The Black Swan

It was, to Belinda’s disgust, a very quiet wedding. We had decided that it should be at Manorleigh which would ensure that the press was not so likely to get wind of it. I could not fancy walking out of the London house over that spot where my father had been struck down. Not on my wedding day! It was Celeste who had suggested Manor Grange. She had been staying there for a week before the wedding, planning everything.

Rebecca had come, too, with Pedrek and the children. This was a very special occasion, she said; and we had decided that Alvina should be a bridesmaid and Jake a page. Pedrek would “give me away” and Jean Pascal had offered to be Roland’s best man. “Roland doesn’t have anyone else here,” explained Celeste, “and Jean Pascal offered himself, half in fun, and was accepted.”

It seemed ironical that a man who, a short time ago, had asked me to marry him, should take that role; but I believed it was a situation which would appeal to Jean Pascal’s type of humor.

Belinda and Robert were staying at Manorleigh, too. We had invited very few other guests.

“It is really just our immediate circle,” said Celeste.

Mrs. Emery had prepared for us what she insisted on calling the Bridal Suite. It was on the floor above my old room-one of the largest in the house, with a dressing room attached. It had big windows which looked down on the oak tree and the haunted seat. In fact the view was exactly the same as mine below.

Fresh curtains had been hung and the carpet cleaned. In the room was a large four-poster bed... the one which had been used by Sir Ronald Flamstead and his young wife... that Lady Flamstead who, it was said, had come back from the dead to be with the child whose birth had killed her.

After the ceremony we were to spend one night before leaving the following day for our honeymoon, which, after a certain amount of debate, we had decided should be spent at Amalfi.

We were to leave early on the morning following the wedding; and Phillida would stay on at Manor Grange with Celeste. They had become very good friends, although they were so different-Celeste so quiet and restrained, and Phillida so ebullient. I was surprised at the friendship which had sprung up between them, but of course delighted. I mentioned it to Roland. “Oh, Phillida is determined to be friends with everyone,” he said. “She is so happy... about us ... and she has made up her mind to love everyone connected with you.”

“What a wonderful nature she has! Life must be easy for her.” He looked at me tenderly and said, “Since the death of our parents she has not had to face tragedy. It is my earnest wish that she will never again have to. And that is how I want it to be for you, my dearest Lucie, and I am going to do all in my power to make it so.”

I thought then: yes, I was right. This was the way for me. The wedding was over. I was Mrs. Roland Fitzgerald; there was a gold ring on the third finger of my left hand to prove it.

It was the first step away from all that unhappiness. Of course I would be reminded of it from time to time. Such momentous happenings cannot be dismissed so easily... but I was moving away from them. I was going to start a new life. I was a little afraid of the inevitably intimate nature of my relationship with Roland.

I felt so ignorant. I thought of Jean Pascal. Suppose I had married him! I should have been terrified of a man like that. But of course I would never have married Jean Pascal, and my husband was Roland ... dear, kindly Roland, whose only concern was to comfort me and make me happy. I need not have feared. Roland was tender and understanding, as I had known he would be. He realized my uneasiness and respected my innocence. When I looked at the big four-poster bed I wished that we had had another room. I kept thinking of the beautiful young Lady Flamstead and I did not want ghosts on my wedding night.

I went to the window and looked out on the oak tree and the seat below. Roland came and stood beside me.

“There is nothing to be afraid of,” he said. “All I want in the world is to make you happy. What is it about that spot which seems to have a morbid fascination?” I told him of the ghost who had sat there; and while I was talking I was thinking about my own mother who, Rebecca had said, had come to her, although she did not see her, but had insisted to her that she must take me into the household. Did people return after death? If so, what of the man whom I had helped to condemn? I dismissed the thought ... or tried to. It was an unsuitable subject for a wedding night.

I turned to Roland who took me into his arms.

“Dearest Lucie,” he said, “don’t be afraid of anything. It shall be as you wish.

I am going to take care of you from now on.”

He led me back to the bed. I lay quietly in his arms for a time and later... gently and tenderly-he made love to me. And I was not afraid anymore.