After a time they called me away, upstairs, and took off my wedding
gown and dressed me in other new clothes, a brown coat and skirt,
and a hat with a long feather, and a fur neck thing; all these
were new too; I had been to shops with Cousin Delia to buy them.
And then we got into the same motor that had brought us from
the church. Some one had lent it, but I can’t remember who, and
Cousin John shut the door of the motor with a bang, and people
shouted and waved to us, and Anthony Cowper threw some rice,
and some one else confetti. Some of the confetti got into my
umbrella, I don’t know how; it fell out a long time after, on
the platform, when I opened the umbrella; that was on the journey
back, after our honeymoon was over.
We drove to Euston, for we were going up to Carlisle the first
night, and then on to the farmhouse on the Roman Wall, where
Walter had been staying when we met him there.
It was a long journey; too long, perhaps, and people were in
the carriage until Crewe.
The funny thing is, that I don’t remember that journey distinctly.
I remember getting into the train at Euston and getting out at
Carlisle, but in between it is a sort of blur; I only remember
looking out of the window, at the rails, running along beside
us, and thinking:
‘I might throw myself out on to those. That would be a way out
of it still.’
But I knew I would not throw myself out really. That was nearly
at the end of the journey, after passing Preston, and the place
where the railway runs near to the sea.
It was evening when we reached Carlisle, but quite light, for
it was summer and the days were longer there than in the South.
We got into another motor and drove to the hotel. A room had
been engaged for us at that hotel, and the motor had been ordered;
everything seemed to happen automatically, as though we were
puppets, and somebody else was moving us by strings; at least,
I felt like that; I don’t know if Walter did. I suppose it was
he who had arranged these things, or he and Grandmother together.
People at the hotel came out to meet us; a sort of concierge
man in uniform, and the proprietress of the hotel, who was fat
and smiling, with black hair. They took us upstairs, and another
man came after with the luggage. They took us along a passage,
to a big room with a wardrobe in it. Bedrooms do have wardrobes
in them as a rule, I know, my own bedroom has, but this wardrobe
was different; it was so big that it seemed to dominate the room,
it was a sort of triple wardrobe; it had two doors with looking-glasses
at each end, and a long plain part in the middle, and the doors
came open too easily, so that they swung out, and you saw yourself
reflected somewhere, wherever you walked in that room. I did
not want to see myself. I did not like that big wardrobe.
There was a big bed too; bright red mahogany like the wardrobe,
with very thick, shining posts, and red curtains at the back.
There were heavy red curtains at the windows, with big mahogany
curtain rods and rings, and lace curtains inside. It was a bow
window-looking out into the street, but it was not a noisy street.
The proprietress said it was her ‘Best bedroom.’
‘We keep it for these occasions,’ she said, smiling.
She meant to be kind, I could see. She thought how nice it was
to be just married; I could see that she thought that. I suppose
that she had been married a great many years, longer even, than
I have now.
She said:
‘Dinner will be served whenever you wish; in the dining-room,
or a private room if you prefer it?’
And I said quickly:
‘In the dining-room, please.’