The Gown(94)

“I don’t think I’m likely to get very close to her, but I’ll do my best,” she promised.

In the end she had to walk farther west than she needed before doubling back, but before too long she was rounding the end of the abbey and the great west door was in sight. For some reason it had been covered over with a temporary entrance painted white and red and gold, its interior softened with white draperies, and the effect, unfortunately, had a sort of ersatz wartime feel that was quite at odds with the splendor of the great church itself.

Ann was only one of a river of guests who were arriving, most of them in stately limousines, and she hung back until a group of dignitaries bristling with medals and sashes and jeweled orders had been ushered in. Only then did she step forward, her invitation and pass in hand.

“Good morning, madam, and welcome.” An older man in full dress uniform, his chest shingled with medals, had come up to greet her. “I’m Major Ruislip, one of the gentlemen ushers. May I see your pass for a moment? Thank you very much. Here it is back again, and here, too, is a copy of the order of service. If I may walk you to your seat?”

She followed him in, so intimidated by his magnificent appearance that she dared not say a word, and instead tried to absorb everything her eyes were showing her. The stark slab of the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior, the banks of reeded pillars reaching heavenward, the delicate stone traceries that reminded her of lace, and everywhere the magical, jeweled light of the abbey’s ancient windows. There weren’t any flowers that she could see, and the chairs were quite ordinary bentwood ones. In that sense, she supposed, it was a true austerity wedding. Not that a building as beautiful as Westminster Abbey needed to be covered in flowers and bunting to make it presentable, of course.

They hadn’t gone far, only a third of the way along the nave, when Major Ruislip halted at a narrow aisle between the rows of chairs. Miss Duley and Miss Holliday were seated in the second-to-last row. Upon seeing Ann, Miss Duley raised her hand in a diffident wave.

“Here we are, Miss Hughes. You are seated just to the right of your colleagues. I do hope you enjoy the ceremony.”

The difficult part was over. She was at the abbey and she had found her friends. She could breathe again.

“I see we got here on the early side,” she said, looking at the empty chairs around them.

“In half an hour it’ll be a different story,” Miss Duley said. “Can you imagine showing up after the queen? Horrors. What time is it now? I was in such a fluster to leave that I forgot my watch on the dresser.”

“It’s a quarter past ten, so we’ve a little over an hour to go.” Ann looked around, then lowered her voice to make sure they weren’t overheard. “I haven’t had anything to drink since last night. I was that worried I might need the loo partway through.”

“Fair enough, but mind you have a cup of tea as soon as you get home, else you’ll end up with a headache. You know you will.”

Ann paged through the order of service, and though she recognized a few hymns, most of the music was unfamiliar. “I wonder if we’re meant to sing along,” she mused.

“No idea. Better wait until we hear if others are joining in,” Miss Holliday suggested.

The seats around them had almost all been filled, and the people being shown in by the gentlemen ushers were looking progressively grander. The women’s gowns were floor length, their furs were ever more lush and exotic, and the volume of jewels they wore was truly startling.

A great fanfare of trumpets sounded at a quarter past eleven, and everyone stood, but try as she might Ann was unable to see past the people in front, all of whom were built like stevedores.

“It’s the queen,” the tallest of the men whispered. “It won’t be long now.”

They sat down, and waited, and listened to the organ music, and Ann read her order of service again, and another ten minutes or so inched past. Then came the bells, ringing clear and bright, and before their chimes had faded a second fanfare rang out, again from the unseen trumpets. The congregation stood once more, and a hush fell over the abbey and its congregation of two thousand souls. Ann didn’t so much as breathe.

“Praise, my soul, the king of heaven,” the choir began to sing, and Ann knew, from the order of service she’d now memorized, that the processional had begun. She stood on her tiptoes, straining to see past the giants blocking her view, and was rewarded with the briefest flash of glittering white.

That was it, that was all she was going to see of the bride until the ceremony came to an end, and still her heart thrilled to it. No one at their end of the abbey could see or hear much, for that matter, and it was rather strange to sit so quietly and strain to hear what was happening at the high altar.

It startled her, a little, when everyone got to their feet again, but then the organ began to play the opening bars of the national anthem and they all sang, a choir of thousands of voices, and it sent shivers up her spine to know the subject of the anthem, the king himself, was listening.

Another hymn followed; Ann consulted her order of service and saw that the bride and groom had gone to sign the register. Yet another fanfare, and then, at last, the joyful chords of Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.” On and on it continued, measure after measure, and just as it was beginning to wear on her nerves she spied flashes of gold and red passing by. It was not Princess Elizabeth and Prince Philip but the assembled clergy, the Archbishop of Canterbury included, and all the choristers as well.