“I want Daniel to be happy,” said Hugh.
“I want Celeste to be happy,” said Beatrice.
“Happiness may have a new and more urgent definition in these dark times,” said Daniel. “I can assure you I have been very frank in my language. I have offered her all the worldly advantage of marriage and all the protection of a brother. She will suffer no harm from me, and we will both live free from scrutiny.”
“It is an unconventional arrangement,” said Hugh, but his face began to brighten with a cautious relief.
“I believe we can forge a comfortable life together from the ashes in which the small-minded have buried us.”
“Do you want to do this, Celeste?” asked Beatrice. She did not know, from the worshipful smile on Celeste’s face, whether she understood exactly what Daniel proposed. Beatrice herself was not quite sure, but could find no suitable language in which to press for particulars.
“I am very happy,” said Celeste.
“Be assured, good Beatrice, I shall not fail my wife in any duty she asks of me, nor embarrass her by my actions in the world,” said Daniel. “Honor and discretion shall see us to our dotage.”
“She is to be married,” said Beatrice to Hugh. Against her will, and due to the rum and consternation, she burst into tears and buried her head in Hugh’s coat to cry.
Difficulties might have been expected from the tortuous bureaucratic preferences of both Town Hall and church, but as Beatrice and Celeste waited the next morning in the parlor, Daniel and Hugh arrived waving all necessary papers.
“It’s the war,” said Hugh. “The Vicar said better a marriage with no banns than a rash of unwed girls left behind.”
“As Celeste has been coming to services with you and Mrs. Turber, he put us both down as members of the parish and sent me to the Town Hall for a license,” said Daniel. “With two witnesses, and a contribution in the plate, he will marry us at three.”
“And home for tea,” added Hugh.
“Now all that remains is for me to ask your father’s blessing,” said Daniel.
“What if he will not give his permission?” asked Celeste. “The nuns, they come for me at noon.” She grasped Beatrice’s hand, her face fearful. “What if I have shamed him too much?”
“Be sensible, dear friend,” said Beatrice. “It is an excellent match. He must be pleased.”
“Come with me,” said Celeste. “Please come with me?”
“We will all go to Mr. Tillingham’s,” said Daniel. “That way, when I’m finished getting your father’s blessing, I will announce our happiness and we can all watch Mr. Tillingham’s face when he realizes he must break out his best champagne to toast such a happy occasion.”
“If I were a gambler, I would wager against you,” said Hugh, grinning.
—
It was a happy foursome that walked next door to Mr. Tillingham’s, where three of them waited anxiously in the front parlor as Daniel and the Professor spoke in Mr. Tillingham’s dining room. Only the base rumble of voices came through the thick walls, and Beatrice tried not to listen. Instead she tried to distract Celeste with a thank-you letter to Mr. Tillingham from the King, for his war work with refugees, which Mr. Tillingham had framed in heavy ebony and displayed between a lamp and a small globe on a side table.
“Oh, is that where the housekeeper put that old thing,” said Mr. Tillingham, sauntering in to join them. “I told her to tuck it away out of sight.” Hugh explained, in brief, their mission, and Mr. Tillingham did indeed seem to wrestle a moment with a suitable response. To Beatrice’s surprise, he excused himself to go and ask the housekeeper to bring some cold champagne.
“You lose your wager,” she said to Hugh.
“I should know better than to bet against my cousin,” said Hugh.
At last the door to the dining room opened and footsteps approached the parlor door. It was Daniel, and his face was set in anger.
“He refuses,” said Daniel. “He claims Celeste is promised to the Catholic Church and that, despite the welcome they have received at St. Mary’s, he could never consider a marriage outside the Catholic faith.”
“All is lost,” said Celeste quietly.
“Now wait a minute, there must be some compromise,” said Hugh.
There were more steps in the hall, and the Professor appeared in the doorway. He gave a short bow and spoke to his daughter. “You must gather yourself,” he said. “The sisters will be here soon. I trust you know your duty and are ready to do as I ask?”
“I say, this is all rather high-handed,” said Hugh. “After all the kindness that has been extended, Professor, I think my cousin deserves better from you.”
“Our gratitude knows no bounds,” said the Professor. “But my daughter is already promised, and I must be free to make the best choice for her life.”
“But this marriage wipes her reputation clean,” said Beatrice. “It seals all lips and means she can stay here, with you.”
“I cannot convey to you the importance and mysteries of our Catholic faith, dear lady,” said the Professor. “But please believe a father knows what is best for his daughter.” All the sunlight seemed to bleed from the room, whether from a passing cloud or from sheer despair, Beatrice could not say.
“My marriage may stop the gossip, but he will still know the truth,” said Celeste at last. “He sends me away because he cannot bear to look at me.”
“It is not true,” said the Professor, but his face said otherwise.
“This is why I went away to the river, Father,” said Celeste. “So you would not have to look at me and see my shame become more visible every day.”
“There is nothing more to discuss,” said the Professor. “I have made my decision.”
“If I am to leave for the cloister,” said Celeste, “then I will make my confession before I go. I will ask Beatrice to fetch Mr. Poot, and I will give him my public testimony.”
“You will do no such thing,” said the Professor, growing very red. “You will be quiet.”
“I will tell him how the Germans came,” she said. “How you had me put on my newest dress, heavy with the finest lace, and had the maid put up my hair. And how you pinched my cheeks to make them flush and gave me my mother’s gold crucifix to hang on my bosom.”
“You will stop now,” said the Professor. “You all should leave, please.”
“I do think you might allow me the privilege of dismissing my own guests from my house, Professor,” said Mr. Tillingham, who had come up unnoticed behind him. “Personally, I am riveted by the young lady’s narrative.”
“You picked sweet-smelling white roses from the garden, and the maid put one over my ear,” said Celeste. “And tucked one in the very front lace of my bodice…” She stood up from her chair and faced her father squarely. He could not hold her gaze and dropped his eyes, shuffling his feet on the carpet.
“You ordered the best china and a bottle of champagne you were keeping for a celebration. Was it champagne for my wedding, Father? You had champagne and brandy served with tea, and I sat in the parlor and waited while the maid urged me to flee. All the servants fled, but you went out to the front door and asked the officer in to tea.”
“I had an obligation to the library,” said the Professor. He looked around the room, appealing for support. “We had nothing to fear from the Germans. They are civilized people, and we were not some frightened peasants. We stayed to protect the books.”
“And so we drank tea and he made me many compliments and you did not send me from the room but rather you agreed with him and talked of my mother’s beauty and of how my sheltered life had made me so fresh and simple.”
“He had sisters at home,” said the Professor. “He understood the value of my vigilance.”