Page 217 of Storm of Bells
‘I wish you all the best, the both of you.’There, right behind Adaira, came Captain Carter. I could hardlykeep from giggling as he took Mr Ambrose’s hand without evennoticing him trying to crush it to pieces. Then, with a deep, butrather hurried bow, he rushed off after Adaira.
‘Hm…’ Mr Ambrose gazed after the captain.‘His behaviour has certainly improved. He’s learned to keep awayfrom where he is not wanted.’
‘Yes.’ I coughed, ‘That’s why he ran off sofast. Definitely.’
Quickly, I turned his face towards me for aquick kiss, so he wouldn’t notice the captain hurrying after acertain young lady. Sooner or later, he would go on a murderousrampage—but I would rather it not be today.
‘Congratulations.’
The new voice caught my attention. Seldom hadI heard that word spoken with such lemon-bitter loathing. Smiling,I turned to the newcomer. ‘Hello, Aunt Brank.’
Her face twisted into what she probablythought was a smile. In my opinion, she needed to check the lexicaldefinition.
‘I hope…hope you will be…will be very…’Swallowing hard, she fought with herself for a long moment, thenfinally squeezed out the word that went against her very nature:‘…happy.’
‘Thanks so much, Aunty!’ Throwing my armsaround her, I hugged her tightly, because I knew it would annoy thehell out of her. ‘And don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll be veryhappy.’
After all, failing any other sources ofhappiness, I can always drop by Uncle Bufford’s place and stuffsome frogs into your boots, for old times’ sake. Ah, those were thedays…
But then, the current days were shaping up tobe pretty amazing, too.
Well-wisher after well-wisher came up to bowand curtsy. Patsy uttered a few friendly death threats against MrAmbrose, and Ella threw herself into my arms, letting go awaterfall of tears of happiness. Soon enough, it was time todepart. As was dictated by tradition, my aunt and uncle marchedahead, and Karim, in the role of best and broadest man, brought upthe rear. We were just approaching the church door, when…
‘It’s time, girls! Aim and fire!’
A big load of rice and seeds smacked into myrear. Narrowing my eyes, I threw a glance at Patsy & Co, whowere grinning wickedly.
‘Reload, everybody!’ Amy wiggled her eyebrowssignificantly at my dear husband. ‘And make sure you don’t missyour shot!’
Cheers went up from my so-called friends asthey reached for new ammunition. Sighing, I turned to MrAmbrose.
‘I have never really understood thisparticular tradition.’ I shook my head. ‘It’s so silly.’
‘It is a fertility ritual,’ Mr Ambrose saidcoolly. ‘The seeds are supposed to improve the bride’s chances ofgetting preg—’
‘Yikes!’ Yelping, I ducked down, trying toevade any more of the flying projectiles. Out of the corner of myeyes, I could see Patsy and Amy snickering. Those sneaky devils!‘Move! Let’s get out of here!’
‘Nervous?’
‘Not on your sweet life! Move!’
To the cheers and claps of friends andfamily, we dashed out of the church. Outside, people had been busy.A number of long tables had been set up on the meadow in front ofthe church, tables which were bent under the weight of cakes, pies,huge mugs of juice and ale and all other sorts of delicious countryfare.
‘Shouldn’t we have invited everyone to themansion?’ I whispered.
Mr Ambrose squeezed my hand. ‘This way, thevillagers will be much more comfortable. They wanted to contributesomething to your special day.’
I smiled up at him. ‘And, this way, you don’thave to spend a penny on the food.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Well, under normal circumstances, I’dremonstrate with you, but…’ My amused eyes swept over all the noblelords, ladies and gentlemen who were part of the wedding party.They were looking queasy as they frantically tried to cleanimaginary dirt off the rough wooden benches and tables. Severalpampered and powdered ladies were holding perfumed handkerchiefs infront of their faces to ward off the terrible odour of freshcountry air. I grinned. ‘I think a picnic in the open could be afun wedding supper.’
Mr Ambrose and I settled down at a largetable in the middle of the meadow. Smiling matrons bustled betweenthe tables, serving us tasty pies, roasted slabs of meat, juice andwine and much, much more. Once everyone was busy eating, I leanedclose to Mr Ambrose.
‘Now you’re my husband,’ I whispered, leaningcloser. ‘Now you have to tell me. What’s Enfield?’
Mr Ambrose cocked his head. ‘Asking aboutanother man on your wedding day? Shame on you, Mrs Ambrose!’
