In Distant Fields (40 page)

‘I hope not – but that's what a hand wound is called, because some fellows shoot themselves in the hand in order to get sent home.'

‘Not you, Al.'

‘Is your fellow officer all right?' Kitty wondered, looking at Almeric. ‘I mean – being hit in the face …'

‘He's fine, Kitty. Remarkably, seeing the bullet passed right through both cheeks. But he's going to make it. We were in the same place being looked after, and when last seen he was sitting up and writing a letter home. I have the most terrific bunch of men under me. I'm very lucky. They have the foulest of mouths, and the bravest of hearts.'

Whenever they had the chance Kitty and Almeric went walking in the grounds, going where they always went, as if each walk was a form of ritual designed to keep them safe and bring good luck.
If Kitty began accidentally to walk in the wrong direction, Almeric would at once correct her, guiding her back on to the right track before setting off once more, talking of their future as they walked.

‘If I come back all right,' he would often begin, which Kitty would correct.

‘When you come back,' she would say. ‘There are no ifs.'

And then one day Almeric had an idea. It was just after he had been given the all clear by the doctors and pronounced fit once again.

‘I have had the most wonderful idea. I have already spoken to the parents about it.' As Kitty looked at him, wondering if what she was thinking was what he was going to say, he went on, ‘My idea is for us to be married by special licence – before I have to go back to the party.'

Kitty stared at him. ‘But, Al … ?'

‘Don't you like the idea?' He laughed. ‘You should see your face.'

‘You just took me by surprise, that's all,' Kitty laughed, taking his arm. ‘Nothing like surprising a girl.'

‘It can't be that much of a surprise, darling. You know I want to marry you.'

‘Of course, Almeric, of course I do. I just hadn't thought we could – that we might do this. I think it's a lovely idea, really lovely.'

‘Then do it we shall. I'll make the necessary preparations.'

‘You only have – how long? Three days. Less than three days – two and a half.'

‘It can be done – and I shall do it.'

‘But with the Reverend Mr Bletchworth gone, isn't that going to make it difficult?'

‘There are other churches. I know how busy you are, darling – so just leave it all to me. It will be wonderful – believe me.'

Almeric made all the necessary applications on the telephone, assured by those to whom he spoke that there should be no problem, other than the fact that, understandably enough, there were considerably more applications for special licences at the moment, particularly now that spring had arrived.

‘Don't know what it is, sir,' the clerk said to him on the telephone. ‘Soon as Easter comes all folk seem to think of is getting wed. Leave it all to me, sir. We'll do the very best we can, sir.'

The next morning, the last full day that Almeric had before returning, Kitty prepared for her wedding, helped by Partita.

‘This wasn't how it was meant to be, Kitty,' Partita grumbled, fastening the buttons on the dress they had both chosen from one of the many collections of gowns in the Duchess's ownership. ‘It should have been a proper wedding. After all, you're going to be a duchess one day.'

‘It doesn't matter, Tita,' Kitty replied. ‘This is how it is going to be because of the war. We can always have another ceremony when it's all over.'

‘If and when,' Partita continued to grumble. ‘For once I was really looking forward to being a bridesmaid.'

‘You're still going to be a bridesmaid. The only bridesmaid.'

‘Oh, what a photey for the
Tatler and Bystander
!' Partita cried mockingly. ‘The Lady Partita Knowle, sister to the bridegroom and bridesmaid to the future Duchess of Eden, now the Marchioness of Knowle, married today in the Church of St Hole in the Wall, Nowhere in Particular.'

‘You are particularly dreadful, Tita. The whole point is Almeric and I are getting married.'

‘I get the point, Kitty,' Partita said, suddenly a little sad. ‘I was just trying to get around the point – so that we wouldn't think about it. I know why you're getting married, but I just can't bear to think like that, that's all.'

‘Then don't, Tita darling,' Kitty said kissing her. ‘Don't think that. I'm not. So don't you.'

‘Sorry, Kitty,' Partita replied, breathing in deeply and pulling herself together. ‘Don't know what came over me. A bit stretched, I think – probably a bit overcooked. Now. Let me look at you – oh yes. Yes, Kitty, you look, if I may say so? You look
ever so
.'

Kitty took one last look at herself in the glass, seeing an image so contrary to the one she had imagined she would see on her wedding day. The borrowed dress was old but beautiful, of that there was no doubt, as were her borrowed hat,
gloves, shoes, silk underwear and stockings, but not being married in white, in a wedding gown of your choice, and not being led up the aisle clutching a wedding bouquet of fresh summer flowers in your hand while the man who was to be yours waited, hardly daring to look in case his bride vanished or he was turned to stone in front of a packed church, was not the same as hurriedly organising a special licence to be married in an unfamiliar church by an unfamiliar vicar in day clothes, however expensive and exclusive they may be, and spending one's wedding night in a room at a local hostelry. But as Kitty knew perfectly well, there was a war on. The plain fact was that the man she was to marry that day might never return, that this might be the only chance they would have to love each other before her bridegroom returned to the fighting line.

‘The car is here,' Tinker told them, hurrying into the room and then stopping to look at Kitty. ‘You look simply lovely, Miss Kitty,' she sighed. ‘You look really beautiful.'

‘Don't be silly, Tinks,' Partita said, making a last adjustment to her own hat and dress. ‘She always looks beautiful.'

‘She looks
particularly
beautiful, Lady T. Really.'

‘As do I, Tinker,' Partita put in, pulling a little face.

Kitty turned back to the maid. ‘Thank you, Tinker,' she said. ‘And I think now we really ought to be leaving.'

It was to be a very simple service, with just Partita and her parents, Tinker and Bridie, Wavell and of course every one of the patients who was well and strong enough to make the five-mile journey to the church in the hay wagon, organised and driven by Jossy, who, of course, was also to attend the ceremony. Everyone arrived at the church at the appointed time, Almeric driving himself in the ponytrap, which had been specially bedecked with white ribbons and hung with cherry blossom, while the Duke and Duchess had been driven there in a hired motor car, much to the Duke's quiet disgust, two of the carriage horses being lame, and so ruling out his favoured form of transport. So too did Kitty and her retinue arrive on time, entering the church to the quiet strains of Bach being played on the harmonium by an earnest-looking woman in a heavy woollen cardigan and mittens, even though outside the day was mild and sunny.

The only person they were short of was the parson.

‘Anyone seen the fellow?' John wondered at full volume. ‘Hasn't slipped his mind, I suppose?'

‘Perhaps he had another service to conduct,' Circe suggested. ‘There is quite a shortage of parsons at the moment, you know, with so many going off to war.'

‘And even more staying behind, if you ask me,' John grunted. ‘Perhaps one should take a look in the vestry?'

Taking his cue from his father, Almeric went to
see if he could find the vicar, but the vestry was empty, although he did notice an overcoat hanging on a peg, which he took as a good sign. The exact moment he returned to his place the main door swung open and a small, rotund man dressed in cassock and surplice rushed in, his face red from his haste and his obvious anxiety.

‘I am
so
sorry, everyone!' he cried, taking off his spectacles, which were steaming up on him, and wiping them on his surplice. ‘I really am so frightfully sorry!'

‘Perfectly all right, Vicar,' John replied as the vicar hurried up to the group waiting below the altar. ‘Long as we get it done some time today.'

‘Ah yes, Your Grace,' the vicar sighed, putting his glasses back on. ‘But I'm afraid that is now not going to be possible.'

Everyone stared at him, unable to believe their ears.

‘There is some sort of hitch?' John wondered.

‘Obviously there is some sort of hitch, John,' Circe put in impatiently.

‘What's the matter, man?' John demanded. ‘This was meant to be done under a plain sail. We're all gathered, so what the devil can be the problem?'

‘It really is not my fault, Your Grace,' the vicar sighed in return. ‘This is really none of my doing.'

‘What isn't? Out with it!'

‘Alas, it appears they have sent the wrong
licence,' the vicar informed them all, with a long, doleful look. ‘It is not only the wrong licence, it is totally the wrong licence. Not only is it made out for the wrong date, tomorrow to be precise, it is also made out for the wrong couple. A Mr Albert Hillier and a Miss Eugenia Nares-Pillow.'

‘Nares-Pillow?' the Duke exploded. ‘Never heard of such a name. This has to be someone's idea of a hoax. Or a joke.'

‘I'm afraid not, Your Grace,' the vicar assured him, showing him the licence. ‘It's not even for the correct church.'

‘You've only just discovered this, Vicar?'

‘The licence only arrived an hour ago, Your Grace. I telephoned the appropriate authorities at once, and they told me they would call me back immediately, which they did not. I then called them back again—'

‘Yes, yes, yes, just get to the point, will you?'

‘The long and the short of it is, alas, Your Grace – everybody – I am very much afraid the marriage cannot proceed until the correct licence is produced.'

‘And when might that be?' Circe enquired, as Almeric took Kitty's hand in his. ‘Later today, perhaps?'

‘No, I am very much afraid not, Your Grace,' the vicar replied, taking off his spectacles again, this time to pinch the corners of his eyes. ‘No, due to the volume of the paperwork on the authorities' desks and the demands for special licences at this particular moment in time, it
would seem the best we can hope for is late tomorrow morning.'

‘I shall be gone by then,' Almeric said. ‘And I can't buy any time.'

‘I am truly sorry, milord, but there is nothing I can do.'

‘You can marry them, blow it,' the Duke suggested. ‘You could go ahead and marry them and fill in along all the dotted lines later.'

‘I could, but it would be neither proper, Your Grace, nor legal. We must have the proper licence or this young couple cannot be deemed to be married, whatever words I may say over them.'

‘Ridiculous. Preposterous. You can say all our hail and farewells without a bit of paper in your hand, can't you? So why can't you marry this young couple, eh? That's what I want to know.'

‘Because it would not be legal, Your Grace. And in light – in light of the – in light of the circumstances I fear it would not be in the best interests of the young couple here were I to pronounce them man and wife and that they should not be so. In the eyes of God.'

There was nothing that could be done, in spite of a dash by Almeric into town to try to get the damage repaired, only to find the necessary official had already left his office to travel to another twenty-mile-distant church in order to try to undo another of the mistakes that had precipitated this disaster. Finally it became clear that there was simply nothing they could do until the morrow, and even then there was
uncertainty on the part of the registrar that the mayhem could be entirely undone in twenty-four hours, the party returned sadly and slowly back to Bauders to regroup and to decide what, if anything, could be done.

In spite of considerable resistance from Almeric, John did his best to pull strings at the War Office, but to Almeric's relief it was proved to be of no avail.

‘Yes, what has happened is sad,' Almeric agreed when his father fulminated at the inefficiency, and the heartbreak it had caused Kitty. ‘It's lamentable, but I really must say, sir, that I could not live with my conscience if I had to rely on a favour. The same rules must apply to everyone – officers and men.'

‘I must agree with Almeric,' Kitty found herself saying, despite the fact that she had spent the previous hour struggling not to break down.

John sighed heavily, knowing as everyone else in the room knew, that Almeric and Kitty might not get another chance to tie the marital knot, just as much as he knew that there was no further use for his opinions, one way or another. Children did what they had to do, or what they should not do, or what they considered they must do, and that was that.

Before luncheon was served, leaving the men to have a drink, Partita took Kitty aside, and the two young women went outside onto a terrace, Partita moving them along to make sure they were out of earshot.

‘What are you going to
do
, Kitty?'

‘There's nothing I
can
do, Tita. There has been a mistake and that is all there is to it.'

‘I don't mean that. What I mean is – what are you going to
do
?'

‘Hope and pray Almeric gets another leave soon so as we can get it properly organised next time.'

‘And suppose he doesn't? Or suppose he gets wounded again – or worse?'

‘That's not the sort of thing I will let myself suppose, Tita. There's no point. You know that as well as I do.'

‘Be sensible, Kitty! You are such a practical person, as well as a bright one – so think. Just suppose you won't get this chance again – I mean, you love my brother—?'