A Seven Year Hitch (30 page)

“What time did you say the performances were to start, this afternoon?” Stephen asked.

“Not until six o’clock when it gets a little cooler. The children will be performing their version of ‘Snow White’ first and then after an interval when lemonade and cake will be served, we will perform ‘A Seven Year Hitch’.”

“I am so nervous!” Sophie announced to the assembled crowd, “I am bound to forget my lines or trip over and fall off the stage!”

“Even the most experienced actors get nervous before a performance, Sophie,” Charlie reassured her. “Once you get on the stage, you’ll be fine and just remember, it is only being performed in front of family members so they will not mind if you make a mistake.”

“Actually, I think they prefer it when something goes wron
g, it makes it funnier, somehow,” Gerald added.

“Not this year!” Fiona said, “You and Trevellyn have written a farce that could not be bettered by mistakes!”

“Well if everyone has finished breakfast, I suggest we begin our final run through. We have not practised the final scene yet where Ross’ character eventually manages to catch his wife and kiss her. And before you create and come up with some excuse to get out of it, Erica, it is the linchpin to the whole play and must be performed.”

“Yes brot
her dear. No excuses, I promise,” she smiled mischievously and blew him a kiss, which had him grinning back at her. The thought crossed his mind that today he might have the opposite problem, how to stop his main characters from ‘practising’ their kiss. He shrugged and rose from the table.

“Come along then, everyone, the curtain calls
!” to which they all groaned at such a dreadful pun and followed him from the room.

             
By lunchtime, Gerald was satisfied that the performance was polished enough to present to the family and after a short talk on the importance of speaking slowly and clearly, and of everyone remembering their cues, he dismissed them.

“Make sure you have a leisurely afternoon and don’t wander off!”

With no plans for the afternoon, lunch turned into an impromptu picnic down by the lake, with the children paddling on the edge of the water while the adults lazed around on rugs or canvas chairs. It was not long, however, before a cricket match was suggested and those wishing to take part were quickly split into two teams. Erica found herself on the opposing team to Ross, and after his taunting comments about girls being hopeless at the game; a return to their old battle was inevitable.

“May I recall to your mind the incident of the pillow fight, My Lord? I seem to remember you voiced a similar misguided belief that men were superior in that too.”

“Would you care for a wager, Miss Wilmshurst, between the two of us?”

“What do you suggest?”

“That I can score more runs than you.”

“Very well. And the stakes?” she asked.

“The winner gets a slave for a day!”

“So you have to do everything I tell you to do for a whole day?”

“Or you have to do everything I say for a whole twenty-four hours!”

She thought about it for a moment and agreed putting out her hand so that they could shake on it. “I shall enjoy ha
ving you at my beck and call,” she told him before heading off to consult with her team.

The game, if transferred to a battlefield would have been bloody and dirty. Both sides were not adverse to cheating, obstructing batsman as they ran between wickets, distracting the bowler to get a no ball and declaring some rather dubious leg-before-wickets. When Erica was called in to bat, she was quietly confident, having been taught to play by Uncle Richard. Off the first ball she hit a four, the ball bouncing over the boundary to the sounds of cheering from the spectators.

Play progressed well with her even hitting a six to the great delight of her team and she had chalked up twenty-six when Ross stepped up to bowl. The wicked glint gave her fair warning that he would show no mercy and his first ball whistled past her, narrowly missing the stumps. Bracing herself, she managed to get an edge to the next one and it went hurtling off over Stephen’ head and made the boundary for a four. Erica smirked at her husband saying. “You should know by now, My Lord, that I would not be intimidated.”

Ross’ only answer was to make a great play of cleaning the ball, making her wait. He bowled directly at her, making her step back and although she managed to hit the ball it sailed straight into his waiting hands.

“You’re out!” he shouted and was clapped on the back by his team members, who were eager to congratulate him.

Ross was confident as he approached the wicket with bat in hand. He had played cricket for
Cambridge and was confident that he could beat his wife’s score of thirty. He began gently; hitting the ball far enough to make two comfortable runs but was nearly undone when Thomas grabbed hold of his leg, and he only just made it back to his wicket in time, Thomas still attached.

“Unfair referee!” Ross expostulated but was told that they were playing by the Wilmshurst rules.

Ross glared at his wife as she let out a peal of laughter at his affronted look and muttered, “If that’s the way you want to play it.” From then on he decided that the boundary was the only option and hit five consecutive fours followed by a six.

With his score at twenty-eight, he needed only one more boundary to win the wager when Erica came forward to bowl. He strongly suspected that she meant to cheat and his suspicions were confirmed when she bowled a ‘pea-roller’; the ball rolled along the ground but Ross was prepared and blocked it with his bat. Her next bowl was on a level with his ear, but again Ross was prepared and swung his bat with great force, hitting the ball squarely in the centre and sent it spinning over the boundary for a six.

“My victory, I believe,” he told her as she stood, hands on hips glowering at him. “I shall let you know when I wish to collect on the wager.”

The match concluded with Trevellyn’s side being the victors, much to Erica’s disgust, and after the sporting shake of hands she disappeared into the house to avoid the inevitable match analysis. Ross lay on a rug, contributing to the discussion and arguing the points with the opponents until a footman appeared with a note for him. Scanning its contents, he excused himself and walked around to the front of the house where he found Erica, seated in a gig impatiently waiting for him.

“Hurry and climb up,” she ordered him and when he complied, she flicked the reins, giving the horse the signal to move on.

“If we are seen, someone is bound to ask where we are
going and want to tag along,” she explained, all the while keeping her gaze ahead as they sped down the drive at a smart trot.

“And where exactly are we going?” Ross asked, casually resting one arm along the back of the seat behind Erica.

“To the vicarage to see Reverend and Mrs. Beveridge. It is about time you were reacquainted with them and I thought he could get him to bless the ring while we are there.”

             
Afternoon tea had just been served when Erica and Ross were shown into the parlour at the vicarage.

“Erica, do join us my dear, of-course you are not interrupting. You are just in
time for some tea and biscuits,” Mrs. Beveridge assured her.

“I would like to introduce you to the Marquis of Trevellyn. Ross Devereaux.”

A shocked silence was followed by expressions of disbelief.

“Well
I never! After all this time,” the vicar said, unsure whether to shake his hand or demand he leave the premises. Erica then helped him out of his quandary by saying; “Trevellyn bought me a new wedding ring yesterday, and we were wondering if you would bless it for us.”

“Of-course, my dear child
,” he beamed. “I am to take it that the marriage is acceptable to you both?”

The couple were eager to hear all the details of their reunion and the explanation of Ross’ mysterious absence for seven years and thus an hour soon sped by. When Erica and Ross rose to leave the Beveridge’s accompanied them to the door and stood waving them off.

“Well my dear, who would have thought it?” he said, placing an arm around his wife’s shoulders and giving her a quick hug.

“And to turn out t
o be a love match, after all,” she replied, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

“What a romantic, you are?” he teased her although if truth were told, he had a lump in his own throat, and was deeply moved by such a wonderful and unlooked for outcome.

             
The general babble of the audience ceased when Jennifer sidled through the curtain and announced the children’s play. The nursemaids, governesses and parents had all worked hard to produce costumes and scenery for their performance of ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarves’ and throughout the show; there were plenty of oohs and aahhs and enthusiastic clapping. Nobody minded when Grumpy got stage fright and refused to move or when Dopey got carried away and sang his own rendition of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. After several curtain calls the children were scooped up by proud parents and taken onto the terrace where refreshments had been laid out for them.

             
Summoning his actors and actresses, Gerald reminded everyone of the audience that they needed to be in their seats in ten minutes and then swept the cast away for the last minute preparations.

“Gerald, we are not your sub
ordinates in the army, you know,” Charlotte reminded him after he had barked several orders at them. “It’s supposed to be a little bit of fun and yet you are threatening to turn it into some sort of military campaign,” she grumbled at him and the others agreed.

“Everything will be fine,
” Stephen assured him. “Take a deep breath cousin, and relax.”

“I’m sorry everyone,” he grinned sheepishly, “Put it down to writer’s nerves.”

“Everyone is seated and ready for you to begin,” Charlie informed them having peeped through the curtain at the assembled audience.

“Right then, people, lets give it our best
,” Gerald said bracingly and nodded to Fiona who, straightening her shoulders, went to introduce the play.

“My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,” s
he announced confidently projecting her voice so all could hear. A hush fell over the room and she continued. “Today we wish to welcome you to the premier performance of a play by two new and aspiring young playwrights, namely Viscount Wilmshurst and the Marquis of Trevellyn, who threaten to rival the great bard himself with their comedy. Ladies and Gentlemen with no more ado, I give you, ‘A Seven Year Hitch’.”

The curtain swept back to polite applause and the opening scene showed a young man, played by Trevellyn being pulled around the stage in a small dogcart, his legs dangling out the sides. Charlie sported a horse’s head and tail and neighed as they circled the stage until the cart tipped and Trevellyn squeezed himself out, to much laughter from the audience. Upon meeting Gerald’s character in a small, dilapidated inn, the two men gave a good impression of being drunk, staggering around and being full of bonhomie. Together they exited stage left, only to reappear moments later to confront a young woman played by Erica.

Audience participation was encouraged and as the play progressed the atmosphere of hilarity increased. Erica performed her part as outraged sister and then wife to perfection and Ross made everyone laugh as he chased her around the stage shouting, “One little kiss! One little kiss, oh dear heart!”  

             
At last having caught his reluctant bride, Ross asked the audience if he should kiss her, to which there was a resounding chorus of yes and many cheers as he bent his head to that of his ‘wife’ and touched her lips with his own. The noise rose to a crescendo but then petered out as Ross tightened his hold on Erica and prolonged the kiss. The cast and audience watched in amazement, many of them waiting for the moment when Erica would break free and punch him on the nose. By the time the couple drew apart, silence reigned in the room.

“Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to present my wife, Lady Erica, the Marchioness of Trevellyn.”

“You’ve made a mistake, silly.” Sophie told him in a loud whisper that everyone could hear, “You’ve said the wrong name!”

“No mistake I assur
e you,” Ross replied, drawing Erica into his arms and kissing her rosy cheek.

“You and Erica are married?” Aunt Clara found her voice first and sought the confirmation everyone wanted.

“I can confirm that they are indeed married and have been these last seven years!” Sir Richard spoke up.

“So the play, farcical as it was, is actually based on fact?” Uncle William said and when Sir Richard nodded, “Good heavens!”

“Why were we not told?” Aunt Hebe wanted to know.

“At the time of the wedding, we were hoping that an annulment could be sought, quickly and quietly and therefore to avoid causing worry to the relatives and to protect Erica, it was decided that those involved would retain confidentiality. None of us at the time imagined that it would take so long to track the bridegroom, and as it turned out, we didn’t. He found us.”

The Duke and Duchess of Penkhill, then became the focus of all eyes as they stood up and approached the stage. The Duchess spoke first, “Erica, have you a kiss for your Mama-in-law? I am so delighted for you and my son. I wish you both every happiness.”