Poison in Piccadilly, page 21
He waved me away. I hightailed it back downstairs to my desk. Now to get home and prepare for my wedding. Good grief. I was far too busy to be getting married.
At least Captain Hall had reassured me that Kitty was safe. Or did he? Come to think of it, what did he mean, “I know all about Kitty and MI5”? Did he know she worked for MI5? That she was being chased by MI5? And why had Archie told me he worked for MI5 when Captain Hall was adamant that he didn’t? Maybe Archie was having me on, making a joke. Then again, maybe Archie did work for MI5.
I glanced at my watch. Oh, fiddlesticks. The taxi! It was still waiting for me… and costing me a week’s wages.
Back at my flat, I put the kettle on. I couldn’t face wedding preparations without a strong cuppa to fortify me. Clifford would be here in just over an hour to pick me up. Kitty was supposed to be here to help me get dressed, but I hadn’t heard from her since she took off after Mr. Silver yesterday.
Of course, I still hadn’t decided whether to go through with it. On the one hand, it seemed a shame to waste the flowers, cake, and champagne. On the other hand, my groom was a mysterious assassin who wanted a family that I couldn’t give him. At the very least, I had to show up and explain to the guests. I let out a long forlorn sigh. Where was my grandmother with her words of wisdom when I needed her?
I ran a bath and added a few drops of rose water. While waiting for the bathtub to fill, I laid out my dress, a simple pongee ivory silk with panels of French lace, full lace sleeves, a nipped waist with a lovely satin sash tied into a bow. Yesterday, after the tragedy at the Dojo and just before I went to the police station to report Molly the maid, when I’d gone to pick up the dress, the seamstress at the bridal shop had refused to hand it over. I’d missed my last fitting and she “wouldn’t be responsible.” I assured her it was good enough and I’d take full responsibility. Hopefully I could say the same for my marriage.
After soaking in the warm rose-scented water for longer than I should have, I stepped out, toweled off, and wrapped myself in my robe.
I set to work packing my bags for the honeymoon, just in case. Archie still hadn’t told me where we were going. Like everything else with him, it was a big secret. I didn’t know whether to pack for a south sea island or the North Pole. Not that it mattered much. It was our honeymoon, after all. Most of our sightseeing would be in the bedroom. Wherever we were going, I’d have my lovely lavender silk pajamas and the ravishing georgette crêpe chemise I’d bought when Clifford wasn’t looking. I smiled to myself as I gently folded them into my suitcase.
I might as well get ready. Hopefully, I’d know what to do once I was at the church.
I had to get into the dress and somehow fasten it on my own. And, of course, the problem of my hair. With so many missions disguised as a man, I’d kept my naturally auburn locks closely shorn. Seeing myself in the mirror, hair sticking up in all directions, I looked like a hedgehog. Archie had never seen my real hair. What would he think when he realized he was married to a shorn sheep? I could never take off my wig. I’d have to wear it without fail until my own hair grew back.
Now, which of my wigs was Archie’s favorite? He only ever remarked on my moustaches. I decided to wear my favorite, a strawberry-blonde bob. Assembling my various undergarments—lingerie, corset, and petticoat—was no small feat. Cinching a corset on one’s own was like rowing a boat wearing a straitjacket. I slipped on the dress and slid my arms into its gorgeous lace sleeves. Twisting myself into a pretzel, I managed to fasten the hook at the back of the gown. I tied the sash at the waist and admired my reflection in the mirror. Some face powder and lip rouge wouldn’t go amiss. Using all the ammunition in my arsenal, I powdered and painted, trying to achieve the smooth pale look of a lady, if not a gazelle.
With another contortionist’s maneuver, I fastened the charm bracelet around my wrist. Waving, I listened to the charms tinkling. Captain Hall was right. I’d never sneak up on my enemies wearing this. But Archie wasn’t my enemy.
I went back to my wardrobe to fetch a pair of shoes. Unfortunately, my practical Oxfords were not an option. Hopefully, my wedding wouldn’t require a quick getaway. I’d purchased a lovely pair of cream satin court shoes that would do nicely (unless, of course, I had to run to catch a villain). Sliding my foot into the shoe, it hit me. I was about to make a lifelong commitment to a man I hardly knew. If I loved him, would that be enough? Did I? Did I love him?
Here I was, an hour before the wedding, wearing my bridal gown, and I still didn’t know if I could go through with it. If I didn’t, I would embarrass myself for life by showing up at the church and announcing it was off. And poor Archie. That wouldn’t be fair to him.
Come on, Fiona. You can’t marry a man just to avoid embarrassment.
The butterflies in my stomach had become bats fleeing the light at dawn. My hand trembled as I applied the lip rouge. What should I do?
A knock on my door sent my heart into my throat. Oh, dear. For once Clifford was early. Today of all days. When I needed more time. I took one last look in the mirror, adjusted my wig, and went to the door.
Clifford looked sharp in his morning suit and slicked-back hair. “I say, old bean.” He beamed. “You look marvelous.”
“Thank you, Clifford dear.” I wished I felt marvelous. It was my wedding day, and I was miserable. I retrieved my suitcase and left it by the door to pick up later. Enveloped in a suffocating cloud of paralysis and regret, I fetched my coat and hat. Stepping over the threshold, I took Clifford’s arm to steady myself. The moment of truth was upon me.
From the outside, St. Olave church looked more like a railway station than a church. Long and narrow and made of red bricks, if it weren’t for the belltower, you’d never know it was a church. Inside, though, the church was magnificent with Italian marble floors and ornate columns leading to a gilded altar below a baby-blue paneled domed ceiling.
I was practically hyperventilating as Clifford led me inside. I peeked into the church on our way to a private office where I was to wait for the wedding march as the signal for Clifford to walk me down the aisle. Who were all these people? They must be friends of Archie’s—although there were an inordinate number of countesses and society ladies. Archie had insisted on a big wedding in the church. I had to admit, filled with well-wishers and flowers, the chapel was lovely. It almost put me in the mood to get married. Almost. Clifford left me alone with my thoughts and went to greet the guests. He promised to return as soon as the groom and his party arrived.
Sitting alone in the small office, surrounded by old tomes and icons, I closed my eyes and fingered the lace on the hem of my sleeve. A year ago, I would have never guessed I’d be dressed in silk and lace waiting for my betrothed to arrive for my wedding. My second wedding. Would it go any better than the first? I winced. So much had happened over the last year. I’d gone from a happily married housewife to a divorced and widowed file clerk turned espionage agent. I’d gone on missions to Paris, New York, Cairo, Italy, and behind enemy lines in Austria.
What had been the lowest point in my life—my ex-husband’s infidelity and then horrible death from mustard gas—had opened the door for the greatest adventures of my life. You never know what is waiting around the corner. As my grandmother used to say, “When the door locks behind you, find the nearest window and crawl out.” The War Office and my disguises had been my window out of that dark room of despair. And what amazing adventures I’d had once I’d dried those tears. What a difference a year makes.
Now, I had Archie. The handsome pilot who loved me. Who desperately wanted to marry me. Why, I didn’t know. Was I doing the right thing? He was a good man despite being a cold-blooded killer. And he only killed for the cause of justice.
Pipe in hand, Clifford poked his head in the door. “Lieutenant Somersby is not here yet.”
Where was Archie? What if something had happened to him? I hoped he was alright. Last time I’d seen him, he was chasing after a suspected murderer and German spy. Archie had got out of tighter spots. And so had Kitty. It was typical of Archie to disappear and then reappear without warning. He would show up. I knew he would. He wouldn’t miss his own wedding, for heaven’s sake.
Clifford glanced at his watch. “The ceremony was supposed to start ten minutes ago.” He stood in the doorway looking at me. “Are you alright, old bean?”
“Give him time.” I nodded. “He’ll be here.” I said it with more certainty than I felt. He’d promised he’d be here. But, if I knew anything about Archie, it was that he vanished and reemerged like a magician’s rabbit. I never knew when or where I’d see him again. Surely he’d show up for his own wedding! For our wedding!
My nerves were frayed wires. To calm myself, I got up and paced back and forth in the small office. Silently, I read the titles of the old books to further distract myself. My heart was racing and it was hard to breathe. The Catechism of the Counsel of Trent. Confessions of Saint Augustine. City of God Saint Thomas. The religious tomes weren’t helping.
“Of course he’ll be here, old thing,” Clifford said, puffing on his pipe. “Did I ever tell you about my brother’s wedding?” He chuckled. “I was his best man, you see. And it was raining cats and dogs. On the way to the chapel, the carriage got stuck in the mud.” He laughed. “We had to get out and push the bloody thing. By the time we reached the church, we were both covered in mud up to our knees.” He snorted. “Poor old William slipped and had mud from stem to stern.” He took a puff. “Can’t get much worse than that, I’m afraid.”
For once, I was glad for his stories. Good old Clifford. He was a dear friend indeed. I smiled at him. “Thank you, Clifford dear. You are a good friend.”
“I say.” He blushed.
For the next twenty minutes, he told stories about his brother and their hunting adventures growing up. I tuned in and out, happy for the calming sound of his voice.
“Excuse me.” The priest knocked at the doorframe. “The natives are getting restless.” He entered the room. “When do we expect the groom?”
“Any minute.” I fiddled with the lace on my sleeve. “Hopefully.”
“I’m afraid we can’t wait much longer.” The priest gave me a knowing smile full of sympathy. “The church is needed later this afternoon for another wedding.”
“Just give him another ten minutes.” I glanced at my watch. The priest was right. Archie was already forty minutes late. My heart sank. Was I being jilted at the altar? Maybe he’d been shot or kidnapped or killed. He’d better be incapacitated or I’d kill him myself when I got my hands on him.
“Five is all we can spare.” The way the priest looked at me, you’d think I’d been condemned to the firing squad.
I nodded. My stomach churned. My head was pounding. Now what? I took a deep breath. I’d have to bury my pride and make an announcement. “The wedding is off.” I steeled myself for the inevitable.
“I’m sorry, old bean,” Clifford said. “Rum do about your missing groom.”
“Indeed,” I huffed. “Well, here goes nothing.” I lifted the hem of my wedding dress, skated out of the office, and marched into the church.
The din of chatter echoed through the narrow chapel. Standing at the entrance, I surveyed the crowd. No sign of Archie or Kitty. But, there in the back row, Fredrick Fredricks caught my eye. He smiled and came to me.
“Fiona, ma chérie.” He lifted my hand to his lips. “You look stunning.”
Our eyes met. “He didn’t show.” My lip trembled as I tried to speak. “I have to call it off.” I felt tears welling in my eyes. “What should I do?”
“Leave it to me.” He took my hand. “I’ll take care of everything.”
I nodded.
He led me up the aisle.
When we reached the front of the church, he held up a hand. “Ladies and gentlemen.” He raised his voice. “Ladies and gentlemen. May I have your attention, please?” He clapped his hands together a few times. “Your attention please. Our lovely bride has an announcement.”
My cheeks were on fire as I looked out at the audience. Fanning themselves, the society ladies gazed at me expectantly. My chest was tight and I felt lightheaded. “Thank you all for coming.” I cleared my throat. “Apologies…” What can I say? That I’ve been jilted at the altar? It was all too mortifying. “I’m sorry…” I sputtered, trying to get the words out. Overcome with dizziness, I reached out for Fredricks’s arm to steady myself.
“Apologies for the delay,” Fredricks whispered in my ear.
His voice was reassuring. “Apologies for the delay,” I repeated.
“You came here for a wedding party,” he whispered.
I took a deep breath. “You came here for a wedding party.” I waited for his next cue.
“Despite not getting the wedding, why waste a good party!” he said into my ear.
I repeated what he’d said.
“And while we’re at it, why not make it an engagement party,” he whispered.
Confused, I met his gaze.
“And why waste a lovely bride?” He smiled. “Ma chérie, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” He took my hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. “Will you marry me?” he whispered.
“Really?” I squeezed his hand. “You want to marry me?”
His dark eyes were moist. “More than anything in the world.” He lifted my hand to his lips again.
“As much as world peace?” I grinned.
Again, he kissed my hand. “Having you by my side, as we work together for peace, would make sense out of this nonsensical world.” He interlaced his fingers in mine. “Shall we?” As he led me back down the aisle, I was smiling so hard it hurt.
He put his arm around my waist and pulled me closer. “Je t’aime, ma chérie.”
“I love you, too.” Tears welled in my eyes, but this time they were tears of joy. Even my step felt lighter. “Thank you, dear Fredricks.” I was practically floating.
“Don’t you think it’s time for you to call me by my Christian name?” he grinned. “Fredrick.”
“A rose by any other name…” Like a silly schoolgirl, I grinned back at him. “You’re not asking me out of pity, are you?”
“Marrying you would be the greatest honor of my life.” His dark eyes gleamed. “We will make a formidable team, ma chérie. Pity the fools who get in our way.”
At the back of the church, we met Clifford, who had been watching the scene play out.
“Steady on, old bean,” Clifford sputtered. “You can’t be serious.”
“Deadly serious.” I leaned closer and whispered in his ear. “I’m just following orders.”
“You were ordered to marry Fredricks!” Clifford chuckled. “I say, the great hunter has finally been caught.” He patted my hand. “Well done, old bean.”
I didn’t know if I’d caught Fredricks or he’d caught me, but it was going to be fun finding out.
Fredricks instructed the guests to move next door to King’s Square, where the reception was waiting.
Standing under the stone arches, dressed in his morning suit, his ebony hair flowing over his broad shoulders, Fredricks’s smile was contagious. He took both my hands. “Until death do us part,” he said.
“With you, death could be around any corner,” I grinned. “Which makes life all the more exciting.”
Fredricks slipped the panther ring off his pinky and slipped it onto my ring finger. “You haven’t answered.” He gazed at me expectantly. “Will you marry me?”
“Why not?” Actually, I could think of a million reasons why not. But, at this moment, I didn’t want to countenance them. I’d just been jilted at the altar. And the most gorgeous man of my acquaintance was standing before me, asking me to marry him. “Let me count the ways…” I dramatically lifted the back of my hand to my forehead.
Fredricks encircled me in a gentle embrace. “I do love you, ma chérie. With all my heart and soul.” He smiled down at me. “You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever met. Especially when”—he bent closer until his breath tickled my ear—“you’re practicing jujitsu as my cousin Monsieur Marcel Désiré from France.”
“In the words of cousin Marcel…” I put my hands around his neck and pulled him closer. “Tais toi et embrasse moi,” I whispered. “Shut up and kiss me.”
EPILOGUE
After the reception and much champagne and dancing, Fredricks had a carriage waiting to take us back to my flat to fetch my suitcase for the honeymoon. He said we could get married on the way. Full of excitement, he described a honeymoon trip to India to meet a peace activist there. Someone called Mahatma Gandhi.
“Given we’re not married yet,” I said, straightening myself, “aren’t you putting the cart before the horse?” I had to admit, it all sounded thrilling. And I was under orders, after all.
When the carriage hit a bump, the seat squeaked in such a peculiar fashion it sounded like a small animal. I clutched my hat.
Passionate about our “future together,” Fredricks talked about “our life’s adventure spreading peace”—and no doubt agitating—“all over the globe.” He spoke of Mr. Gandhi in India, Margaret Watts and the Australian Peace Alliance, Laura Lunde the peace activist in Canada, Jane Addams and Lillian Wald in America. Fredricks knew everyone. Everyone who was anyone. He had contacts all over the world. One thing was certain, our life together wouldn’t be boring. As I listened to his plans, his passion for peace was contagious. The trouble was his beautiful lips were devilishly distracting. And I found it difficult to concentrate on what he was saying.
We hit another bump and I nearly fell into his lap. I leaned against him and took in the spring flowers and the scent of jasmine and horses. The sounds of the street—automobiles, lorries, horses, carriages, street vendors—were amplified riding in the open air. Despite the symphony of the street, I kept hearing a tiny cry coming from under my seat. Perhaps I’d had too much champagne at the wedding reception and was imagining things.
At least Captain Hall had reassured me that Kitty was safe. Or did he? Come to think of it, what did he mean, “I know all about Kitty and MI5”? Did he know she worked for MI5? That she was being chased by MI5? And why had Archie told me he worked for MI5 when Captain Hall was adamant that he didn’t? Maybe Archie was having me on, making a joke. Then again, maybe Archie did work for MI5.
I glanced at my watch. Oh, fiddlesticks. The taxi! It was still waiting for me… and costing me a week’s wages.
Back at my flat, I put the kettle on. I couldn’t face wedding preparations without a strong cuppa to fortify me. Clifford would be here in just over an hour to pick me up. Kitty was supposed to be here to help me get dressed, but I hadn’t heard from her since she took off after Mr. Silver yesterday.
Of course, I still hadn’t decided whether to go through with it. On the one hand, it seemed a shame to waste the flowers, cake, and champagne. On the other hand, my groom was a mysterious assassin who wanted a family that I couldn’t give him. At the very least, I had to show up and explain to the guests. I let out a long forlorn sigh. Where was my grandmother with her words of wisdom when I needed her?
I ran a bath and added a few drops of rose water. While waiting for the bathtub to fill, I laid out my dress, a simple pongee ivory silk with panels of French lace, full lace sleeves, a nipped waist with a lovely satin sash tied into a bow. Yesterday, after the tragedy at the Dojo and just before I went to the police station to report Molly the maid, when I’d gone to pick up the dress, the seamstress at the bridal shop had refused to hand it over. I’d missed my last fitting and she “wouldn’t be responsible.” I assured her it was good enough and I’d take full responsibility. Hopefully I could say the same for my marriage.
After soaking in the warm rose-scented water for longer than I should have, I stepped out, toweled off, and wrapped myself in my robe.
I set to work packing my bags for the honeymoon, just in case. Archie still hadn’t told me where we were going. Like everything else with him, it was a big secret. I didn’t know whether to pack for a south sea island or the North Pole. Not that it mattered much. It was our honeymoon, after all. Most of our sightseeing would be in the bedroom. Wherever we were going, I’d have my lovely lavender silk pajamas and the ravishing georgette crêpe chemise I’d bought when Clifford wasn’t looking. I smiled to myself as I gently folded them into my suitcase.
I might as well get ready. Hopefully, I’d know what to do once I was at the church.
I had to get into the dress and somehow fasten it on my own. And, of course, the problem of my hair. With so many missions disguised as a man, I’d kept my naturally auburn locks closely shorn. Seeing myself in the mirror, hair sticking up in all directions, I looked like a hedgehog. Archie had never seen my real hair. What would he think when he realized he was married to a shorn sheep? I could never take off my wig. I’d have to wear it without fail until my own hair grew back.
Now, which of my wigs was Archie’s favorite? He only ever remarked on my moustaches. I decided to wear my favorite, a strawberry-blonde bob. Assembling my various undergarments—lingerie, corset, and petticoat—was no small feat. Cinching a corset on one’s own was like rowing a boat wearing a straitjacket. I slipped on the dress and slid my arms into its gorgeous lace sleeves. Twisting myself into a pretzel, I managed to fasten the hook at the back of the gown. I tied the sash at the waist and admired my reflection in the mirror. Some face powder and lip rouge wouldn’t go amiss. Using all the ammunition in my arsenal, I powdered and painted, trying to achieve the smooth pale look of a lady, if not a gazelle.
With another contortionist’s maneuver, I fastened the charm bracelet around my wrist. Waving, I listened to the charms tinkling. Captain Hall was right. I’d never sneak up on my enemies wearing this. But Archie wasn’t my enemy.
I went back to my wardrobe to fetch a pair of shoes. Unfortunately, my practical Oxfords were not an option. Hopefully, my wedding wouldn’t require a quick getaway. I’d purchased a lovely pair of cream satin court shoes that would do nicely (unless, of course, I had to run to catch a villain). Sliding my foot into the shoe, it hit me. I was about to make a lifelong commitment to a man I hardly knew. If I loved him, would that be enough? Did I? Did I love him?
Here I was, an hour before the wedding, wearing my bridal gown, and I still didn’t know if I could go through with it. If I didn’t, I would embarrass myself for life by showing up at the church and announcing it was off. And poor Archie. That wouldn’t be fair to him.
Come on, Fiona. You can’t marry a man just to avoid embarrassment.
The butterflies in my stomach had become bats fleeing the light at dawn. My hand trembled as I applied the lip rouge. What should I do?
A knock on my door sent my heart into my throat. Oh, dear. For once Clifford was early. Today of all days. When I needed more time. I took one last look in the mirror, adjusted my wig, and went to the door.
Clifford looked sharp in his morning suit and slicked-back hair. “I say, old bean.” He beamed. “You look marvelous.”
“Thank you, Clifford dear.” I wished I felt marvelous. It was my wedding day, and I was miserable. I retrieved my suitcase and left it by the door to pick up later. Enveloped in a suffocating cloud of paralysis and regret, I fetched my coat and hat. Stepping over the threshold, I took Clifford’s arm to steady myself. The moment of truth was upon me.
From the outside, St. Olave church looked more like a railway station than a church. Long and narrow and made of red bricks, if it weren’t for the belltower, you’d never know it was a church. Inside, though, the church was magnificent with Italian marble floors and ornate columns leading to a gilded altar below a baby-blue paneled domed ceiling.
I was practically hyperventilating as Clifford led me inside. I peeked into the church on our way to a private office where I was to wait for the wedding march as the signal for Clifford to walk me down the aisle. Who were all these people? They must be friends of Archie’s—although there were an inordinate number of countesses and society ladies. Archie had insisted on a big wedding in the church. I had to admit, filled with well-wishers and flowers, the chapel was lovely. It almost put me in the mood to get married. Almost. Clifford left me alone with my thoughts and went to greet the guests. He promised to return as soon as the groom and his party arrived.
Sitting alone in the small office, surrounded by old tomes and icons, I closed my eyes and fingered the lace on the hem of my sleeve. A year ago, I would have never guessed I’d be dressed in silk and lace waiting for my betrothed to arrive for my wedding. My second wedding. Would it go any better than the first? I winced. So much had happened over the last year. I’d gone from a happily married housewife to a divorced and widowed file clerk turned espionage agent. I’d gone on missions to Paris, New York, Cairo, Italy, and behind enemy lines in Austria.
What had been the lowest point in my life—my ex-husband’s infidelity and then horrible death from mustard gas—had opened the door for the greatest adventures of my life. You never know what is waiting around the corner. As my grandmother used to say, “When the door locks behind you, find the nearest window and crawl out.” The War Office and my disguises had been my window out of that dark room of despair. And what amazing adventures I’d had once I’d dried those tears. What a difference a year makes.
Now, I had Archie. The handsome pilot who loved me. Who desperately wanted to marry me. Why, I didn’t know. Was I doing the right thing? He was a good man despite being a cold-blooded killer. And he only killed for the cause of justice.
Pipe in hand, Clifford poked his head in the door. “Lieutenant Somersby is not here yet.”
Where was Archie? What if something had happened to him? I hoped he was alright. Last time I’d seen him, he was chasing after a suspected murderer and German spy. Archie had got out of tighter spots. And so had Kitty. It was typical of Archie to disappear and then reappear without warning. He would show up. I knew he would. He wouldn’t miss his own wedding, for heaven’s sake.
Clifford glanced at his watch. “The ceremony was supposed to start ten minutes ago.” He stood in the doorway looking at me. “Are you alright, old bean?”
“Give him time.” I nodded. “He’ll be here.” I said it with more certainty than I felt. He’d promised he’d be here. But, if I knew anything about Archie, it was that he vanished and reemerged like a magician’s rabbit. I never knew when or where I’d see him again. Surely he’d show up for his own wedding! For our wedding!
My nerves were frayed wires. To calm myself, I got up and paced back and forth in the small office. Silently, I read the titles of the old books to further distract myself. My heart was racing and it was hard to breathe. The Catechism of the Counsel of Trent. Confessions of Saint Augustine. City of God Saint Thomas. The religious tomes weren’t helping.
“Of course he’ll be here, old thing,” Clifford said, puffing on his pipe. “Did I ever tell you about my brother’s wedding?” He chuckled. “I was his best man, you see. And it was raining cats and dogs. On the way to the chapel, the carriage got stuck in the mud.” He laughed. “We had to get out and push the bloody thing. By the time we reached the church, we were both covered in mud up to our knees.” He snorted. “Poor old William slipped and had mud from stem to stern.” He took a puff. “Can’t get much worse than that, I’m afraid.”
For once, I was glad for his stories. Good old Clifford. He was a dear friend indeed. I smiled at him. “Thank you, Clifford dear. You are a good friend.”
“I say.” He blushed.
For the next twenty minutes, he told stories about his brother and their hunting adventures growing up. I tuned in and out, happy for the calming sound of his voice.
“Excuse me.” The priest knocked at the doorframe. “The natives are getting restless.” He entered the room. “When do we expect the groom?”
“Any minute.” I fiddled with the lace on my sleeve. “Hopefully.”
“I’m afraid we can’t wait much longer.” The priest gave me a knowing smile full of sympathy. “The church is needed later this afternoon for another wedding.”
“Just give him another ten minutes.” I glanced at my watch. The priest was right. Archie was already forty minutes late. My heart sank. Was I being jilted at the altar? Maybe he’d been shot or kidnapped or killed. He’d better be incapacitated or I’d kill him myself when I got my hands on him.
“Five is all we can spare.” The way the priest looked at me, you’d think I’d been condemned to the firing squad.
I nodded. My stomach churned. My head was pounding. Now what? I took a deep breath. I’d have to bury my pride and make an announcement. “The wedding is off.” I steeled myself for the inevitable.
“I’m sorry, old bean,” Clifford said. “Rum do about your missing groom.”
“Indeed,” I huffed. “Well, here goes nothing.” I lifted the hem of my wedding dress, skated out of the office, and marched into the church.
The din of chatter echoed through the narrow chapel. Standing at the entrance, I surveyed the crowd. No sign of Archie or Kitty. But, there in the back row, Fredrick Fredricks caught my eye. He smiled and came to me.
“Fiona, ma chérie.” He lifted my hand to his lips. “You look stunning.”
Our eyes met. “He didn’t show.” My lip trembled as I tried to speak. “I have to call it off.” I felt tears welling in my eyes. “What should I do?”
“Leave it to me.” He took my hand. “I’ll take care of everything.”
I nodded.
He led me up the aisle.
When we reached the front of the church, he held up a hand. “Ladies and gentlemen.” He raised his voice. “Ladies and gentlemen. May I have your attention, please?” He clapped his hands together a few times. “Your attention please. Our lovely bride has an announcement.”
My cheeks were on fire as I looked out at the audience. Fanning themselves, the society ladies gazed at me expectantly. My chest was tight and I felt lightheaded. “Thank you all for coming.” I cleared my throat. “Apologies…” What can I say? That I’ve been jilted at the altar? It was all too mortifying. “I’m sorry…” I sputtered, trying to get the words out. Overcome with dizziness, I reached out for Fredricks’s arm to steady myself.
“Apologies for the delay,” Fredricks whispered in my ear.
His voice was reassuring. “Apologies for the delay,” I repeated.
“You came here for a wedding party,” he whispered.
I took a deep breath. “You came here for a wedding party.” I waited for his next cue.
“Despite not getting the wedding, why waste a good party!” he said into my ear.
I repeated what he’d said.
“And while we’re at it, why not make it an engagement party,” he whispered.
Confused, I met his gaze.
“And why waste a lovely bride?” He smiled. “Ma chérie, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” He took my hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. “Will you marry me?” he whispered.
“Really?” I squeezed his hand. “You want to marry me?”
His dark eyes were moist. “More than anything in the world.” He lifted my hand to his lips again.
“As much as world peace?” I grinned.
Again, he kissed my hand. “Having you by my side, as we work together for peace, would make sense out of this nonsensical world.” He interlaced his fingers in mine. “Shall we?” As he led me back down the aisle, I was smiling so hard it hurt.
He put his arm around my waist and pulled me closer. “Je t’aime, ma chérie.”
“I love you, too.” Tears welled in my eyes, but this time they were tears of joy. Even my step felt lighter. “Thank you, dear Fredricks.” I was practically floating.
“Don’t you think it’s time for you to call me by my Christian name?” he grinned. “Fredrick.”
“A rose by any other name…” Like a silly schoolgirl, I grinned back at him. “You’re not asking me out of pity, are you?”
“Marrying you would be the greatest honor of my life.” His dark eyes gleamed. “We will make a formidable team, ma chérie. Pity the fools who get in our way.”
At the back of the church, we met Clifford, who had been watching the scene play out.
“Steady on, old bean,” Clifford sputtered. “You can’t be serious.”
“Deadly serious.” I leaned closer and whispered in his ear. “I’m just following orders.”
“You were ordered to marry Fredricks!” Clifford chuckled. “I say, the great hunter has finally been caught.” He patted my hand. “Well done, old bean.”
I didn’t know if I’d caught Fredricks or he’d caught me, but it was going to be fun finding out.
Fredricks instructed the guests to move next door to King’s Square, where the reception was waiting.
Standing under the stone arches, dressed in his morning suit, his ebony hair flowing over his broad shoulders, Fredricks’s smile was contagious. He took both my hands. “Until death do us part,” he said.
“With you, death could be around any corner,” I grinned. “Which makes life all the more exciting.”
Fredricks slipped the panther ring off his pinky and slipped it onto my ring finger. “You haven’t answered.” He gazed at me expectantly. “Will you marry me?”
“Why not?” Actually, I could think of a million reasons why not. But, at this moment, I didn’t want to countenance them. I’d just been jilted at the altar. And the most gorgeous man of my acquaintance was standing before me, asking me to marry him. “Let me count the ways…” I dramatically lifted the back of my hand to my forehead.
Fredricks encircled me in a gentle embrace. “I do love you, ma chérie. With all my heart and soul.” He smiled down at me. “You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever met. Especially when”—he bent closer until his breath tickled my ear—“you’re practicing jujitsu as my cousin Monsieur Marcel Désiré from France.”
“In the words of cousin Marcel…” I put my hands around his neck and pulled him closer. “Tais toi et embrasse moi,” I whispered. “Shut up and kiss me.”
EPILOGUE
After the reception and much champagne and dancing, Fredricks had a carriage waiting to take us back to my flat to fetch my suitcase for the honeymoon. He said we could get married on the way. Full of excitement, he described a honeymoon trip to India to meet a peace activist there. Someone called Mahatma Gandhi.
“Given we’re not married yet,” I said, straightening myself, “aren’t you putting the cart before the horse?” I had to admit, it all sounded thrilling. And I was under orders, after all.
When the carriage hit a bump, the seat squeaked in such a peculiar fashion it sounded like a small animal. I clutched my hat.
Passionate about our “future together,” Fredricks talked about “our life’s adventure spreading peace”—and no doubt agitating—“all over the globe.” He spoke of Mr. Gandhi in India, Margaret Watts and the Australian Peace Alliance, Laura Lunde the peace activist in Canada, Jane Addams and Lillian Wald in America. Fredricks knew everyone. Everyone who was anyone. He had contacts all over the world. One thing was certain, our life together wouldn’t be boring. As I listened to his plans, his passion for peace was contagious. The trouble was his beautiful lips were devilishly distracting. And I found it difficult to concentrate on what he was saying.
We hit another bump and I nearly fell into his lap. I leaned against him and took in the spring flowers and the scent of jasmine and horses. The sounds of the street—automobiles, lorries, horses, carriages, street vendors—were amplified riding in the open air. Despite the symphony of the street, I kept hearing a tiny cry coming from under my seat. Perhaps I’d had too much champagne at the wedding reception and was imagining things.
