Free Dorothy Eden by Vines of Yarrabee Page B

masterful finger.
    ‘I’ll marry ’oo.’
    This precocious remark set the little girls off into fits of giggles, and the awed silence had vanished.
    ‘Little boys don’t get married, do they, Mamma?’
    ‘Mamma, will I look like Miss Lichfield when I’m a bride?’
    ‘Miss Lichfield, can I touch your veil? My finger’s very clean.’
    ‘When will Mr Massingham put the ring on your finger, Miss Lichfield? Will you have to keep it there until you die?’
    ‘Hush, hush!’ cried Bess. ‘If you can’t be quiet you’ll have to go out. Eugenia, does your veil need another pin? The wind could snatch it off your head as you get out of the carriage.’
    This remark renewed the children’s giggles. It was very hot in the little room. Already Eugenia’s clothes were sticking to her, and her veil, securely pinned by Bess, dragged at her hair. But the children’s gaiety was infectious. She adored them, sitting there in their best clothes, their plain faces shining with innocence.
    ‘Come on then,’ she said, taking Tom by the hand and making him stand beside her. ‘If you are going to marry me, you must do so quickly, before Mr Massingham arrives. This is how it is done. You must put a ring on my finger. Bess, lend me your ring. Soon I will have my own, but that will be too late for Tom.’
    This was too much for Annie and Polly, who shrieked with laughter until tears ran down their freckled cheeks. Real tears stood in Bess’s eyes. She impulsively kissed Eugenia’s cheek and said, ‘Oh, I do hope you will be happy. It’s so different from the way it would have been in your own home.’
    ‘I like this way very much indeed,’ Eugenia answered serenely. ‘I couldn’t have a more appreciative audience. Tom, now we are married. You must go back to your sisters and begin to grow up.’
    ‘Oh, the carriage!’ Bess cried, flying to look out of the little window. ‘Quick, children, take a peep at the white ribbons the driver has tied to his whip. Here’s Edmund come for you, Eugenia. Your gloves! Are you sure your veil is secure? Oh, and your flowers! Bless you, dearie, you look a real treat.’
    In many ways, the getting ready had been the nicest part of her wedding, for the heavy airless atmosphere in the church had made Eugenia feel a little faint. The minister surreptitiously mopped his brow, the ladies fanned themselves, and the men, wearing uncomfortable collars and starched shirts, were red-faced and perspiring. Gilbert’s colour was high, also, but Eugenia knew she must look as pale as her dress. Bess Kelly had pinned her veil too tight, after all, and it was dragging painfully. Her white silk tight-waisted wedding gown trimmed with Brussels lace felt as hot as if it had been made of thick wool. She was damp all over with perspiration. She could hardly remove her glove for Gilbert to place the ring on her finger, and when he clasped her hand firmly and lovingly they became welded together with sticky heat. It was only in that moment that Eugenia realized she was married. She had been striving so determinedly against her faintness that she hadn’t taken in a word of the wedding service.
    ‘You must sign your name, my love,’ Gilbert was saying.
    The pen shook in her fingers. In her endeavour to keep her hand steady a blot fell off the nib. It spread in a tiny black pool at the end of her new name, Eugenia Massingham. The minister blotted it up. Gilbert took the pen and signed his own name with a flourish. When he looked at his bride there was pride and excitement in his eyes. He didn’t seem to notice her pallor. He tucked her hand firmly in the crook of his arm and began to walk down the aisle. It wasn’t so much a walk as a swagger. Eugenia felt touched that he was so pleased to be showing her off, and relieved that he hadn’t noticed her distress. He wouldn’t have cared to have a swooning bride on his hands.
    In the very back of the small church, among a little cluster of uninvited spectators, she