London - Edward Rutherfurd [479]
Lady St James had already made arrangements with one of the more venerable of these ecclesiastical gentlemen who would come, as soon as she summoned him, to the Clink and perform the ceremony there. Only when it was done, she had decided, should Jack come out, relieved of his debts, to play.
Only one thing irked her, as the days went by. The lack of social occasion. She was determined that Jack should remain safely shut up until she had her marriage. They also knew that discretion dictated they should instantly depart London for a while. And yet – she was a creature of society. That was what she was there for. Surely there must be some way that this all-important event could be marked by a social gathering. Without a party, it seemed to her, the business was not hallowed, was scarcely real. And it was while she was seeking for some excuse in her mind that she remembered Fleming.
He had seen her when her face was so swollen and bruised. His presence had infuriated her at the time, but now it suddenly occurred to her that he could be rather useful: a witness, the only one, to her ill-treatment. As she thought of it, she saw exactly what to do. A small gathering, a few friends, a wedding cake – something special, of course, worthy of remark – from Fleming. And a word to a friend or two:
“I always use Fleming. Quite the best. And a good little fellow. He saw me once, you know, after St James had . . .” She could hear her own voice trailing off. “But I feel I can trust him to keep his mouth shut, just as I trust you.” Her friends would be round at Fleming’s shop in a trice.
Secure now in the knowledge that a social gathering was truly needed, she had begun to plan a little gathering for a day or two after the marriage in the Clink. Just a few of her closest friends. Very select.
“I want a cake,” she told Fleming, “that will be remembered. Something quite out of the ordinary. If I am satisfied, I will perhaps even relent and recommend you.” She gave him a nod which, in so far as the vast social gulf between them made possible, was almost friendly.
All the time Fleming, a little wiser now in his dealings with the upper class, was wondering if he’d get paid.
“If I am pleased,” she remarked casually, “I shall even pay your present account as well. Shall we say, a total of forty pounds?”
Forty pounds. If she paid, he’d be almost in the clear. For the price of making one wedding cake, even the finest, he couldn’t afford not to take the chance. Which she knows very well, he thought to himself. But his concave face creased into a smile that seemed to indicate genuine delight and gratitude.
“That’s very generous, your ladyship,” he said. “We’ll see what we can do – to really surprise them,” he permitted himself to suggest. Lady St James departed in very good humour.
“And what sort of cake will it be?” his wife asked him afterwards.
“I haven’t an idea,” he confessed glumly. “And I bet she won’t pay me either.”
The marriage of Captain Jack Meredith and Lady St James took place quietly the following day. There were no bridesmaids. The elderly clergyman from the Fleet officiated. Ebenezer Silversleeves, who had changed into a magnificent coat which had belonged to a former inmate, since deceased, was best man.
“And now, Jack,” the bride announced, as soon as it was done. “I’m off to pay your debts.”
“So when do I get out of here?” he asked.
“Tomorrow,” she said with a bright smile. “I expect.”
There were few more fashionable places to be seen in London than the Foundling Hospital in Coram Fields above Holborn. That such a surprising venue should be so blessed was thanks mostly to the composer Handel who, during his long residence in London, had become an active worker for several good causes. In recent years, having taken an interest in the new venture for orphan children, he had not only donated an organ to the place but trained an excellent children