Another excerpt from The Secret Word

Chris had asked Harry Satterthwaite and Michael Thurgood to stand up with him. He hadn’t expected Billy to attend, but there the man was, sitting on the groom’s side of the church a few pews back from the front. Tiny was there, too, and at least a dozen of the other men—floor managers from each of the gambling dens, the man who operated the loan business, and managers of Billy’s other shops.

The women, too, for Billy had women managing each of his brothels, as well as a laundry, a pawnbroker, two barefoot schools, and some of Billy’s residential properties.

Chris had worked with them all, and was pleased to have them at his wedding, all dressed in their best clothes and looking as respectable as the other people in the pews on that side. 

The others were strangers, but the resemblance of some of them to either Harry or Michael identified them. They were his Satterthwaite and Thurgood relatives, come to see him married. Chris was touched. 

Would they take exception to the company in which they found themselves? If they did, no matter. He’d lived his life without them up until now. He could continue doing so. Would Wright take exception to their presence? He would not arrive until Clemmie did. It was to be hoped that, by the time he realised that Chris’s family had come out in his support, it would be too late to stop the wedding.

Those on the bride’s side were mostly strangers, except for a few he’d met when in company with Wright. Business magnates and merchant nabobs, and the women with them presumably their wives. 

Here came his godmother, and behind her Clemmie’s maid, Maggie and the companion, Mrs. Bellowes. Aunt Fern  strolled down the aisle to join those on the groom’s side while Mrs. Bellowes settled on the bride’s side. Maggie took a seat at the back, with several other people Chris recognised from Wright’s household.

And if Aunt Fern, Mrs. Bellowes, and Maggie were here, then Clemmie must be close! Chris stood up straighter, his eyes on the door by which she would enter. His cravat suddenly felt tight. He didn’t realise he was running his finger around his neck, trying to give himself room, until Michael Thurgood leaned over and told him, “You’re messing up your cravat. Stop touching it.”

And then suddenly the wait was over and Clemmie was walking toward him. Somewhere, music was playing. Presumably, Wright was escorting her. Chris saw only Clemmie. How lovely she was! What fools those men were who called her plain.

His heart seemed to fill his chest, pressing his lungs so that his breath came short and caught in a suddenly dry throat. He loved Clementine Wright, and in a few minutes, she would be his wife, promised to him for a lifetime. Wright and the minister exchanged a few words, and Wright extended Clemmie’s right hand to the minister who gave it to Chris.

Chris smiled into Clemmie’s eyes, and she smiled back. That smile and her touch anchored him through the rest of the ceremony, when his joy made him feel so light that he thought he might float away. 

He said his responses when prompted, trying to infuse his love, his certainty into his voice. He thrilled to hear the love in her voice and to see the happiness in her eyes when she spoke. 

At last it was time to encircle her finger with the ring he had designed and had made for her. For a moment, it caught on her knuckle, but he pushed firmly and it slid into place. 

The minister prayed, asking for God’s blessing on the marriage. He then took their right hands and indicated they should join hands. 

“Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.”

He then spoke to the congregation. But before he could finish explaining that he and Clemmie had proclaimed their consent, made their vows and given and received a ring, there was a commotion—someone shouting from the back of the church. Grandfather, the swine.

“Stop the wedding. Stop this travesty. The boy”

Harry touched Chris’s arm. “I’ll handle it. Carry on, minister.”

Clemmie started to turn to look, but Chris refused to give Grandfather even a look. “It is our wedding, Clemmie,” he said. “Ignore him.” And to the minister, he said, “My grandfather disapproves of my choice of bride, sir, as you can hear. But I am of age, and I have the permission of Clemmie’s father and the blessing of my cousin and my uncle, both earls, who are respectively the heads of the Satterthwaite and the Thurgood families. Carry on with the wedding, please.”

Reassured, the minister raised his voice to be heard over several voices shouting. “I pronounce that they are man and wife together, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” 

Next came a blessing, and during it, the altercation at the back of the church faded away. Grandfather was, presumably, being dragged off. And a good thing, too.