The Quickening Maze - Adam Foulds [51]
‘And then he would have been our brother. The dear endeared.’
‘Might have been. Would have been. Enough of the conditional mood. Only the possible happens.’
‘Only the possible happens? Can that be true?’
‘Take it or leave it. What difference?’
‘I can’t bear it, you know, sometimes, I can’t . . . bear it.’
‘Yes.’ Septimus fell silent and waited for the profound moment to blur and dissipate. Then he said gently, when his thoughts had moved on, ‘He was good for her, certainly, roused her from her sickbed.’
‘And now she will marry that garrulous midshipman. What a falling off was there.’
‘Are you playing Hamlet? Arthur was wonderful. It is unlikely that our sister would find someone as wonderful again. She hasn’t.’
‘You’re being very rational.’
‘I’m too tired to be anything else.’
The two Tennysons with their wine bowed at new guests. Hannah watched them do it. She was ill. She stood in her stiff new dress, which was too brightly blue, with aching knees and elbows, patting the sweat from her forehead and upper lip with a lace handkerchief. Around her the wedding party shifted and droned. She stared thickly at Dora and James seated at their little table with spiced cake and wine, receiving the compliments of standing guests. They looked isolated there, immobile and cut off and child-like, being shorter than their guests. To Hannah it seemed a humiliating position to be in, made worse by Dora’s unsuitability for the ringlets she wore. They were left out of the party. Everyone else knew their business and were freely able to enjoy themselves. Perhaps she would have felt differently if they had looked happier. But they weren’t laughing or gay at all. They spoke only when spoken to.They didn’t hold hands. Hannah turned to Annabella to comment on this, but found instead her uncle Oswald and his small brown wife.
‘Good day to you,’ he said. ‘Your father has made a splendid occasion of it.’
Hannah swallowed and answered.‘Indeed.’ She could hear her father’s loud laugh in the background, his public laugh, theatrical and rhythmic, not at all similar to the sound of his real amusement.
‘Such fine wine,’ Oswald said, holding up his glinting glass of Madeira. In her illness, Hannah found its swaying jewel colour very absorbing to look at. He lowered it again.
‘Well, you know Father,’ she said.
‘Yes, I do. No expense spared.’
‘Such a lovely dress,’ Mrs Allen said, reaching out and touching the crisp bulk of Hannah’s sleeve.
‘Thank you.’ Hannah patted her forehead again with her handkerchief.
‘Are you quite well?’ Oswald asked.
‘Not quite.’
‘Your father should have said something, I could have brought a tonic.’
‘Oh, Annabella, there you are.’
‘Yes, here I am.’
‘Uncle Oswald, allow me to introduce my friend, Annabella. Annabella, this is my uncle and aunt.’
‘Very pleased to meet you.’ She curtsied.
‘And you,’ Oswald bowed. His wife dipped slightly, whilst sipping.
‘Will you excuse us, Uncle?’
‘Of course.’
Hannah and Annabella walked apart with linked arms.
‘I feel dreadful,’ Hannah said.
‘You’re very warm.’
‘This sun is too bright.’
‘But is he here?’
Hannah tried to look into her friend’s eager face, but her white dress was such a mass of blooming light that was too much for her. She wiped her face. ‘Yes. Haven’t you seen him with his brother? They’re so much taller than everybody else.’
‘Which one is he?’
‘What? He’s him. The handsomer one. The hair.’
‘Oh, yes. He is dark, as you said.’
Hannah felt a throb of fear at what she had to do and was almost too weak to withstand it. It was now, it was today, in this place that she would talk to him. She had to gather the strength to do it.
‘Shall we go over to them?’ Annabella asked.
‘I suppose,’ Hannah answered, but was saved by the arrival of her father. He took Annabella’s hand and held it out to the side, admiring her with a smile.
‘How lovely,’ he said. ‘You must come and meet the other guests. I think more or less everybody has come. The Carlyles have sent their regrets, but there we are. Come. You too, Hannah.’
Hannah followed after them. She watched