The Case of William Smith

Chapter Sixteen

William Smith was married to Katharine Eversley at St. James’ Church, just round the corner from Rasselas Mews, at half-past two on Saturday afternoon. All the morning they painted together in the workshop behind Tattlecombe’s Toy Bazaar. At one o’clock William drove Katharine home. They had lunch together, after which he put on his best suit, a neat and quite undistinguished blue serge, in what had been Carol’s spare room. It was going to be his dressing-room now. He unpacked and put his things away with the feeling that this unbelievable happiness seemed real and felt real, but all the same he didn’t see how it could possibly be true. There was something reassuring about getting out his shaving things and putting shirts away in a drawer. He put everything away very neatly. Every time he folded anything or opened a cupboard door it seemed to make it more probable that he was going to marry Katharine, because if he wasn’t he wouldn’t be unpacking his things in her flat.

Katharine dressed for her wedding with as much care as if the congregation in whose face she was going to be married to William would fill the church and set up the highest possible standard of distinction and elegance, instead of consisting of Abigail Salt and Mrs. Bastable, together with any stray passer-by who might scent a wedding and drop in to see the bride. The dress, of rather a deep shade of blue, threw up her skin and brought out the gold lights in her hair. The long matching coat with the touch of fur at the neck was soft and warm. The small hat, hardly more than a cap, was made of the same stuff, with an odd little knot of the fur.

They walked round to the church together and were with Abigail Salt and Mrs. Bastable as witnesses. To Katharine the church was not empty, or cold, or dark. It was full of her love and William’s.

The immemorial words of the marriage service sounded in the echoing space and trembled away into silence – ‘I require and charge you both, as ye shall answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know of any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, ye do now confess it…’ The silence seemed to echo too.

Katharine lifted her head and looked up into the reds and blues of a stained-glass window where Christ turned the water into wine.

Now the old betrothal service followed, and the vows ‘to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part…’ William’s voice quite steady, quite sure of what he was promising. Then her own, rather soft – ‘to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part according to God’s holy ordinance.

William putting the ring on her finger – ‘with my body I thee worship…’

And the prayer, the joining of hands, and – ‘those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder… ’

The young man who took the service had a pleasant voice. It came out strong and full when he pronounced them man and wife and blessed them.

Mrs. Bastable sniffed and dried her eyes. Weddings always made her cry. Abigail Salt sat up very straight in a black coat with a fur collar. Because it was a wedding she had put an unseasonable bunch of cornflowers in her hat. They made her eyes look very blue.

In the vestry Katharine signed her name and looked at it and smiled a little, and stood aside for William to sign too. He wrote his William Smith.

The young parson stopped him as he was turning away.

‘Your father’s name too, Mr. Smith.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t know it.’

William was quite simple and unembarrassed. It was the parson who coloured.

‘I’m afraid – ’ he began, and stopped.

‘You see, I’ve lost my memory. I can put blank Smith if you like.’

Well, of course, it wasn’t what he liked or didn’t like. He really didn’t know. He would have to tell the Vicar. After all, if a man didn’t know his father’s name he didn’t.

William wrote Smith with a dash in front of it on the register. And then the young parson called Katharine back.

‘You have to give your father’s name too, Mrs. Smith.’

Still with that small faint smile, Katharine leaned over and wrote. Then she turned round to be congratulated by Mrs. Bastable.

‘I’m sure I hope you’ll be happy, Mrs. Smith. And I’m sure Mr. Smith is one that anyone could be happy with. Believe it or not, I don’t know that I’ve ever seen him out of temper, and when you think how most men are – well, it’s bound to make a difference, isn’t it? Mr. Bastable had a very hasty temper. And particular about his food – well you’d hardly believe it. Always talking about his mother’s cooking too, and if there’s anything more likely to make unpleasantness in the home, well, I don’t know what it is. I’ve always been considered sweet-tempered myself, but when he used to look at my scones and say how much lighter his mother made them, it used to come up on the tip of my tongue to say, “Then why didn’t you stay home with her?” But I never said it. I don’t know what he might have done if I had – being so hasty you know.’ She dabbed her eyes and sniffed again. ‘Oh, well, we must let bygones be bygones, mustn’t we? And Mr. Bastable’s been gone getting on for twenty years.’

Abigail Salt had much fewer words. She said, ‘I hope you will be very happy, and Mr. Tattlecombe hopes so too.’