Sons and Daughters (43 page)

‘Doesn’t she look pretty?’ Georgie’s voice piped up from the second pew. Laughter rippled through the congregation and someone – she was sure it was Jackson Warren – called, ‘More than that, Master Georgie. She’s beautiful.’

Miles, his gaze never leaving her face, raised her hand to his lips and whispered, ‘Indeed you are, my dear.’

She turned briefly to glance at Georgie and to her surprise saw both Ben and Felix sitting beside him. Then who – ? She leaned forward a little to look beyond Miles and saw, for the first time, that it was Philip standing next to him. The young man was staring straight ahead, stony faced, and Charlotte knew he was only there because he hadn’t wanted his younger brother to usurp his rightful place. But at least, she thought, his presence will have made Miles happy.

She smiled up at Miles as they both turned towards the vicar who’d replaced Cuthbert Iveson. He was a much older man, with a benign smile and twinkling eyes. Her father would not be able to manipulate this man, Charlotte thought, as he began to speak in a deep resonant voice that carried down the church and even out through the door so that all might hear.

The service went ahead without any interruptions or hitches and at last they were walking back down the aisle between row upon row of beaming faces accompanied not only by the ‘Wedding March’, but also by a storm of clapping and cheering and shouts of ‘Good luck’ and ‘God bless you’.

‘See how everyone loves you?’ Miles murmured.

She smiled up at him but the one question she longed to ask remained unspoken. But do
you
love me?

Just as they were about to step out of the church, Charlotte noticed a woman sitting in the far corner, half hidden behind a pillar and wearing a wide-brimmed hat with a veil over her face.

Alice Crawford had come to her daughter’s wedding.

‘Of course you’re coming to the reception.’ Euphemia’s raised voice could be heard ringing through the churchyard as the guests and onlookers watched the couple emerge from the porch. Miles and Charlotte paused for photographs to be taken by the man who kept disappearing beneath the black cloth covering the huge box camera set up on a tripod between the graves.

‘Smile,’ he burbled.

‘No one’s recognized you,’ Euphemia said. ‘Just keep away from
him
.’

Mary hurried up to Charlotte. ‘Your aunt’s talking to – to the woman who was sitting at the back of the church. Is it – is it who I think it is?’

Charlotte nodded and glanced anxiously across to where her aunt and uncle were standing talking to the heavily veiled woman. She was about to turn towards Miles to seek his help, when another voice rose above the rest. ‘Are we going to stand about here all day, taking ridiculous photographs?’ Osbert rasped. ‘Philip, my boy, your arm, if you please.’

Philip moved to his side. ‘It seems,’ Osbert said, his tone heavy with sarcasm, ‘that I shall no longer have my daughter to rely on.’ He sniffed. ‘Not that she ever was much use. Now, shall you and I go back to Buckthorn Farm? Mary will make us a meal.’

Before Philip could answer, Miles cut in, ‘Philip will be coming back to the manor for the reception. He agreed to be my best man, so he must fulfil his duties for the rest of the day. And Mary and Edward are our guests.’ Mildly, he added, ‘And I’d have thought you’d wish to be there – as father of the bride.’

Osbert glowered. He could not return to the farm on his own and Mary was busy throwing confetti and enjoying a rare day of freedom.

‘Seems I have no choice,’ Osbert grumbled. ‘That girl! Such a lot of fuss. I hope your father is going to keep her in line, Philip. She’ll get above herself, given half a chance.’

‘Mm,’ Philip said, his eyes narrowing. ‘Well, we’ll just have to see that doesn’t happen, won’t we?’

And then a rare thing happened; Osbert Crawford actually smiled.

Miles had let it be known that anyone and everyone was welcome at the manor. Mrs Beddows had been baking for weeks and extra help had been employed from Ravensfleet so that there was enough food to feed an army. The guests mingled freely and happily on the sunlit lawn, but one woman kept herself in the shadow of the trees at the end of the garden. Only Mary approached her, taking her a drink and some food on a plate.

Charlotte watched from a distance, but did not dare go to her mother for fear Osbert’s eagle eyes would see and guess just who the stranger was. She spent the afternoon on tenterhooks, not enjoying her wedding day as she should have done.

It was almost over and Charlotte began to breathe more easily. A few guests were already drifting away and the afternoon was growing cooler.

Euphemia was standing before her. ‘Well, my dear, it’s time we were making our way home. We have a car waiting and your mother flatly refuses to come indoors. It’s getting chilly now, so—’

‘What’s that?’

So intent had she been on saying goodbye to her guests that Charlotte hadn’t seen her father standing close behind her. Her heart missed a beat as she saw Euphemia’s eyes widen as if in surprise, but Charlotte had the uncomfortable feeling that her aunt had known all along that Osbert was in earshot. Maybe she’d even engineered it.

‘Oh, Osbert, my dear brother. I didn’t see you there. We’re just about to leave. Now how about a kiss for your sister? Isn’t it time we let bygones be bygones?’

But Osbert held himself aloof, glaring at her with hatred in his eyes. Through clenched teeth, his eyes boring into hers, he asked his sister, ‘Who is that woman?’

Euphemia, her eyes sparkling for a fight, stepped closer, but Charlotte caught her arm, ‘Please, Aunt, no . . .’

But Euphemia was not to be outdone. She shook off Charlotte’s hand, her eyes narrowing as she said slowly, ‘Don’t you recognize your own wife?’

Osbert reeled and might have fallen had it not been for his arm still through Philip’s. The young man steadied him, but glanced, mystified, at Charlotte for an explanation.

Charlotte looked around her wildly. Miles – where was Miles? She saw him talking to Joe and Peggy Warren. She hurried across the grass. ‘Miles – oh please, Miles, come quickly. My aunt . . .’

‘My dear, whatever’s the matter?’

She caught hold of his hand. ‘The woman down there – under the trees – is my mother, and Aunt Euphemia has just told my father . . .’

Leaving Joe and Peggy staring open-mouthed after them, Miles hurried back with Charlotte towards her father and aunt, still locked in a battle of wills. ‘Leave it to me, my dear.’ Raising his voice, Miles greeted them heartily, as if knowing nothing of the contretemps. ‘Mrs Bell – just leaving. And you, Mr Crawford. Philip, would you please accompany Mr Crawford to Buckthorn Farm? Brewster will drive you and I’ll see that Mary and Edward know you’ve gone home.’

With a smooth, but authoritative air, Miles shook hands with them both and also with Percy, who’d ambled across the grass. ‘I’m so glad you could come. Let me see you to your car?’

‘But—’ Euphemia began.

‘Come along, my dear.’ Percy, catching on very quickly, took hold of his wife’s arm and, with surprising determination, led her away.

But Euphemia was not to be outdone. As Percy led her to the driveway at the side of the lawn and towards their waiting car, she called out in a loud, imperious voice, deliberately so that everyone would hear.

‘Alice – come, my dear, we are ordered home.’

As the last guest departed down the driveway, Charlotte said, ‘Thank you, Miles. Your diplomacy avoided an ugly scene.’

‘I think I missed my vocation,’ he chuckled, putting his arm round her. ‘Now, forget all about it, my dear. No harm done.’

But Charlotte wasn’t so sure. Soon, the whole district would hear the gossip and would be speculating on how Alice Crawford came to be still alive when she was supposed to be buried in the churchyard.

‘Before we leave, there’s just something I want to show you,’ Miles said.

Charlotte had changed from her wedding gown into her going-away outfit. Their suitcases were packed and loaded into the car and Miles was to drive them as far as Grantham where they would stay the night in a hotel. The following day, leaving the car there, they would travel to London by train.

Taking her hand, he led her upstairs to the top floor and along the landing to a room at the far corner of the house.

‘I’ve never been up here before,’ Charlotte said.

‘It’s where the servants sleep but there’s one room unoccupied and I just thought it would be ideal. It’s a north-facing room, so there should be plenty of light from the big window. I’ve had it enlarged especially.’

Oh dear, she thought, he’s decked out a nursery in pink. Oh dear . . .

But when he flung open the door, Charlotte gasped aloud. The whole room was fitted out as an artist’s studio. There was everything there that she could possibly want and more; desk and chair, easels, drawing boards, canvases stacked against the wall, tubes of oil paints, watercolours, brushes of every size and shape, pencils, pens and inks, pastels, paper of all types and sizes in abundance and all manner of accessories that, at the moment, Charlotte had no idea exactly what they were for. She gazed around, her mouth open in wonder.

‘It’s my wedding gift to you, my dear. Felix had free rein. I don’t think he’s enjoyed himself so much in a long time. We didn’t know what was your favourite medium to work in, so we just got everything we could think of. But if there’s anything we’ve forgotten, just say the word.’

‘Miles, I don’t know what to say. This is wonderful.’

‘I want you to be happy, my dear. And I know you love to paint. There’s just one thing – Felix is demanding to see some of your work and now there’s no excuse.’

‘But I’m not very good . . .’ she began.

‘That’s not what I’ve heard. Jackson Warren told me you’d painted some lovely pictures.’

Charlotte’s face clouded as she remembered her father’s cruel destruction of her work. But here she would be safe. Here she could paint and draw to her heart’s content. They’d thought of everything. In one corner of the light, airy room there was a sofa and, close by, a small bookcase which Felix had filled with books on drawing and painting and the lives of some of the great painters.

There were tears in her eyes as she kissed him. ‘It’s the most wonderful wedding present. I never dreamed . . .’

He chuckled as he pulled her close. ‘I do, of course, have an ulterior motive.’

‘What?’

‘Whenever you’re missing, I’ll know exactly where to find you.’

Charlotte was happy – happier than she’d ever been in her life or ever dared hope to be. Ben and Georgie accepted and welcomed her wholeheartedly. Only Philip was still prickly, but even he seemed to mellow a little after the incident over Louisa’s portrait.

On the afternoon of their return home from honeymoon, Georgie flew across the hall, slipping and sliding on the polished floor as he ran to greet them.

‘Papa, Charlotte . . .’ He threw himself against them in turn, forgetting in the excitement of the moment that he was supposed to be quite grown up now. Ben smiled quietly from the staircase.

Philip appeared on the landing. He leaned over the banister. ‘And what,’ his voice rang out, ‘do you mean by leaving instructions for Mother’s portraits to be removed from the dining room and even from your study, Father? I suppose
she
’s demanded it, has she?’

Charlotte gasped and turned wide eyes on her new husband. ‘You shouldn’t have done that, Miles. I’d never ask such a thing.’

Miles ignored her. Instead, he raised angry eyes to Philip. ‘We’ll talk about it later.’

‘No,’ Charlotte said sharply. ‘We’ll talk about it now. Philip, please come down.’

Sulkily, the young man descended the stairs.

‘Now,’ she said, more gently, ‘what is all this about?’

Georgie said nothing, but she felt his hand creep into hers.

‘Philip?’ Charlotte prompted. ‘Please tell me.’

‘Father left instructions that whilst you were on – whilst you were away, Wilkins should remove the paintings of our mother from view.’ His lip curled. ‘I suppose he thought it would upset you being constantly reminded of how beautiful his first wife was and how much he loved her.’

‘Philip!’ Miles thundered, but Charlotte put her hand on his arm and said softly, ‘It’s all right, Miles.’ Turning back to Philip and including Ben and Georgie too, she said gently, ‘I wouldn’t dream of allowing the portraits of your mother to be removed. They will be put back at once and there they will stay.’

Philip blinked, wrong-footed for a moment. But then he smiled sarcastically. ‘Another of your little schemes to ingratiate yourself into the family, is it? Making out you’re not trying to take her place?’

Charlotte shook her head. ‘I’m not.’ But she could see he did not believe her. ‘No one can take another’s place. We’re all individuals and loved, in different ways, perhaps, for ourselves, for who we are.’

Philip laughed, but without humour. ‘And you really think my father loves you like he loved my mother?’

‘Philip!’ Miles began again and took a step towards his son, but Charlotte held him back and answered the boy quietly, ‘No, Philip, I expect no such thing. Your father has been very honest with me about his reasons for asking me to marry him.’ Her tone was firmer as she added, ‘But those reasons, my dear, are private between us and no concern of yours.’