Then Katherine suddenly, holding Millie so close to her that their hearts beat as one, said: “I love him so. I love him so.... Everything must go if he wants it to.”
And then, as though the house, the land, the place that had always been hers, answered her challenge, a lightning flash struck the darkness and the rain broke in a thunder of sound.
All through the wedding-ceremony Katherine felt insanely that she was no longer a Trenchard—insanely because if she was not a Trenchard what was she? Always before in these Trenchard gatherings she had known herself wonderfully at home, sinking down with the kind of cosy security that one greets as one drops into a soft, familiar bed. Every Trenchard was, in one way or another, so like every other Trenchard that a Trenchard gathering was in the most intimate sense of the word a family party. At a Beaminster gathering you were always aware of a spirit of haughty contempt for the people who were still outside, but at a Trenchard or Faunder assembly the people outside did not exist at all. “They were not there.” The Beaminsters said: “Those we don’t know are not worth knowing.” The Trenchards said: “Those we can’t see don’t exist”—and they could only see one another. All this did not mean that the Trenchards were not very kind to the human beings in the villages and towns under their care. But then these dependents were Trenchards, just as old Trenchard chairs and tables in old Trenchard houses were Trenchards.
The Beaminsters had been broken all in a moment because they had tried to do something that their Age no longer permitted them to do. The Trenchards were much more difficult to break, because they were not trying to do anything at all. There was no need for them to be “Positive” about anything....
As old Mrs. Trenchard, mother of Canon Trenchard of Polchester, once said to a rebellious daughter: “My dear, it’s no use your trying to do anything. People say that new generations have come and that we shall see great changes. For myself, I don’t believe it. England, thank God, is not like one of those foreign countries. England never changes about the Real Things,” and by ‘England’ of course she meant ‘Trenchards.’
Katherine knew exactly whom she would see at St. Margaret’s, Westminster. From Glebeshire there would be Canon Trenchard, his wife and his two girls, also the Trenchards of Rothin Place, Polchester. There would be Sir Guy Trenchard from Truxe, and Miss Penelope Trenchard from Rasselas. There would be the head of all the Trenchards—Sir Henry Trenchard of Ruston Hall, in Norfolk, and there would be Garth Trenchard, Esq., from Bambury Towers, in Northumberland. There would be the Medlicott Trenchards of South Audley Street, the Robert Trenchards from somewhere in South Kensington (he was a novelist), and the Ruston Trenchards from Portland Place. Of the Faunders there was no end—Hylton Faunder, the famous painter, one of the props of the Royal Academy, the Rev. William Faunder of St. Mary’s, Monkston, one of the best of London’s preachers, the Misses Faunder of Hampstead, known for their good work, and others, others ... from Hampshire, Wiltshire, Kent, Suffolk, Durham, Cumberland, every county in England.
Well, there they all were in rows; again and again you beheld the same white high forehead, the same thin and polished nose, the same mild, agreeable, well-fed, uncritical eyes. How well Katherine knew those eyes! She herself had them, of course, but her mother had them so completely, so magnificently, that once you had seen Mrs. Trenchard’s eyes you would be able, afterwards, to recognise a Trenchard anywhere. But now, as Katherine looked about the church, it suddenly struck her, with a little shiver of alarm, that all the eyes were blind. She was sitting with her mother and Millie, and she looked at them quickly to see whether they’d noticed anything strange or unusual—but no, very placidly and agreeably, they were enjoying the comfort and ‘rightness’ of the whole affair....
She was lonely, then, with a sudden shock of acute distress. She felt suddenly, with positive terror, that she did not belong to anyone at all. Philip was miles and miles away; as though it were the voice of prophecy, something seemed to tell her that she would never see him again. The service then seemed endless—she waited desperately for it to close. At last, when they all moved on to 22 Bryanston Square, her impatience simply seemed more than she could control. The presents were there, and many, many beautiful clothes and shining collars and cakes that no one wanted to eat, and over and over again, a voice (it seemed always the same voice) saying: “How nice! How delightful!... so glad ... so fortunate....” At last she was on her way back to Westminster. She had now only this one thought, that unless she were very quick she would never see Philip again. He had said that he would come to her for a moment after the wedding, and, when at the doorway of the drawing-room she caught a reflection of his figure in the mirror, her heart bounded with relief. How silly of her. What had she supposed? Nevertheless, quite breathlessly, she caught his hand.
“Oh, Phil! I’m so glad!... Come up to the schoolroom. We shall be alone there!”