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She had said 'yes' to him exactly one week ago, sitting by the fire in his parents parlour as he house sat for them one Friday night, waiting for them to roll in drunk when the landlord at the end of the street threw them out.
He had got down on one knee as he had promised during his clumsy half proposal on the steps of Nonnatus House, took her hand, recited her ghastly protracted full name and asked her to marry him. This time, sitting on the floor basking in the warmth of the fire, she was not going to refuse him; even though she had been engulfed by a ridiculous, nervous feeling that she was going to laugh that she had to quell as it bubbled in her stomach.
"Might I ask if a date has been agreed upon?" her mother asked.
"25th September"
"This year or next?" If it had been next, there was still the possibility that she could still be browbeaten into refusing to go through with the ceremony and as much as she was still afraid of her mother's reaction, the girls had been right, comforting her when they had found her crying in the Chapel.
"This".
"This year!?" her mother suddenly blurted out, before looking around desperately for any heads that may have turned her way.
"Yes. It was Peter's suggestion and I agree with him that we want to get married as soon as possible".
It had been his idea to get married as soon as they could. For him, he just wanted to stand by her side as her husband, but she knew his patience was running thin as well. She felt alive for the first time in too many years when she was in his company, alive and trusting enough to consider giving herself to him. Deep down, she knew now it was a matter of time rather than the matter of a wedding ring.
Camilla knew, when it came to it, she should have ensured her mother was one of the first people that ought to have known, but there were too many memories of her mother's disapproval even from when she was a small child that would interfere with her judgment. She knew she had to tell her one day, and she would have done.
"Dare I ask where?" Her voice was becoming tighter.
"All Saints on the Dock Road"
Lady Browne was astonished. "My daughter" she whispered, although there was a distinct bite to her tone, "thinking she is getting married to a beat bobby at barely a moment's notice in the middle of the East End?"
Camilla took a mouthful of tea. She was not thinking of marrying him.
"Do you even have an engagement ring?"
"No", Camilla whispered in response. "I really cannot say I want one".
"He cannot afford one I think is the more feasible answer, Camilla. At least not to the standard somebody of your breeding should be expecting".
"I am not going to ask him to spend single shilling on me". Camilla knew deep down that he could never afford an engagement ring but she did not require a token to know they were going to be married in less than 6 weeks' time. She knew that if she had become engaged to any of the prospective suitors that her mother had paraded her in front of all those years ago, that she could have been presented with a diamond the size of Guru Shikhar. She could not have accepted such a falsehood.
Her mother dabbed the side of her mouth with her napkin and shook her head.
"I really have no inclination what to do about this situation. It had been my dearest hope you would marry one day, but this…", she paused, waving her hand in the air towards her daughter.
"A child of mine, living like this. I have no idea how I will explain this to our friends that you do not intend to marry appropriately. You wilfully ignored my request to end the relationship and in fact you seem to be thumbing your nose at your father and me by continuing with this carry on. Would you like to know how I found out?"
"No" Camilla thought to herself, her spirit, soaring when she had talked about him, now slipping away into its own quiet corner to hide.
"I found out from what I mistakenly believed was salacious gossip, that's how!"
Not many of her mother's counterparts (or their daughters) could say they did anything more than being a decorative chattel on the arm of their husband, tolerating gambling, alcoholism and wandering eyes for the sake of appearances. At least, when it came to it, she could say that Peter certainly didn't treat her like an object – no gambling, no smoking and no chasing other women. He only ever drank Whiskey and she was started to slowly get a taste for it herself.
Her mother carried on.
"Have I not said it before? It was difficult enough when you decided to go to that Godforsaken place. People would ask about you, where you were, and the question would always follow me. Now I have to explain why you intend to marry beneath yourself. Camilla, you have money and status. You could have a title if you would were not so selfish".
Selfish? Yes, Camilla Browne had always been the self-centered little girl, wanting to wear trousers and not lacy dresses, wanting to play cricket with her brothers instead learning to sew, wanting to ride a horse properly rather than side saddle, wanting to be loved by her mother instead of ignored.
"Are you going to renounce everyhingg your father and me have given you to marry a beat bobby?!"
"Yes". It was nothing to do with possessions or status. For once in her life Camilla felt safe and accepted and that was all she had been striving for all of her 32 years.
It was an Order of Nuns and a proper East End boy that had brought her more happiness and peace than clothes and diamonds could ever do.