carnation in his buttonhole, which was a nice touch, Maud thought. Beside him was a clerk in a lounge suit. They gave their names as Mr. von Ulrich and Miss Maud Fitzherbert. Maud raised her veil.
The registrar said: “Miss Fitzherbert, can you provide evidence of identity?”
She did not know what he was talking about.
Seeing her blank look, he said: “Your birth certificate, perhaps?”
She did not have her birth certificate. She had not known it was required, and even if she had she would not have been able to get hold of it, for Fitz kept it in the safe, along with other family documents such as his will. Panic seized her.
Then Walter said: “I think this will serve.” He took from his pocket a stamped and franked envelope addressed to Miss Maud Fitzherbert at the street address of the baby clinic. He must have picked it up when he went to see Dr. Greenward. How clever of him.
The registrar handed the envelope back without comment. He said: “It is my duty to remind you of the solemn and binding nature of the vows you are about to take.”
Maud felt mildly offended at the suggestion that she might not know what she was doing, then she realized that was something he had to say to everyone.
Walter stood more upright. This is it, Maud thought; no turning back. She felt quite sure she wanted to marry Walter-but, more than that, she was acutely aware that she had reached the age of twenty-three without meeting anyone else she would remotely have considered as a husband. Every other man she had ever met had treated her and all women like overgrown children. Only Walter was different. It was him or no one.
The registrar was speaking words for Walter to repeat. “I do solemnly declare that I know not of any lawful impediment why I, Walter von Ulrich, may not be joined in matrimony to Maud Elizabeth Fitzherbert.” Walter pronounced his own name the English way, “Wall-ter,” rather than the correct German “Val-ter.”
Maud watched his face as he spoke. His voice was firm and clear.
In his turn he watched her solemnly as she made her declaration. She loved his seriousness. Most men, even quite clever ones, became silly when they talked to women. Walter spoke to her just as intelligently as he spoke to Robert or Fitz, and-even more unusually-he listened to her answers.
Next came the vows. Walter looked her in the eye as he took her for his wife, and this time she heard a little shake of emotion in his voice. That was the other thing she loved: she knew she could undermine his seriousness. She could make him tremble with love or happiness or desire.
She made the same vow. “I call upon these persons here present to witness that I, Maud Elizabeth Fitzherbert, do take thee, Walter von Ulrich, to be my lawful wedded husband.” There was no unsteadiness in her voice, and she felt a little embarrassed that she was not visibly moved-but that was not her style. She preferred to appear cool even when she was not. Walter understood that, and he more than anyone knew about the storms of unseen passion that blew through her heart.
“Do you have a ring?” said the registrar. Maud had not even thought about it-but Walter had. He drew a plain gold wedding band from his waistcoat pocket, took her hand, and slipped it onto her finger. He must have guessed the size, but it was a near fit, perhaps just one size too big. As their marriage was to be secret, she would not be wearing it for a while after today.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” said the registrar. “You may kiss the bride.”
Walter kissed her lips softly. She put her arm around his waist and drew him closer. “I love you,” she whispered.
The registrar said: “And now for the marriage certificate. Perhaps you would like to sit down… Mrs. Ulrich.”
Walter smiled, Robert giggled, and Ethel gave a little cheer. Maud guessed the registrar enjoyed being the first person to call the bride by her married name. They all sat down, and the registrar’s clerk began to fill out the certificate. Walter gave his father’s occupation as army officer and his place of birth as Danzig. Maud put her father down as George Fitzherbert, farmer-there was, in fact, a small flock of sheep at Ty Gwyn, so the description was not actually false-and her place of birth as London. Robert and Ethel signed as witnesses.
Suddenly it was over, and they were walking out of the room and through the lobby-where another pretty bride was waiting with a nervous groom to make a lifelong commitment. As they walked arm in arm down the steps to the car parked at the curb, Ethel threw a handful of confetti over them. Among the bystanders, Maud noticed a middle-class woman of her own age carrying a parcel from a shop. The woman looked hard at Walter, then turned her gaze on Maud, and what Maud saw in her eyes was envy. Yes, Maud thought, I’m a lucky girl.
Walter and Maud sat in the back of the car, and Robert and Ethel rode up front. As they drove away, Walter took Maud’s hand and kissed it. They looked into one another’s eyes and laughed. Maud had seen couples do that, and had always thought it was stupid and sentimental, but now it seemed the most natural thing in the world.
In a few minutes they arrived at the Hyde Hotel. Maud dropped her veil. Walter took her arm and they walked through the lobby to the stairs. Robert said: “I’ll order the champagne.”
Walter had taken the best suite and filled it with flowers. There must have been a hundred coral-pink roses. Tears came to Maud’s eyes, and Ethel gasped in awe. On a sideboard was a big bowl of fruit and a box of chocolates. The afternoon sun shone through large windows onto chairs and sofas upholstered in gay fabrics.
“Let’s make ourselves comfortable!” Walter said jovially.
While Maud and Ethel were inspecting the suite, Robert came in, followed by a waiter with champagne and glasses on a tray. Walter popped the cork and poured. When they each had a glass, Robert said: “I would like to propose a toast.” He cleared his throat, and Maud realized with amusement that he was going to make a speech.
“My cousin Walter is an unusual man,” he began. “He has always seemed older than me, although in fact we are the same age. When we were students together in Vienna, he never got drunk. If a group of us went out in the evening, to visit certain houses in the city, he would stay home and study. I thought perhaps he was the type of man who does not love women.” Robert gave a wry smile. “In fact it was I who was made that way-but that’s another story, as the English say. Walter loves his family and his work, and he loves Germany, but he has never loved a woman-until now. He has changed.” Robert grinned mischievously. “He buys new ties. He asks me questions-when do you kiss a girl, should men wear cologne, what colors flatter him-as if I knew anything about what women like. And-most terrible of all, in my view… ” Robert paused dramatically. “He plays ragtime!”
The others laughed. Robert raised his glass. “Let us toast the woman who has wrought such changes-the bride!”
They drank and then, to Maud’s surprise, Ethel spoke. “It falls to me to propose the toast to the groom,” she said as if she had been making speeches all her life. How had a servant from Wales acquired such confidence? Then Maud remembered that her father was a preacher and a political activist, so she had an example to follow.
“Lady Maud is different from every other woman of her class I have ever met,” Ethel began. “When I started work as a maid at Ty Gwyn, she was the only member of the family who even noticed me. Here in London, when young unmarried women have babies, most respectable ladies grumble about moral decay-but Maud offers them real practical help. In the East End of London, she is regarded as a saint. However, she has her faults, and they are grave.”
Maud thought: What now?
“She is too serious to attract a normal man,” Ethel went on. “All the most eligible men in London have been drawn to her by her striking good looks and vivacious personality, only to be frightened away by her brains and her tough political realism. Some time ago I realized it would take a rare man to win her. He would have to be clever, but open-minded; strictly moral, but not orthodox; strong, but not domineering.” Ethel smiled. “I thought it was impossible. And then, January, he came up the hill from Aberowen in the station taxi and walked into Ty Gwyn, and the wait was over.” She raised her glass. “To the groom!”
They all drank again, then Ethel took Robert’s arm. “Now you can take me to the Ritz for dinner, Robert,” she said.
Walter seemed surprised. “I assumed we would all have dinner together here,” he said.
Ethel gave him an arch look. “Don’t be daft, man,” she said. She walked to the door, drawing Robert with her.
“Good night,” Robert said, though it was only six o’clock. The two of them went out and closed the door.
Maud laughed. Walter said: “That housekeeper is extremely intelligent.”
“She understands me,” Maud said. She went to the door and turned the key. “Now,” she said. “The
