away. ‘Like I said, I got the wrong idea. It won’t happen again.’
‘Nick, wait!’ she called after him, but he was already stumbling away into the darkness.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
HELEN SAT IN the front pew during Evensong, watching the dust particles dance in the beams of jewel-coloured light from the stained-glass windows, and listened to her father preaching about sin.
She didn’t dare meet his eye because she was sure he would know she was the biggest sinner of all. Because she wasn’t thinking about how God sent His only son Jesus Christ to die for her; she was wondering how soon she could get back to London to meet Charlie Denton.
She had forgotten when she’d arranged to meet Charlie that she had the whole of Sunday off, and that meant going home to visit her parents. There was no question of getting out of it; her mother would want to know why Helen couldn’t come, and ask all sorts of questions, and Helen would end up having to tell her everything because she was such a hopeless liar in the face of Constance’s merciless questioning.
It had been hard enough keeping the truth from her all day. Helen had tried to keep as busy as she could: handing out prayer books before the morning service, staying behind to tidy up the church afterwards, and running errands around the parish. Anything to prevent her from having to be alone with her mother.
She was almost too nervous to eat her lunch. She sat at the big mahogany table in the dining room opposite William, ploughing her way steadily through her roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, trying desperately not to make eye contact with anyone. And all the time her thoughts kept straying treacherously to that evening. What should she wear? Where would they go? Would Charlie even turn up? Even though he’d told her how much he was looking forward to it, she still couldn’t quite believe he really meant it.
‘What on earth are you smiling at, Helen?’
She looked up. Her mother was watching her from the other end of the table.
‘Nothing, Mother,’ she said quickly.
‘You seem rather giddy today. Are you sure you’re not sickening for something?’ Constance’s sharp features creased in a frown. ‘You are keeping regular, I hope? I wonder if perhaps you need an aperient?’
‘I’m quite well, Mother, thank you.’ Helen caught William’s eye across the table and fought to conceal a smile. Only her mother would think happiness was an ailment that needed to be treated with a laxative.
Now William sat slumped in the pew beside her, his arms folded, eyes closed. Helen nudged him sharply.
‘Eh? What? Amen.’ He woke up with a start and snatched up his prayer book as it slid off his knee. ‘Is it finished?’ he mumbled.
‘No, and you could at least pretend to listen.’ Helen frowned at him. ‘What time are you going back to London?’
‘As soon as I can decently get away – why?’
‘Can I have a lift back with you?’
‘I thought you usually caught the later train?’
‘I can’t this evening. I’m – meeting someone,’ Helen replied evasively.
‘Oh, yes?’ William’s eyebrows rose. ‘And who is this someone exactly?’
‘Shhh!’ Before she could reply, her mother shot them a silencing look.
‘Never you mind,’ Helen whispered. ‘Now can I have a lift or can’t I?’
William nodded. ‘Bessie and I will be glad of your company. Especially if I have to push her all the way up Richmond Hill like last time. Let’s try and make ourselves scarce straight after the service, shall we?’
But no such luck. After Evensong, they had to join their parents in greeting the congregation as they filed out of the church.
Helen knew this was the part her mother enjoyed the most, dispensing goodwill to the parishioners who deserved it, and judgment on those who didn’t. Very few escaped Constance Tremayne’s sharp eye and even sharper tongue.
‘Ah, Mrs Ellis, how lovely to see you.’ She picked out a harassed-looking, middle-aged woman who was trying to shuffle past, avoiding her eye. ‘How are you? And how is young Margaret enjoying married life? Such a pity she couldn’t get married in church, but I suppose register offices are quick if nothing else. And under the circumstances speed was rather of the essence, wasn’t it?’ Constance’s voice dripped with sympathy and concern, oblivious to the other woman’s blushing face. ‘Hopefully once the baby is born we can look forward to arranging a christening?’
As the woman darted off, flustered, Constance turned to Helen. ‘Her daughter is a fast