Matilda's Wedding. Betty Neels

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      ‘Yes, Father. Did you have a letter about it?’

      ‘Yes, it’s on my desk, I believe. I should have thought that it could have been done without cost for there has been a telephone here previously, but it seems there is a payment to make.’

      Matilda, finding it buried under a pile of books, saw that if she had had any ideas about spending next week’s wages on anything she could forget them. And, to be on the safe side, she warned her mother that that particular bill would have to be paid at once. News which Mrs Paige took with some annoyance. ‘I was hoping that you could lend me some money; I simply must have a few things. I’ll pay you back when your father gets his pension.’

      ‘I’m sorry, Mother; once the bills are paid…’

      ‘Bills, bills, why can’t they wait? Really, Matilda, you’re nothing but a prig—too good to be true. I suppose you tell everyone that you hand over your money each week because it’s your saintly duty to do so.’

      Matilda said quietly, ‘No, I don’t tell anyone, Mother.’ She sighed. ‘I expect you’re right. I’m not quite sure what a prig is exactly, but it sounds like me. I’ve been a disappointment to myself. I should have liked to have been pretty and clever and well dressed, I should have liked the chance to go dancing and have fun, but there was always some reason why I didn’t—helping Father in the parish, taking over most of the household chores so that you had more time to be the vicar’s wife and any chance I might have had to leave home and get a job is finally squashed, isn’t it?’

      She saw from her mother’s face that she wasn’t really listening. She said woodenly, ‘I’m going into the garden.’

      Digging the flowerbeds, cutting back overgrown shrubs, grubbing up weeds helped, and all the while she cried, tears rolling down her cheeks while she sniffed and grizzled. But she felt better presently and when she went indoors she looked very much as usual.

      On Saturday morning she walked down to the village armed with the grocery list. It was a long one and she saw that she would have to supplement the housekeeping with some of her own money.

      ‘Let me know how much you spent,’ her mother had said. ‘I’ll let you have it back when your father gives me the month’s housekeeping.’

      Matilda was walking back, with two plastic shopping bags weighing her down, and had reached the doctor’s house when its handsome door was opened and three people emerged—the doctor, a short, thick-set man, a good deal younger than he, and a young woman. A very handsome one, too, Matilda saw out of the corner of her eye. She was tall and fair and slim and dressed in the height of fashion. Not quite suitable for Much Winterlow, reflected Matilda, allowing herself to be catty, but the woman was distinctly eye-catching.

      They came down the short path to the gate set in the iron railings separating the house from the street, and had reached it as Matilda drew level with it. The doctor wished her good morning. ‘Been shopping?’ he asked.

      Well, of course; any idiot could see that, thought Matilda. But he was being polite. She said ‘Yes,’ and ‘Good morning, Doctor,’ and walked on.

      She wasn’t out of earshot when she heard the young woman’s voice—well modulated but carrying. ‘What a quaint little thing,’ she remarked.

      And what had she meant by that? reflected Matilda. She had reached the field and could utter her thoughts out loud. ‘I’m plain and a bit dowdy, I suppose, but otherwise I look as normal as anyone else. Well, I shan’t let it upset me.’

      All the same she dressed carefully for church on Sunday—her good suit of timeless cut, and the small felt hat which went with it. Her gloves and shoes had seen better days but they were good and she didn’t need a handbag; she tucked her collection money into her glove.

      Mrs Milton came early to fetch them and since Matilda was not quite ready, her mother and father were driven away in the car and she walked to the village, getting to the church just as the bell ceased.

      The congregation was quite large and she saw that her mother and father were sitting in one of the front pews with Mrs Milton, but her plan to slip into a pew at the back of the church was frustrated by her mother who had turned round and seen her. When she reached the pew she saw the doctor and his guests sitting on the opposite side of the aisle just behind them. She had only a glimpse as she went past but it was enough to see that the girl with him was the picture of elegance…

      Matilda reminded herself that she was in church as she said her prayers and sang the hymns and listened to the sermon, but once the service was over and they were outside in the churchyard, meeting various people kind Mrs Milton was introducing to her mother and father, she allowed her thoughts to dwell on the doctor and his companions, standing close by, talking to Lady Truscott. She edged away from them and took shelter behind Mrs Milton, only to find the two groups merging.

      Mrs Milton said, ‘Of course you’ve met Mr and Mrs Paige, haven’t you? And Matilda works for you.’

      She looked enquiringly at him and he said easily, ‘Two friends of mine, spending the weekend: Lucilla Armstrong and her brother Guy.’

      He turned to look at them. ‘Mrs Milton, the vicar’s wife, and the Reverend Mr Paige and Mrs Paige—and their daughter, Matilda.’

      Lucilla acknowledged the introductions with a cool nod. ‘We saw you yesterday.’ Her eyes roamed over Matilda’s person. ‘I wondered who you were.’

      Matilda said in a matter-of-fact voice, ‘I’d been to do the shopping. I’m surprised that you remembered me. I must have looked quaint laden down with plastic bags.’ She smiled sweetly and the doctor choked back a laugh. Miss Matilda Paige had revealed an unexpected side of her nature—or was he mistaken? Had her remark been as guileless as her ordinary face?

      There was polite talk for a few more minutes before Mrs Milton said, ‘We mustn’t stand around too long. I’m going to drive Mr and Mrs Paige back home—and you too, of course, Matilda.’ She smiled at the circle of faces around her.

      ‘I hope you have a pleasant weekend here. I’m sure it’s good for Henry to relax from his work.’

      Henry, thought Matilda, taking care not to look at him. A nice old-fashioned English name. She looked at his other guest instead. Guy Armstrong was good-looking, she conceded, but he had a weak chin and he laughed too much; besides, by the time he was forty he would be fat…

      She added her polite goodbyes to everyone else’s and got into Mrs Milton’s car, sitting in the back with her father because her mother wanted to ask about some extra committee Mrs Milton had suggested that she might like to join.

      And back home over lunch, while her mother talked animatedly of the people she had met at church and the prospect of a social life even if limited to the village, Matilda had ample free time to think about Dr Lovell. She thought about Lucilla, too, who would be an ideal wife for him. She was not as young as Matilda had first thought—indeed, Lucilla must be edging very close to thirty—but she was so beautifully cared for that no man would believe that… And, of course, her lovely clothes helped.

      I’m jealous, thought Matilda, but I can’t help that. I should be glad that he has found someone who will make him happy.

      She went to the kitchen to wash up, while her mother, still happily making plans, went with her father to the sitting room.

      ‘Perhaps СКАЧАТЬ