Only Time Will Tell Read online

  ‘Thank you, Captain Tarrant,’ said the Reverend Styler. ‘While I accept your intervention in good faith, I need to know what specific charges you bring against these two young people.’

  ‘I bring no charge against Harry or Emma, both of whom I love and admire, and believe to be as much in the dark as the rest of you. No, my charge is against Hugo Barrington, who has known for many years that there is a possibility that he is the father of both of these unfortunate children.’

  A gasp went around the room as everyone tried to grasp the enormity of this statement. The chaplain said nothing until he was able to regain their attention. ‘Is there anyone present who can verify or refute Captain Tarrant’s claim?’

  ‘This can’t possibly be true,’ said Emma, still clinging on to Harry. ‘There must be some mistake. Surely my father can’t …’

  That was the moment everyone became aware that the father of the bride was no longer among them. The chaplain turned his attention to Mrs Clifton, who was quietly sobbing.

  ‘I can’t deny Captain Tarrant’s fears,’ she said haltingly. It was some time before she continued. ‘I confess I did have a relationship with Mr Barrington on one occasion.’ She paused again. ‘Only once, but, unfortunately, it was just a few weeks before I married my husband - ‘ she raised her head slowly - ‘so I have no way of knowing who Harry’s father is.’

  ‘I should point out to you all,’ said Old Jack, ‘that Hugo Barrington threatened Mrs Clifton on more than one occasion, should she ever reveal his dreadful secret.’

  ‘Mrs Clifton, may I be allowed to ask you a question?’ said Sir Walter gently.

  Maisie nodded, although her head remained bowed.

  ‘Did your late husband suffer from colour-blindness?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of,’ she said, barely loudly enough to be heard.

  Sir Walter turned to Harry. ‘But I believe you do, my boy?’

  ‘Yes I do, sir,’ said Harry without hesitation. ‘Why is that of any importance?’

  ‘Because I am also colour-blind,’ said Sir Walter. ‘As are my son and grandson. It is a hereditary trait that has troubled our family for several generations.’

  Harry took Emma in his arms. ‘I swear to you, my darling, I didn’t know anything about this.’

  ‘Of course you didn’t,’ said Elizabeth Barrington, speaking for the first time. ‘The only man who knew was my husband, and he didn’t have the courage to come forward and admit it. If he had, none of this need ever have happened. Father,’ she said, turning to Lord Harvey, ‘can I ask you to explain to our guests why the ceremony will not be continuing.’

  Lord Harvey nodded. ‘Leave it to me, old gal,’ he said, touching her gently on the arm. ‘But what are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m going take my daughter as far away from this place as possible.’

  ‘I don’t want to go as far away as possible,’ Emma said, ‘unless it’s with Harry.’

  ‘I fear your father has left us with no choice,’ said Elizabeth, taking her gently by the arm. But Emma continued to cling on to Harry until he whispered, ‘I’m afraid your mother’s right, my darling. But one thing your father will never be able to do is stop me loving you, and if it takes the rest of my life, I’ll prove he’s not my father.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d prefer to leave by the rear entrance, Mrs Barrington,’ suggested the chaplain. Emma reluctantly released Harry and allowed her mother to take her away.

  The chaplain led them out of the vestry and down a narrow corridor to a door that he was surprised to find unlocked. ‘May God go with you, my children,’ he said before letting them out.

  Elizabeth accompanied her daughter around the outside of the church to the waiting Rolls-Royces. She ignored those members of the congregation who had strayed outside for some fresh air or to smoke a cigarette and now made no attempt to conceal their curiosity when they spotted the two women climbing unceremoniously into the back of the limousine.

  Elizabeth had opened the door of the first Rolls and bundled her daughter into the back seat before the chauffeur spotted them. He had stationed himself by the great door as he hadn’t expected the bride and groom to appear for at least another half an hour, when a peal of bells would announce the marriage of Mr and Mrs Harry Clifton to the world. The moment the chauffeur heard the door slam, he stubbed out his cigarette, ran across to the car and jumped behind the wheel.

  ‘Take us back to the hotel,’ Elizabeth said.

  Neither of them spoke again until they had reached the safety of their room. Emma lay sobbing on the bed while Elizabeth stroked her hair, the way she had when she was a child.

  ‘What am I going to do?’ cried Emma. ‘I can’t suddenly stop loving Harry.’

  ‘I’m sure you never will,’ said her mother, ‘but fate has decreed that you cannot be together until it can be proved who Harry’s father is.’ She continued to stroke her daughter’s hair, and thought she might even have fallen asleep, until Emma quietly added, ‘What will I tell my child when they ask who their father is?’

  HARRY CLIFTON

  1939-1940

  48

  The thing I remember most after Emma and her mother had left the church was how calm everyone appeared to be. No hysterics, no one fainted, there weren’t even any raised voices. A visitor might have been forgiven for not realizing how many people’s lives had just been irreparably damaged, even ruined. How very British, stiff upper lip and all that; no one willing to admit that their personal life had been shattered in the space of a single hour. Well, I have to admit, mine had.

  I had stood in numbed silence as the different actors played out their roles. Old Jack had done no more or less than what he considered his duty, though the pallor of his skin and the deeply etched lines on his face suggested otherwise. He could have taken the easy way out and simply declined our invitation to the wedding, but Victoria Cross winners don’t walk away.

  Elizabeth Barrington was cast from that metal which, when put to the test, proved she was the equal of any man: a veritable Portia, who sadly hadn’t married a Brutus.

  As I looked around the vestry waiting for the chaplain to return, I felt saddest for Sir Walter, who had walked his granddaughter down the aisle, and had not gained a grandson, but rather lost a son, who, as Old Jack had warned me so many years ago, ‘was not cut from the same cloth’ as his father.

  My dear mother was fearful to respond when I tried to take her in my arms and reassure her of my love. She clearly believed she alone was to blame for everything that had taken place that day.

  And Giles, he became a man when his father crept out of the vestry to hide under some slimy stone, leaving the responsibility for his actions to others. In time, many of those present would become aware that what had taken place that day was every bit as devastating for Giles as for Emma.

  Finally, Lord Harvey. He was an example to us all of how to behave in a crisis. Once the chaplain had returned and explained the legal implications of consanguinity to us, we agreed among ourselves that Lord Harvey should address the waiting congregation on behalf of both families.

  ‘I would like Harry to stand on my right,’ he said, ‘as I wish everyone present to be left in no doubt, as my daughter Elizabeth made abundantly clear, that no blame rests on his shoulders.

  ‘Mrs Clifton,’ he said, turning to my mother, ‘I hope you will be kind enough to stand on my left. Your courage in adversity has been an example to us all, and to one of us in particular.

  ‘I hope that Captain Tarrant will stand by Harry’s side: only a fool blames the messenger. Giles should take his place beside him. Sir Walter, perhaps you would stand next to Mrs Clifton, while the rest of the family take their places behind us. Let me make it clear to you all,’ he continued, ‘that I only have one purpose in this tragic business, namely to ensure that everyone gathered in this church today will be in no doubt of our resolve in this matter, so that no one will ever say we were a divided house.’

  Without a