Intolerable Civility

Chapter Two: A Fine Name

A year ago, on a sunny September day, Cate had squeezed into her cream-coloured silk and lace wedding dress. It had been too tight, and her maid had wordlessly, swiftly, sewn extenders on the tabs. Now, that same dress gaped on Cate's shrinking figure as she sat in the cart on her way to church under a slatey November sky, with Luke a swathed, sleeping bundle in her arms. Miss Skinner sat with her, wrinkling her nose every time the scent of vegetable scraps wafted up from the floor of the cart.

"Sir William might have sent a coach," Miss Skinner said. "Riding in a cart! Like cabbages!"

The cart thumped over a rut in the road and prevented Cate from replying.

Nothing, however, could stop Miss Skinner from speaking, and she continued:

"I would have walked, you know. It would have suited me better than this. I am quite stout. I can walk a mile or three, even holding the infant. But you can hardly arrive at your own wedding with mud on your hems. What was Sir William thinking?"

Miss Skinner waited a few moments, in case Cate had some response to offer. Cate did not, and so Miss Skinner went on, loudly, over the creaking and bumping of the cart:

"Not that I mean to criticize him, of course, but a woman — Lady Balley — would have thought of the weather and your hems. He must have forgotten to consult her." Miss Skinner looked up. "I do hope we shall not get rained on. The sky is very black."

"I think the weather will hold until we reach the church," Cate said.

"I'm afraid I have not your eternal optimism, Miss Balley." Miss Skinner's mouth twisted into the thin slant that substituted for a smile and she looked pointedly at Luke. "Though if I am to be accused of pessimism, at least it has protected me from the dangers of false hope."

A sick knot of anger curled in Cate's belly. "I made no such accusation, Miss Skinner."

"Have I offended? You sound offended, Miss Balley. Calm yourself. I don't mean to suggest that your father has intended any neglect. Indeed, you should be grateful for the efforts he has made for your restitution. I am quite sure he persuaded Captain Demery to renew his offer. Captain Demery could not have come to it of his own accord. The hurt you did him was far too great."

"Captain Demery was quite clear on his motivations," Cate said. "I do not believe my father had anything to do with it."

Miss Skinner wrinkled her nose. Sometimes — rarely — she could be stunned into silence by a direct contradiction. It never lasted long, however. After a few moments, she started up again.

"If your father has forgotten a coach and your mother was not consulted, Captain Demery might have remembered and made the offer. He saw how poorly we were living when he visited. No, we should have had two carriages to choose from for this journey, and we have only a cart or our own two feet. If I were not certain it is merely oversight, I would feel it quite the insult on your behalf. Think of the people who will see you alight from the cart!"

They were approaching the church now, and the road was empty.

"Then I am lucky that there is no one to see," Cate said. "And look, it has not rained, not at all."

"No? I am sure I felt a drop just now."

If Cate had felt one, she would not have admitted it, but she was sure that Miss Skinner was inventing it. Miss Skinner was in high spirits today, and when she was in high spirits she could be cruel.

The manservant pulled up the horse, and the cart stopped in front of the church. Miss Skinner clambered down first, then Cate handed Luke to Miss Skinner and got down herself. There was a little business to be taken care of in thanking the manservant for driving them, bidding him farewell, and pressing upon him a pen knife for him and a bottle of perfume for his wife. She had wanted to give them something for looking after her for the past year and had scoured her belongings for some suitable trinkets. Money would have been better, but Sir William had settled all her bills directly so that she would never have any.