The Christening Gown

Warning: this story contains implied reference to sexual abuse.

The Christening gown.

1889

Marguerite stared at the box. Should she open it? Doing so would only lead to more heartache. Yet she knew she had to do so. She pulled at the ribbons which had been so lovingly tied in a bow by her mother the last time it was closed. She eased the lid off with trembling fingers. There it was. Not as white as it had been when her grandfather had worn it, not as soft as it had been when her father had been clothed in it, but just as beautiful as it had been when she had been swathed in it seventeen years earlier, all dimples and smiles. Her great grandmother had stitched it with love, embroidering daisies around the neck and cuffs. It had been worn by no fewer than twenty-two babies. 

    She put her hand to her stomach, where her little secret was hidden. She hadn’t smiled for a long time and could not see a future where she would. Gone was the carefree life of her childhood, which disappeared when she was thirteen, the day Alfred her youngest brother was born. The day her mother moved into a room of her own. The day he came to her bed.

 The carriage was due in twenty minutes. But the gown had called to her from the attic, the gown her baby would never wear. Only her mother knew; the missing monthly rags on the clothes horse, the small amounts of food she had barely been able to swallow before running from the room.

‘You had better send for Doctor Mason. That girl is even paler and quieter than usual’ mumbled her father before returning to his paper and the news that the Queen had been assaulted in the street. ‘Outrageous.’

    But her mother didn’t need to send for the doctor. She had had seven children and knew that she was observing the beginnings of a new life in her young daughter.

    There was ice in her mother’s voice as she asked, ‘Who did this to you?’ Marguerite did not understand the question. She was just off her food and oh so tired.

    ‘Nobody has done anything to me mother. I just keep being sick.’

    ‘When did you last bleed?’

    ‘Not for three months.’ she said, cringing at having to mention such things to her mother.

    ‘Did any man lie with you?’

    He’d told her she must never tell anybody, that it was their little secret. How did her mother know? She stared at the ground, her face belying the slight shake of her head.

    The force of her mother’s hand across her face and her fall to the ground shocked her. But she had given her word. She would not betray him. He had told her people would not understand.

    Her mother’s next words sent a chill running through her. ‘Marguerite, you are with child. You will not stay in this house and bring disgrace upon us. You will take your meals in your room until the day you depart. Your brothers will not be allowed to see you. You may not receive guests. I will make it known that you have scarlet fever. There is a case nearby. So that will be believed.’

     Mother opened her bedroom door and watched in stony silence as she sobbed her way in and pulled the door to without a word.

 The carriage would take her to Hastings where a Mrs. Brown awaited her arrival and from whence she would return in seven months with the story that she had been taking the air at the seaside. Her child would not get to wear the contents of the box.

    She heard the carriage wheels crunching on the driveway, replaced the lid, retied the ribbon and retraced her footsteps downstairs. Her father was out shooting, her brothers were nowhere to be seen, her mother stared out from the drawing room window. Her father had not acknowledged her distress. Yet he must have known what was happening to her. Mother would surely have told him.

1917

Margaret had searched everywhere. She knew she had seen it last week in the lounge when she had read John’s latest letter:

    ‘I miss you my darling and look forward to the end of June. They have given me a two-day pass for Freddy’s christening. Mother has sent the gown as promised. It should be with you by now.’

    She had read the letter and opened the box which had arrived at the same time. But where had she put it? How could she lose such a big box?

    There it was under the table. What on earth was it doing there? The christening was in two hours. When had she got to be so disorganised?

    John was cutting it rather fine. She had wanted him here when she dressed the baby. It was his christening gown. His heirloom. But never mind. She had got used to doing things on her own since the start of the war.

    She had to admit that Freddy looked quite the charmer in his ‘hand-me-down’ clothes. John would be horrified to hear her call them that. He had been adamant that his son and heir would be christened in nothing else.

‘Now who is that at the door?’ she asked nobody in particular as the doorbell interrupted her thoughts. Maybe John had forgotten his key. The baby didn’t murmur as the boy at the door handed her the black-edged telegram. 

1984

Mags didn’t want a christening. She didn’t believe in God. But she did want a party. A party to celebrate the arrival of her little girl. She remembered the parties at university. Or rather she didn’t. It was a sign of a good party if you didn’t remember it. But it also meant she didn’t have a bloody clue who the father of her daughter was. That was fine by her. It was one of three possibilities and they were all decent men. She had hoped she would be able to tell when the baby popped out. But no. Kylie had red hair. None of the three candidates did. She took after her side of the family.

    Anyway, as she had already stated, she didn’t want a christening. But there was no reason why she shouldn’t have a christening gown. She wanted to show her daughter off.

    She had been walking through Camden Market, not that easy with a buggy, when she had seen it. It was hanging there on a stall surrounded by old fur coats, just asking to be bought. An off-white creamy sort of colour, embroidered with daisies around the neck and cuffs. Exquisite. She had to have it. It was more than she wanted to spend but Kylie was worth it.

    The party was a great success. Everybody ate and drank far too much apart from Mags. She couldn’t drink whilst she was breast feeding. Everybody admired Kylie’s gown, commenting on the handstitched beauty of it. Not a torn seam to be seen. Unlike clothes today it had been made to last.