Chapter Twenty-Four

1911

The day of Elsie and Louis’ wedding — the twenty-second of December, the winter solstice — finally dawned. It was one of those beautiful winter days where the snow blanketed the ground, but the sky was blue, and everyone woke up in a cheerful mood.

Laurie and his entire family — including the Wheal Mount contingent — were in the Pencradoc London house and although it was a reasonably large property, they were practically falling over one another to get ready, or to take their turn with the seamstress, or to have their hair done, or to grumble about the arrangements for walking down the aisle.

Elsie had given them all very specific instructions. Zennor had a list with everyone’s names on and she was going to take it with her, but Laurie had committed it all to memory anyway. Words were his thing and it wasn’t hard for him to retain the information.

He recited it in his mind once more.

Isolde would precede the bridal party, along with Louis’ brother, Drew. As maid of honour and best man, it was only correct.

They would be followed by him, Laurie, with Viola and Marigold.

Then would come Medora and Biscuit. Oh, yes — Biscuit had travelled to London as well and was as excited as a puppy, exploring the house and garden and getting under everyone’s feet, his long tail wagging constantly. Medora and Biscuit would be accompanied by Fabian. And Biscuit was also the ring-bearer.

Coming after Medora, Fabian and Biscuit, were Clem and Evie.

They would be followed by Clara, and Lily’s eldest son, Albert. Then it would be Enyon and Lucy, Arthur and Nancy, and Mabel and Edward — Lily’s youngest son.

The bridal attendants, Laurie feared, would fill the aisle before the bridal party actually entered the place.

However.

The day before, on the twenty-first, they’d all arrived at the church for a wedding rehearsal, and Laurie preferred not to think of the jumble of excited girls and dour boys trying to find their places and step over dogs and toddlers — both of whom had also been over-excited — and argue over who had the best view and when could they expect to eat the wedding cake, please.

Louis had just looked worried — he’d admitted later that he could just imagine chaos descending over the place — and Elsie had beamed at everyone, wrapped up in a loosely fitted black walking coat she’d refused to take off.

Laurie had to wonder why. Everyone had guessed the reason for the speedy wedding, and, to be honest, nobody cared. And surely, the situation couldn’t be that obvious yet, but he had to allow his sister her foibles, the cross words between them a couple of weeks ago long forgotten.

More importantly, he had seen Viola there, for the first time since their snowy afternoon in Russell Square. They had nodded politely at one another and walked down the aisle as instructed, and not a bad word or argument had happened between them.

It was a Christmas miracle.

He wondered whether that time they’d spent together had shifted something in the atmosphere between them and he had been pleased he’d waited in the snow for her — he really had been. But he wasn’t sure whether she knew the reason for that pleasure or not.

All he knew, was that he felt a whole lot better in her company now and he was actually looking forward to the wedding and sharing the aisle with her.

Which made him feel a little odd and wonder whether, in some ways, it was something they were destined to do again at some point . . .

But no. He shuddered. It was the magic of Christmas and the idea he’d built up of her after that last meeting in Russell Square.

He found that he certainly did not dislike her at all now.

He found that, perhaps, he might even like her.

A lot.

Perhaps even love her.

Just a little.

Then he shook his head to clear it of such ridiculous thoughts and headed downstairs to the predicted chaos, as the bridesmaids and canine contingent got ready to clamber into a carriage and be delivered wholesale to Brunswick Square to meet the other bridesmaids — including Viola — and carry out their duties, and the male attendants waited, sullenly or otherwise, for the carriage that would take them to St George’s Church, Bloomsbury, to meet everyone there.

* * *

The wedding had been — perfect. Absolutely perfect.

‘It’s — wunnerful!’ Viola had muttered to Laurie, of all people, as they sat beside one another, Marigold between them, in the church.

There had been, of course, a slight change of plan. Marigold had, like her mother, been particularly single-minded that morning, and, instead of walking nicely between Viola and Laurie as they held her hands, she had decided she wanted to walk in front of them and scatter greenery in gay abandon in the aisle.

Somebody had made the mistake of saying that if it was a summer wedding, wouldn’t a scattering of rose petals have been delightful, and, in the absence of rose petals, Marigold had been determined to find an alternative.

This had resulted in all the bridesmaids raiding the Christmas decorations and the garden for things Marigold could put in a basket — therefore, she had acquired the more traditional items of holly and ivy, as well as some cyclamen flowers, some Christmas roses and a fine green shrub from the garden with little white trumpet flowers that was apparently called Christmas Box.

Nobody claimed responsibility for the mention of rose petals.

Unsurprisingly.

But anyway — here they were. Elsie and Louis had just exchanged vows, and Elsie was, quite possibly, the most stunning bride Viola had ever seen. She absolutely glowed with happiness, a wreath of holly, ivy and mistletoe in her hair, and also in her bouquet. She clutched the bouquet very firmly in front of her, the gorgeous white dress even more divine since the extra layers of tulle and lace had been added. The sash, however, was no longer white — Elsie had chosen a red sash to complement Marigold’s dress and it looked utterly perfect. Viola had helped her tie it and adjust it just so before the ceremony. She’d hidden a smile when Elsie had asked her to “loosen it just a little bit, sweetums”, and Elsie had laid her hand briefly on her stomach as if she’d been definitely trying to hide whatever was going on around that area.

The bridesmaids had ribbons of red, gold and green woven through their elaborate hairstyles, but already Viola could feel her style dropping out and the ribbons unravelling. She didn’t care, though. Nobody would be looking at her and if her hair only stayed up as long as it took for the photographs to be taken, that was long enough.

Well, she thought that nobody would be looking at her — but the odd time she had felt Laurie’s eyes on her and once she had turned and caught his expression, and it had made her surreptitiously smile.

She hadn’t forgotten her secret Christmas wish. She wondered if, perhaps, it might not be too much to wish for after all.

But yes, the wedding was “wunnerful”.

She looked around and saw Pearl and Holly clutching each other and crying what she assumed were happy tears while their husbands sat either side of them looking embarrassed, and the children lining the pews beside them. Sam was there too. He caught her eye and grinned, rolling his eyes heavenwards and nodding towards Pearl. She grinned back and looked around a little more.

There were Zennor and Ruan Teague, Laurie’s parents. Ruan Teague had escorted his stepdaughter down the aisle to give her away, looking just as proud as any biological father would. And there were Louis’ parents and his sister-in-law, Felicity. And a couple who she assumed were Laurie’s aunt and uncle, Alys and Jago, the Duke and Duchess of Trecarrow, looking happy to be there as well. The likeness between Alys and the fair-haired Wheal Mount bridesmaids was astonishing, apart from the fact they all had their father’s serious, dark eyes.

There was a movement next to her and she realised it was Marigold, trying to clamber up onto her knee.

‘Isn’t Mama bee-you-tee-fool ,’ the little girl whispered. ‘And Papa is bee-you-tee-fool too.’

‘They are both very bee-you-tee-fool, honey. And so are you.’ Viola scooped the child onto her knee and caught Laurie’s eye again. This time, she found that she couldn’t look away. His eyes were fixed on hers, the way she knew hers were fixed on his. The packed church seemed to melt away and it seemed as if it was just the two of them in the world.

‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘You’re wunnerful.’

But as Marigold had coughed at that point, Viola couldn’t swear that was exactly what Laurie Teague had said.