Matilda's Wedding

The shop was quite full. Matilda wasn’t the only one to be paid on a Friday, and Mrs Simpkins was doing a brisk trade, enjoying a good gossip at the same time. Matilda, waiting her turn, listened to the odd snippets of gossip. Bill Gates up at Hill Farm had had to have the vet out to one of his cows. Triplets, doing well. Time he had a bit of luck. There had been a small fire out at Pike’s place—a chip pan left on the stove. ‘And what do you expect from that Maisie Coffin? She bain’t no housewife…’ There were matronly nods all round in agreement and Matilda felt a pang of sympathy for Maisie.

‘Coming this weekend, so I hear?’ said a stout matron, waiting for her bacon to be sliced. ‘Staying with Dr Lovell, of course, bringing that brother of hers with her.’

Matilda edged a little nearer, anxious not to miss anything.

‘Time they married,’ said another voice. ‘Though she is not to my liking, mind you. A real town lady; don’t want nothing to do with the likes of us.’

There was a murmur of agreement. ‘But pretty as a picture,’ said another voice.

Mrs Simpkins spoke up. ‘Men don’t want a pretty picture for a wife; they wants a wife to make an ’ome for ’im and kiddies. And ’im such a good man, too.’

There was a collective sigh of regret and Matilda wondered what the doctor would say if he could hear the gossip about him. She didn’t think that he would mind; he would be amused. And he had no need to worry; he was well liked and respected. In the eyes of the village he was on a par with the Reverend Mr Milton.

Matilda bought her tights and toothpaste and a hand cream Mrs Simpkins assured her was just the thing if she was going to do a lot of gardening. She added back bacon, a cauliflower, cooking apples and a packet of chocolate biscuits to her purchases, answered Mrs Simpkins’ questions as to life at the surgery and how her mother and father were.

‘If the weather’s all right, I hope Father will be able to come to church on Sunday,’ said Matilda. ‘And, of course, Mother will be with him. Mr Milton has kindly offered to drive them to church.’

‘You too?’

‘Well, yes, I hope so…’

Mrs Simpkins nodded. ‘Time you got around a bit and met a few of us. Church is as good a place as any.’

Matilda said that, yes, she was quite right, and went off home. It was a dry day and she would be able to get into the garden. Her mother, with the prospect of going to church on Sunday, was happy. She would meet some of the people Mrs Milton had mentioned and it was a splendid opportunity for people in the village to get to know them. She fell to wondering what she should wear until Mr Paige said gently, ‘My dear, we are going to church, not a social gathering.’ He smiled lovingly at her and turned to Matilda. ‘My dear, a man is coming to reconnect the telephone on Monday; your mother—we both feel it is a necessity.’

‘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 I should find another job.’ Matilda addressed Rastus, who gave her a considering look before tucking into his dinner. ‘But if I did I’d not see him, would I? And I couldn’t bear that. Of course when they marry she will get me the sack. She doesn’t like me, which is silly, for I’m hardly a rival, am I?’

Rastus, nicely full, sat and stared at her. ‘You’re not much help, are you?” said Matilda.

It was pouring with rain on Monday morning. Matilda, wringing herself dry before she opened the surgery door, mopped her face and tugged her wet hair back into a semblance of tidiness and, still a bit damp, got out the notes for the morning’s patients. She then opened the door, casting a quick look round the waiting room as she did so. It was spotlessly clean and the chrysanthemums she had brought from the garden made a cheerful spot of colour beside the tidy pile of magazines on the table; the place was nicely warm too.

The first patients arrived, shedding wet macs, umbrellas and leaving muddy marks on the floor, and punctually at eight o’clock the doctor opened his door and requested the first patient.

By the time the last patient had left it was well past ten o’clock. Matilda started to tidy the place, lock away the notes, rearrange the magazines and collect up forgotten gloves, a scarf or two and a child’s plastic toy, and, tucked away in a corner, a shopping bag of groceries. She would take it over to Mrs Simpkins’ shop since the surgery door would be locked…

The door opened and the doctor stood looking at her.

‘You had better have a cup of coffee before you go,’ he said briskly.

Matilda put the shopping bag on the table. ‘Thank you, Doctor, but I’d rather not stop.’

‘You mustn’t allow hurt pride to interfere with common sense,’ he observed. ‘Far be it from me to send you out into this weather without so much as a warm drink inside you.’

‘Hurt pride?’ said Matilda, and then added, ‘Oh, the first morning when you told me not to watch the clock. Oh, that’s all right; I’m not one to bear a grudge!’

She smiled and went past him into the surgery where the coffee tray stood on his desk.

‘You are happy working here?’ asked Dr Lovell, taking his coffee and offering her a biscuit from the tin.

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘It is rather a quiet life for you,’ went on the doctor. ‘Miss Armstrong wondered if you found life here dull.’

‘How kind of her to concern herself about me,’ said Matilda in a quiet voice which gave away none of the powerful rage engulfing her. The interfering busybody… A first step towards getting her the sack.

‘She pointed out that you are very young for such a dull job. Of course Miss Brimble was elderly.’

‘As long as you are satisfied with my work,’ said Matilda, ‘I wish to stay here. And if I stay long enough I’ll be elderly like Miss Brimble! Won’t I?’

She put down her coffee cup. ‘Is there anything you would like me to do before I go?’

‘No, I think not.’

‘Thank you for the coffee. I’ll be here this evening.’

She skipped through the door, locked up and went out into the rain, crossing the road to the shop.

‘Someone left their groceries at the surgery,’ she told Mrs Simpkins. ‘Shall I leave the bag here? Or if you know who the owner is I could take it.’

‘Bless you, miss; that’s a kind thought. It’s old Mrs Harding’s weekly shopping. Lives just down the street, number fourteen on the other side. She’s that forgetful. If it’s not troubling you…’

Mrs Simpkins leaned comfortably across the counter. ‘Saw you in church,’ she said. ‘Very nice you looked, too—a sight better than that madam with our doctor. Mrs Inch— ’is ’ousekeeper, you know—told me she acted like she was in an ’otel. Can’t think what ’e sees in ’er.’

‘She’s quite beautiful,’ said Matilda. ‘I’ll have a piece of tasty cheese, Mrs Simpkins, and some of those dry cheese biscuits.’

Mrs Simpkins reached for the cheese. ‘Bin inside ’is ’ouse? Lovely, so I’m told—furniture ’anded down from way back in the family. Bin in the village for years and years. ’E don’t need to earn ’is living, of course; plenty of family money as you might say. A fine catch for that Miss Armstrong.’

She reached up for a packet of biscuits. ‘I hear your mum’s going to Lady Truscott’s for the charity committee meeting. Don’t see much of ’er in the village, though. Poorly, is she, like your dad?’

‘No, no, Mother’s very well, but you know how it is when you move house. But we’ve settled in nicely and my father is so much better now that he has retired.’

Matilda said goodbye, and left to deliver the shopping bag, then hurry home in the rain. Mrs Simpkins, watching her go, thought what a dull life she must lead with two elderly parents and no young man.

Another week went by and another pay day, and even after bolstering up the housekeeping purse and paying the small outstanding debts Matilda had some money. True, her mother had wheedled some of it for herself so that she might go to Taunton once again. She must look her best when she went to Lady Truscott’s, she’d pointed out; she would make do with the clothes she had but her hair must be trimmed and set and a few highlights added. Surely Matilda could understand that. ‘And really you have nothing to spend your money on, Matilda. There’s nothing to be done about your hair except bundle it up like you do, and you don’t need to look fashionable. No one sees you at the surgery and you’ve got that winter coat once it gets really cold.’

All of which was perfectly true. Matilda said nothing for the simple reason that if she did she might say something she would regret afterwards.

But on the following Tuesday, her day free until evening surgery, she took the local bus to Taunton. She hadn’t told her mother or father that she was going until she’d taken them their early morning tea.

‘That’s right, my dear,’ said her father. ‘You go and have a pleasant day. Have you sufficient money?’

She kissed the top of his head. ‘Yes, thank you, Father.’

There was no chance to say more for her mother had sat bolt upright in bed. ‘You’re going to Taunton? Why didn’t you tell me? I could have gone with you; I need several things. How thoughtless of you, Matilda—and why do you want to go?’

‘To shop,’ said Matilda, ‘and I must go now or I’ll miss the bus. I’ll be back before tea.’

‘I should feel mean, but I don’t,’ said Matilda to herself, hurrying down to the bus stop outside Mrs Simpkins’. There were several people there already, and the doctor, standing at his dining-room window, watched her join the little group. He thought idly that if he had known she had wanted to go to Taunton he would have given her a lift for he would be at the hospital for most of the day. He turned away and went to eat his breakfast.

Matilda hadn’t much money but she knew what she wanted. The doctor only saw her during surgery hours, so it made sense to make herself as attractive as possible during that time. Well, not sense, actually, since he never looked at her, but even if she had no hope that he would like her that wasn’t going to stop her from doing something about her looks.

Silly, really, thought Matilda, making for the shops.

It would have to be Marks & Spencer; she hadn’t enough money for any of the smart boutiques. She would go there first, anyway…

Maybe the doctor would never look at her; she would still find solace in the wearing of the grey jersey dress she found almost at once. It was suitably short but not too much so and it had a white collar and pretty buttons, and since it was jersey it wouldn’t crease.

And there was some money left over—enough for a navy sweater to wear with her last year’s pleated skirt. She checked the money in her purse then, had a cup of coffee and a roll, and went in search of something tasty for supper, as well as the boiled sweets her father liked to suck while he worked and a tiny bottle of the perfume her mother liked.

By then it was time to get the bus back to Much Winterlow.

CHAPTER THREE

THE bus went from the castle buildings and Matilda had overlooked the fact that she had walked some distance from it. She hurried now; there was no other bus; it was a once-weekly event. Much Winterlow was far too isolated to merit more than that and how would she get back if she missed it? She broke into a run, much hampered by her parcels.

Dr Lovell, driving himself home after a day at Trinity Hospital, caught sight of her as he turned the car into East Street from North Street. She was dancing with impatience, waiting for the lights to allow her to cross over to the bus depot, now tantalisingly close. He turned the car into the bus park and stopped by the bus. He opened his door and got out as she came galloping along.

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