Arthur & George

he does not always understand women, but he recognizes those who play with a straight bat and those who don’t.
    Jean Leckie arrives on the arm of her father at one forty-five precisely. She is met at the porch by her bridesmaids, Lily Loder-Symonds of spiritualist leanings, and Leslie Rose. Jean’s page is Master Bransford Angell, son of Cyril and Dodo, dressed in a blue and cream silk Court suit. Jean’s dress, semi-Empire style with a Princess front, is made of ivory silk Spanish lace, its designs outlined with fine pearl embroidery. The underdress is of silver tissue; the train, edged with white crêpe de Chine, falls from a chiffon true-lovers’ knot caught in with a horseshoe of white heather; the veil is worn over a wreath of orange blossom.
    Arthur takes very little of this in as Jean arrives beside him. He is not much of a frock man, and thus perfectly complacent about the superstition that the wedding dress shall remain unglimpsed by the groom until it arrives with the bride. He thinks Jean looks damned handsome, and he has an overall impression of cream and pearls and a long train. The truth is, he would be just as happy to see her in riding clothes. He gives his responses lustily; hers are barely audible.
    At the Hotel Metropole there is a grand staircase leading to the Whitehall Rooms. The train is proving an almighty nuisance; the bridesmaids and little Bransford are fussing interminably over it when Arthur becomes impatient. He sweeps his bride from her feet and carries her effortlessly up the stairs. He smells orange blossom, feels the imprint of pearls against his cheek, and hears his bride’s quiet laughter for the first time that day. There is a cheer from the marriage party below and a louder, answering cheer from the reception party gathered above.
    George is acutely aware that he will know no one there except Sir Arthur, whom he has met only twice, and the bride, who briefly shook his hand at the Grand Hotel, Charing Cross. He very much doubts Mr Yelverton will be invited , let alone Harry Charlesworth. He has handed in his present and declined the alcoholic drinks everyone else is holding. He looks around the Whitehall Rooms: chefs are busying themselves at a long buffet table, the Metropole orchestra is tuning up, and everywhere there are tall palm trees with ferns and foliage and clumps of white flowers at their base. More white flowers decorate the little tables set round the edge of the room.
    To George’s surprise and considerable relief, people come up and speak to him; they seem to know who he is, and greet him as if they are almost his familiars. Alfred Wood introduces himself, and talks of visiting Wyrley Vicarage and having had the great pleasure of meeting George’s family. Mr Jerome the comic writer congratulates him on his successful fight for justice, introduces him to Miss Jerome, and points out other celebrities: J.M. Barrie over there, and Bram Stoker, and Max Pemberton. Sir Gilbert Parker, who has several times embarrassed the Home Secretary in the House of Commons, comes across to shake George’s hand. George realizes that all of them are treating him as a deeply wronged man; not one of them looks at him as if he were the private author of a series of insane and obscene letters. There is nothing directly said; just an implicit assumption that he is the sort of fellow who generally understands things in the way they also generally understand things.
    While the orchestra plays quietly, three basketfuls of telegrams and cables are brought in, opened, and read out by Sir Arthur’s brother. Then there is food, and more champagne than George has ever seen poured in his life, and speeches and toasts, and when the bridegroom gives his speech it contains words which might as well be champagne, for they bubble up into George’s brain and make him giddy with excitement.
    ‘… and among us this afternoon I am delighted to welcome my young friend
George Edalji. There is no one I am prouder to see here than him
…’ and faces turn towards George, and smiles are given, and glasses half-raised, and he has no idea where to look, but realizes that it doesn’t matter anyway.
    Bride and groom take a ceremonial turn on the dance floor, to much happy whooping, and then begin to circulate among their guests, at first together, then separately. George finds himself beside Mr Wood, who is half backed into a palm tree and has ferns up to his knees.
    ‘Sir Arthur always advises