain on him a little longer than she would have liked. He turned, caught her eye and smiled, just as she reached his pew.
Poor Henrietta never felt so embarrassed in her whole life to be staring so, and quickly averting her gaze, as she quickened her pace to such an extent that she almost walked into the back of the bride and groom.
It was such a ridiculous feeling, especially for a boy she had not seen for years. But he obviously was no longer a boy, he was a fine young man, and the thought of his smile made her feel weak inside.
It just would not do. Tom was forgotten, part of her childhood—she had let him go years ago, surely she had?
Outside, the rain had stopped and the wedding party was able to stop and chat a while to their friends and well-wishers from the village. Henrietta watched carefully, though not too obviously, pretending to join in the conversation with Mrs. Lucas and her daughter from the village.
Her father was shaking hands with Tom and speaking rather animatedly.
“Do not you agree, Miss Maldon?”
The young woman turned to the speaker, oblivious to the question that had been asked of her.
“We were just saying, mother and I, what a fine young man Thomas Langton has become. A fine young man indeed.”
“Yes indeed,” Henrietta heard herself reply.
5.
Much to Henrietta’s dismay, her father had invited the Langton’s back to the rectory to partake of the wedding breakfast. She had quite forgotten William again, her head so full of Tom. The poor boy had been stood quite alone for several minutes, waiting for Henrietta to finish her chatter. Her attention was suddenly all his, and she would show Thomas Langton that she did not care a fig about him.
Affectionately taking William’s arm, she made quite a display of affection that the young man was not used to. Assuming that the wedding had turned her thoughts to romance, the young man was very pleased and quite in his element. Proudly taking her arm, the two walked quickly ahead of the others, Henrietta making sure that they passed directly in front of where Tom was still talking with her father. Feeling their heads turn, she increased her step so William had to do the same. She was determined to avoid having to walk with Tom and engage in conversation. Yet, she could not avoid him forever.
Once back inside the rectory, she begged William to excuse her, whilst she freshened herself. Rushing to her room, the young girl looked closely at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed with the brisk walk and her hair had tangled in the wind. What a bother. Yet, who cared what she looked like? William certainly did not; he loved her just the way she was. Poor sweet William, she had used him just now to try and get back at Tom, but what did he care? She was nothing to him.
Feeling the tears spring to her eyes, Henrietta could feel the anger rising inside of her. What on earth was the matter with her? She must pull herself together, and not let Tom see the effect he was having upon her.
Tom!
She wished he had never come back, wished she had never even met him. It was her duty to focus on William—he was the one who loved her.
Hearing the party enter the hall downstairs, Henrietta gave a last glance at herself in the mirror, before hurrying down the stairs. Instead of entering the dining room where the wedding breakfast was to be held, she hastened to the kitchen, to see if she could be of any help there. It would give her time to dry her eyes
and compose herself.
Mrs. Adams, the old cook, had everything under control in her own inimitable way. There were plates of bread and butter, hot rolls, thick sliced ham and cooked eggs, and a great fruit wedding cake decorated with flowers that would form the centre piece of the table.
“Henrietta, what are you doing skulking in here?”
It was her mother.
“Now, be useful dear, and take one of these plates into the dining room. We are all about to sit down. Do not keep everyone waiting.”
Seizing a plate and with a quiet determination, the girl walked the short distance from the kitchen to the dining room, and yet paused outside the open doorway, her legs feeling weak.
“Please do not dither in the doorway, Henrietta. Now, do bring that plate of rolls onto the table, before it gets cold and we all starve,” her mother bristled behind her.
Everyone was seated and she scanned the table quickly to judge which seat lay vacant. Luckily, Kitty had seated herself next to Tom, and quickly placing down the plate of hot rolls onto the table, she proceeded to sit next to Kitty. William was seated at the end of the table with the other boys.
Thomas Langton was already engaged in a conversation with her father. The years had brought quite a change to the young man, who now sat and talked with an easy confidence, and the once poor country boy was quite unrecognizable. The unease of his last visit had quite vanished. Many years had now passed, since he was a boy, and his new life was quite separate from the old. He could enjoy the gathering without any former guilt at leaving this place behind him.
The conversation had inevitably turned to the defeat of Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo and his exile to St. Helena, and the likelihood of the restoration of Louis XVIII.
“At least the ladies now have nothing to fear from Napoleon and his men invading our dear England. Thanks to good old Wellington, and the 7th Coalition.
Although I think dear Kitty was quite in love with the idea of Napoleon, is not that right, Kitty?” Mr. Maldon teased and the young girl blushed.
“Papa, you are quite wrong. I must admit, I did admire the fashions of the Lady Josephine. But that is all. It is more likely that Henry romances about that gentleman in one of her stories, rather than me. Although, I think perhaps her affections are nearer to home, than France.”
Henrietta blushed at her sister’s words. Her thoughts immediately turned to Tom, but looking up, saw her sister smiling down at William, the young man in turn looking down at his plate and smiling smugly to himself.
“That is enough Kitty,” her mother warned.
Tom Langton laughed scornfully.
“It is typical in times of war that our women folk can think only of their fashion and silly romantic stories. Thank goodness we do not rely on our women folk to rule and fight our battles.”
The men present laughed in agreement, but Henrietta could not help herself.
“You forget good Queen Ann, and of course Elizabeth.”
The man smiled, turning at last to the speaker.
“True. Too true, dear Henrietta. Elizabeth was indeed a great queen, but of course, she was a rare breed, an intelligent woman. She never married, never bore children, and so was more like a man in that sense.”
“So you think that the female population on the whole are not intelligent, Mr. Langton?” She could not help herself and could see her mother bristle. She hated her daughters to argue, especially with eligible young men.
Pausing to drink from his cup, he looked directly into the eyes of Henrietta.
“Do not get me wrong. Women have their own accomplishments that I could never hope to fathom. Needlework for instance, I could never stitch so well!”
All the company laughed at their young guest’s joke, all except for Henry, who ignored the steely looks her mother was giving her across the table. It was not seemly for a young girl to argue so much in public.
“Ah, I am glad you think we are good for something, Mr. Langton.”
The young man was not unsympathetic, and noted the ire on the young girls face. He did not intentionally mean to provoke her, and he softened a little.
“Dear Henry. You know I do not mean that. Now, are you still writing your little stories?”
The words came out quite wrong and not quite as he had intended.
“Indeed, I am still writing my little stories, but you need not worry, Mr. Langton, you will never have to stoop so low to read such silly romantic stories.”
“Henry’s stories are v … v … v … very good. I think she may be published one day.”
A voice from the bottom of the table piped up. It was William. His face blushed deeply, as all the eyes around the table turned to face him. Kitty giggled quietly and Tom looked from William to Henrietta and back again, quickly assessing the situation.
“I am sure you are able to assess young Henry’s writing much better than I am. It is a long time since I had the pleasure of reading such stories. The girl has a good imagination, I give her that.”
William wanted to respond and add even greater praise for his beloved’s work, but the pressure of all eyes upon him was too much, and the returning stutter made it impossible for him to continue.
There was a moment of quiet, before Mr. Maldon came to the rescue.
“Yes indeed. Well, I fear you may be in danger of upsetting the ladies, my dear Tom. You have a lot to learn about women. Now, here comes Annie with the ham and eggs. Let us eat!”
Henrietta was no longer hungry. She had managed to blink away the angry tears that had started to form at the corner of her eyes, but felt a large lump in her throat that prevented her from eating.
How could he speak so? Once he had loved her stories, or she thought he had. Perhaps he had been laughing at her all of the time? Feeling foolish and angry at her growing feelings for him, her heart felt heavy. Bath and Cambridge had changed Tom, and she no longer liked the new version.
William had tried his best to come to her rescue, but it had only made things seem much worse. She had felt embarrassed by his lack of sophistication and his stutter. Poor William, it was hardly his fault, he had only been trying to help. She had seen the look on Toms face—he had felt sorry for the boy. And now, Tom had linked the two of them romantically together. Poor William was hardly a rival.
The conversation went on all around her, but she did not join in. Jane and Harry became the focus of the party, and Henrietta was glad to sit quietly with her own thoughts.
“So, how long are you with us, Thomas?”
Mrs. Maldon was eager to keep up the acquaintance with the young man. There were several people in the village who would love to see Tom again, and it would be a feather in her cap to make the introductions. Secretly, she hoped him a husband for Kitty.
“I am afraid I cannot stay longer than today. Lord Elmore has invited me to dine. He is a good friend of Mr. Abbotsford, and had asked me to stay with him for a couple of days.”
The group sitting around the table was generally impressed. Lord Elmore was the local landowner, and several of the local parishes fell under his jurisdiction. He occupied Wetherington Hall, a large house and grounds ten miles west of the village. The only objectionable thing about Lord Elmore, was that he chose to attend the larger church in the nearby parish of Almsby, and therefore did not patronise their own small congregation, which would have put Mr. and Mrs. Maldon further up the social scale than they ranked at present.
“Perhaps we may still see you, when you are calling on your dear mother?”
Mrs. Maldon was forever hopeful.
The young man shook his head.
“Sadly no, for you see the invite extends to mother, too.”
Mr. Maldon spotted the disappointment on his wife’s face.
“Of course it does, dear Thomas. I think we have to realise you are moving in very different social circles these days, as befits your new status. And I hear that the young Mistress Suzanna is something of a beauty?”
Suzanna
was the only daughter of Lord Elmore, and was considered to be the most eligible and beautiful girl within the county.
The young man smiled, as if the rector had read his thoughts.
“Indeed Sir, I believe she will be at home for my visit, but she is yet sixteen, and I cannot comment on her beauty having never seen the girl. Besides, there are many beautiful girls. I appear to be surrounded by them in Bath, most of them silly and giggly, I am afraid. I believe Miss Suzanna is well accomplished and has received a private education at home, so perhaps my opinion of the fairer sex will be swayed?”
The young man was speaking in jest, but only the men around the table saw fit to laugh.
“The same age as our dear Henrietta, then. It will be her turn to be married next. I dare say you may find your new friends quite accomplished, Mr. Langton, but please do not forget your old friends here at Redmond. There will always be a welcome for you here.”
Mrs. Maldon was quick to promote her own daughter.
“I am sure young Tom will not forget the friendship of our own family, Mrs. Maldon, but he’s come a long way in these last few years, and I dare say he needs to look forward to the present, and not look back too much upon the past.”
Sophie Maldon could have said more, but the tone of her husband’s voice made her keep her own counsel.
“Now, let us raise our glasses, I want to propose a toast—to old friends and new.”
Mr. Maldon raised his glass, as the assembled group stood and raised their own to the newlyweds.
Henrietta remained silent for the rest of the meal.
It was only later, after all of the food had been eaten and the wedding party had moved into the parlour, that an opportunity arose for Henry and Thomas to meet. Entering the hall, after being sent to fetch a shawl for her mother, Henrietta came face-to-face with the man she had been trying to avoid all day.