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'Whose?' I asked, not unreasonably.
'Why yours, of course!' she answered happily. 'You touched Mr Townsperson's hand. You are betrothed. It is the law!'
The crowd surged towards me and I reached, not for my gun, but for my TravelBook in order to get out quickly. It was the wrong choice. Within a few moments I had been overpowered. They took my book and gun, then held me tightly and propelled me towards a nearby house where I was forced into a wedding dress that had seen a lot of previous use and was several sizes too big.
'You won't get away with this!' I told them as they hurriedly brushed and plaited my hair with two men holding my head. 'Jurisfiction know where I am and will come after me, I swear!'
'You'll get used to married life,' exclaimed one of the women, her mouth full of pins. 'They all complain to begin with – but by the end of the afternoon they are as meek as lambs. Isn't that so, Mr Rustic?'
'Aye, Mrs Passer-by,' said one of the men holding my arms, 'like lambs, meek.'
'You mean there were others?'
'There is nothing like a good wedding,' said one of the other men, 'nothing except—'
Here Mr Rustic nudged him and he was quiet.
'Nothing except what!' I asked, struggling again.
'Oh, hush!' said Mrs Passer-by. 'You made me drop a stitch! Do you really want to look a mess on your wedding day?'
'Yes.'
Ten minutes later, bruised and with my hands tied behind my back and a garland of flowers in my badly pinned hair, I was being escorted towards the small village church. I managed to grab the lichgate on the way in but was soon pulled clear. A few moments later I was standing at the altar next to Mr Townsperson, who was neatly dressed in a morning suit. He smiled at me happily and I scowled back.
'We are gathered here today in the eyes of God to bring together this woman and this man …'
I struggled but it was no good.
'This proceeding has no basis in law!' I shouted, attempting to drown out the vicar. He signalled to the verger, who placed a bit of sticking plaster over my mouth. I struggled again but with four burly farmworkers holding me, it was useless. I watched with a sort of strange fascination as the wedding proceeded, the villagers snivelling with happiness in the small church. When it came to the vows, my head was vigorously nodded for me, and a ring pressed on my finger.
'… I now pronounce you man and wife! You may kiss the bride.'
Mr Townsperson loomed closer. I tried to back away but was held tightly. Mr Townsperson kissed me tenderly on the sticking plaster that covered my mouth. As he did so an excited murmur went up from the congregation.
There was applause and I was dragged towards the main door, covered in confetti and made to pose for a wedding photograph. For the picture the sticking plaster was removed so I had time to make my protestations.
'No coerced wedding was ever recognised by law!' I bellowed. 'Let me go right now and I may not report you!'
'Don't worry, Mrs Townsperson,' said Mrs Passer-by, addressing me, 'in ten minutes it really won't matter. You see, we rarely get the opportunity to perform nuptials as no one in here ever gets married – the Well never went so far as to offer us that sort of luxury.'
'What about the others you mentioned?' I asked, a sense of doom rising within me. 'Where are the other brides who were forced into marriage?'
Everyone looked solemn, clasped their hands together and stared at the ground.
'What's going on?' I asked. 'What will happen in ten minutes—?'
I turned as the four men let go of me, and saw the vicar again. But he wasn't cheery this time. He was very solemn, and well he might be. Before him was a freshly dug grave. Mine.
'Oh my God!' I muttered.
'Dearly beloved, we are gathered …' began the vicar as the same townsfolk began to sniffle into their hankies again. But this time the tears weren't of happiness – they were of sorrow.
I cursed myself for being so careless. Mr Townsperson had my automatic and released the safety catch. I looked around desperately. Even if I had been able to get a message to Havisham I doubted whether she could have made it in time.
'Mr Townsperson,' I said in a quiet voice, staring into his eyes, 'my own husband! You would kill your bride?'
He trembled slightly and glanced at Mrs Passer-by.
