Page 50 of A Winter’s Romance
T hey caused a stir when they entered the church, Elisabeth leading the way to empty pews near the front. Her father followed her, with Mr. Fortescue behind him. Wilf saw his opportunity and hung back, darting at the last moment into an empty place in the back row, where he proceeded to ogle the country maidens who giggled when he winked at them. They’d never seen anyone dressed like him and couldn’t make out if he was a soldier or in costume for some sort of mummers’ play. The church was bitterly cold and no one removed their outer garments.
They had just settled in when there was another stir and a group of well-dressed individuals walked in a stately fashion down to the boxed pews on the other side of the aisle. Many churches had private pews with high backs and (often locked) gates, purchased by wealthy families generations before, so that they could sit away from the prying eyes of the unwashed peasantry in the rest of the congregation. Mr. Fortescue had guessed when he saw the boxes that they belonged to the Brookstone family. He groaned silently when he saw the family coming in now .
An elderly lady with a cane, dressed in a fur-collared coat much too big for her, headed the line, accompanied by a female of indeterminate age, dressed far less richly in a plain brown cloak and uncompromising hat. Behind them came an equally elderly gentleman, leaning very heavily on the arm of an embarrassed boy, barely in his teens, who might have been his grandson. Then came a pair, obviously husband and wife, probably in their forties and both dressed in the latest style. The gentleman was carrying a curly beaver and wearing a coat with as many capes as that belonging to Mr. Fortescue, but since he was almost a foot shorter, he looked as wide as the church door. The lady was clad in a luxurious velvet cloak with a hood trimmed with swans’ down. It released small feathers into the atmosphere as she moved. Lastly came a young woman who bore a marked resemblance to the lady with the swans’ down, and must be her daughter. She was also dressed in high fashion, with a frivolous bonnet entirely unsuitable for the season, and carrying a huge white fur muff.
This lady stopped short when she saw Mr. Fortescue. “James!” she cried, oblivious to the ecclesiastical surroundings, “What are you doing here?
He stood and bowed. “Good evening, Anthea,” he said in a low voice, “I’m visiting friends.”
“I didn’t know one had friends in this out-of-the-way place. Heaven knows, I come here as infrequently as possible for that very reason.”
Her eyes fell coldly on Mr. Wilberforce and Elisabeth, who both shifted as if to stand, but she made no move to salute either of them so they subsided again.
“I’ll see you after the service, darling,” she said and followed the rest of her family into the boxed pew.
James , thought Elisabeth. Darling . And her heart fell.
Then she and everyone else in hearing were distracted by a scuffling from the boxed pew and the sound of a petulant voice saying, “No heated bricks? Why ever not? Didn’t they know we were coming?” A low voice mumbled a reply and then the response, “Well, I do think it’s too bad. It’s absolutely freezing in here. If I’d known I wouldn’t have come. I shall write to the bishop.”
If this threat received a response, no one knew, for the organ struck up the opening hymn, the officiants processed down the aisle and the service began.
It was the same service they had all heard every year, but the ancient words fell on ready ears:
And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed. And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria. And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; because he was of the house and lineage of David, to be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child. And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn .
The service took its accustomed course and as soon as the vicar intoned the parting blessing, the bells started up again. Everyone waited for him and his entourage to leave, followed by the family in the box who swept out without looking to left or right. The vicar stood at the door, greeting those coming out. Next to him stood the man James Fortescue had judged to be the curate, the Mr. Pounds Elizabeth’s father had spoken of as having been paying her marked attention. He was a man of average height with regular features and not unhandsome. But he had a doughy look that to James’ eye denoted a sedentary, self-indulgent nature. He disliked him on sight.