A Country Gentleman (7 page)

As if on cue, the door of the church opened, and a lady came in. She paused for a moment to accustom herself to the change in light just as they had done, so they had the advantage of being able to observe her for a while before she could see them
properly
. She was a little older than Isobel and Lavinia, probably about twenty-four or five. Dressed neatly but plainly, and not in the height of fashion, she looked as if she might be a governess or a companion. Her gown was fawn and her bonnet a plain straw, tied with a brown ribbon. Her brown hair was neatly, even severely tied back, and her round face with its
unremarkable
nose could not have been described as anything other than plain. But as she came forward, she smiled sweetly. If she was a governess, then she would be a humane and gentle one.

‘Ah, Miss Tasker,’ said the vicar, a delighted smile on his face. ‘In a good hour! These young ladies are visitors to the area, and are interested in the brasses. I have told them all I can, but you are a much more knowledgeable authority than I. Miss Muir, Miss Macclesfield, allow me to present to you Miss Tasker, our esteemed village schoolmistress, and my betrothed.’

Eventually, after Miss Tasker had spoken informatively about the brasses for some time, the vicar said, ‘I think that we all deserve some refreshment. Ladies, do you have leisure to adjourn to the vicarage and join us for some lemonade and biscuits?’

Lavinia accepted on her and Isobel’s behalf, and they strolled along the little path, Isobel making sure that she was walking with the vicar, leaving Lavinia to bring up the rear with Miss Tasker.

‘For how long have you been engaged?’ Lavinia asked her.

‘For six months,’ the young woman replied, smiling. ‘We are to be married in the autumn.’

‘And will you be married here?’

‘Oh no, we will be married in a parish to the north of here, where my father is the rector,’ was the answer. ‘That was where we met, when Timothy was Father’s curate. I was appointed to the post of village schoolmistress here a year ago, and Timothy came to be the vicar here a few weeks later.’

The vicarage was a handsome brick-built house, with a fine, square hall and a charming drawing room at the back, decorated in shades of blue. Over the hearth was a portrait of a lady and gentleman, which looked to have been done quite recently. ‘Are they relatives of yours, Mr Ames?’ Lavinia asked him.

‘My uncle and aunt, Lord and Lady Smilie,’ he answered. ‘They have always been very good to me.’

The lemonade proved to be excellent, as were the biscuits. ‘Caroline makes these,’ said the vicar, smiling at Miss Tasker. ‘You must take care not to make too many when we are married, my dear, or I shall become too fat for my cassock!’

‘I shall be careful only to make them once a week,’ Miss Tasker replied with mock severity.

Lavinia and Isobel left after a correct half-hour, but, to Lavinia’s surprise, Isobel expressed a desire to continue the friendship. ‘We do not want to be a bother to Lord Thurlby,
especially
when his mother is away,’ she said. ‘It would be delightful to spend some time with friends in the village.’

Miss Tasker’s plain little face lit up with pleasure. ‘That would be lovely!’ she said. ‘Simply lovely. There are lots of places where we can go, are there not, Timothy?’

‘There are indeed,’ he replied. ‘Are you fond of ruins, ladies?’

‘Ruins with hidden rooms and dark corners?’ asked Isobel with a saucy look at the vicar. ‘Oh yes, beyond anything.’

‘Then we shall have to see what we can do to arrange such a visit, will we not, my dear?’ he said to his betrothed.

‘What a waste! What a terrible waste!’ Isobel exclaimed, as she and Lavinia walked back to Thurlby Hall. ‘He’s handsome, he has a sense of humour, and he is obviously quite well-to-pass. And it is all to be thrown away on that plain little pudding!’

‘In that case, I cannot imagine why you want to pursue the acquaintance,’ Lavinia said frankly. ‘Miss Tasker is not at all the kind of person you normally befriend – although I have to say that I thought her quite agreeable – and as for the vicar, well, he may be as handsome as you say, but he is already spoken for.’ She glanced at her friend then said quite involuntarily, ‘Oh no.’

‘Now Lavinia, don’t spoil sport,’ said Isobel. ‘To think that he should be the nephew of Lord and Lady Smilie!’

‘Well, what of that?’

‘Only that I have met them in town. They have no children and are very comfortably off. I have actually heard them say that they intend to leave everything that they have to their nephew who is a parson. That makes his prospects very good indeed. In fact, now I come to think of it, he may be in line for the title as well.’

‘That may very well be so, but I do not see how that would benefit you,’ said Lavinia.

‘I have already said that he is quite wasted on her. As for her, she is obviously a born schoolmistress. No doubt she is wedded to her profession. I doubt if it would distress her at all if he were to turn from her to someone else. She would probably be delighted to have the excuse to remain with her pupils. Some people are not meant to be married.’

‘Isobel, you wouldn’t,’ said Lavinia reproachfully. All she could see in her mind’s eye was Miss Tasker’s plain but happy face.

‘Wouldn’t I just? Do say you’ll help me.’

‘Help you to break an engagement? By no means.’

‘You don’t have to do much. You’ve said yourself that you like Miss Tasker’s company. You can keep her amused while I steal away her fiancé.’

Lavinia stared at Isobel. She had not had many friends in her
life. She had often envied young ladies whom she had seen walking along, their heads together, obviously sharing secrets. When Isobel had befriended her, she had enjoyed the feeling that she could join the ranks of those with close friends in whom they could confide.

She had always known that her friend enjoyed the power that her beauty seemed to enable her to exert over men. Five years ago, she had been able to regard Isobel’s ‘conquests’ as something of a joke. Now however she had discovered that this was a side of Isobel that she could neither like nor approve.

Isobel, seeing her friend’s shocked face said quickly, ‘I’m only teasing, silly. But a little flirtation will do no harm, surely? It can’t possibly be a love match. Just look at how dissimilar they are. Besides, it will be something with which to torment Riseholm. When I write to him, I shall tell him about the
handsome
vicar and tease him with the idea that he might be losing his looks.’

‘You are planning to write to Lord Riseholm!’ exclaimed Lavinia, shocked.

‘It is only courtesy to thank him for the flowers that he sent,’ said Isobel, her careless shrug concealing her annoyance with herself at the slip she had made. ‘Besides, all kinds of people write to one another every day. If it were Mr Walpole whom I was writing to, you would not turn a hair.’

‘Lord Riseholm is half Mr Walpole’s age and a rake into the bargain,’ Lavinia pointed out. ‘Oh pray, Isobel, do not do such a shocking thing! I could not bear it if you did so and Lord Thurlby found out.’

Isobel’s face took on a serious expression. ‘No, that would never do,’ she replied.

‘I am so glad that you have thought better of it,’ Lavinia exclaimed thankfully. ‘I hate being on bad terms with Lord Thurlby, and am anxious to get back into his good graces.’

Isobel eyed her keenly but made no comment upon her words.
‘You may be quite easy,’ she said. ‘After all, I could hardly ask our host to frank letters from me to “his rakeship”, could I now?’

Lavinia smiled in relief and the subject was dropped; but Isobel had not abandoned the idea of communicating with Riseholm; only the notion of letting anyone else, even Lavinia, know what she was about. It was obviously vital to employ a way of writing to him which did not involve any of the inhabitants of Thurlby Hall. As they walked through the village, something that she saw gave her an idea as to how to go about this, but naturally she did not say anything to Lavinia.

They were now walking through a meadow, with the Hall in sight. That was not the only thing that they spotted, however. Walking a little way ahead of them, glasses on her nose, a book in one hand and a bunch of grasses in the other, was Miss Wheatman.

‘Oh Lord, it’s Maisy Daisy,’ whispered Isobel urgently. ‘Duck!’ They both crouched down, then crept through the long grass, giggling. Lavinia smiled at her friend, the recent
contretemps
forgotten.

‘Oh Timothy, I fear that you have turned her head,’ said Miss Tasker in a tone of mock reproach, as the two young ladies from Thurlby Hall disappeared from sight.

‘As long as you do not imagine that she has turned mine,’ the vicar replied, catching hold of his fiancée around the waist as soon as the visitors were safely out of sight. He glanced about him to make sure that his housekeeper was not within the
immediate
vicinity, and pressed a kiss upon Miss Tasker’s lips. ‘You are the only woman who has turned my head, my love.’

‘I can’t imagine why,’ she answered frankly, smoothing his hair back from his brow.

To Rev’d Timothy Ames, the beauty of Caroline Tasker’s character had always made her a very acceptable helpmeet for a clergyman. He was well aware that a good many people were
inclined to compare them, wondering why such a handsome man should be attracted to a woman whom many condemned as being rather plain. He blushed now when he remembered that there had been a time when he had been almost as
superficial
in his judgements of her as those who went upon appearance alone.

He had always known that as a country clergyman, it would be a very desirable thing to be married. Not long after his appointment as vicar, the bishop had spoken to him about that very matter, reminding him that a handsome clergyman would always be a source of temptation to single young ladies in his parish.

He had met Caroline when he had served as her father’s curate, and had always regarded her highly. Needing a wife as soon as possible, he had looked at Caroline, seen an ordinary looking woman, capable, practical, and sensible, and used to life in a country vicarage, and had decided that that would be sufficient for her to make him a conformable wife. He would need nothing more. Very properly, he had proposed, and had been accepted at once. Caroline was too down-to-earth to keep a man dangling if she had already made up her mind.

Then, one stormy night, a few weeks after the engagement had been announced, he had been on his way home from visiting a parishioner, and he had noticed that the schoolmistress’s house had appeared to be in darkness. A little concerned, for he could not think of any reason why she should be from home, he had knocked at the door to enquire whether all was well. She had answered his summons looking a little flustered and somewhat dishevelled. She had told him that she had fallen asleep in her chair earlier on. His knock had woken her up. Now, she needed to light the fire, and could not find a candle.

He had gone inside to help her. They had both been hunting for candles when a flash of lightning had lit up the sky. Caroline had given a little shriek and hurled herself into his arms. It was
then that The Rev’d Timothy Ames had discovered that his sensible, down-to-earth fiancée was frightened of
thunderstorms
. When he had arrived, far from being tranquilly asleep, she had in fact been huddled on the sofa with her face under a cushion.

Very touched by this demonstration of weakness, Ames had said, ‘There, there, my dear. Don’t be alarmed. I think that I saw a candle when the last flash of lightning came. I’ll light that, then get the fire going and close the curtains.’

‘Don’t leave me,’ she had said urgently, clinging to him, her voice not quite steady.

‘I won’t,’ he had promised. Briefly he had hesitated, wondering how he could light the candle then the fire without letting go of her hand, for she was holding tightly onto him in her panic. Eventually, he had sighed, before sitting down on the sofa, and pulling her onto his knee. There they had remained, while the storm had continued its vigour unabated. She had tucked her head into his neck, and he had stroked her hair, murmuring soothingly.

After several more flashes of lightning and ominous rumbles of thunder, the storm had begun to die down, and she had lifted her head. ‘Thank you,’ she had whispered. He ought to have released her then; instead, he had drawn her against him and kissed her. It was the first time that he had kissed her on her mouth, and he had felt her quiver. Thinking that he had shocked, perhaps even disgusted her, he had made as if to draw away, saying ‘Forgive me’. Her response had been to cradle his head with her hands and kiss him in return. After that, the kissing had gone on for some considerable time. When
eventually
the vicar had left the schoolmistress’s cottage, it had been with a very different notion of what his marriage would be like; and a new excitement when he contemplated the idea of his wedding night!

Now, he smiled tenderly down at her. ‘It is because you are
you,’ he answered, which reply Miss Tasker found so satisfactory that she was obliged to pull his head down so that they could kiss again.

Chapter Seven

A
t about the same time as Lavinia and Isobel had been making their way to the village, Lord Thurlby had arrived at his home. Making use of a team of fast horses, he had escorted his mother to see her dying friend and they had made good time on the road. They had arrived at the Jacklyn
residence
on the evening of the day when they had left Thurlby Hall and had found the house shrouded in gloom. The earl had been offered a bed for the night, but he did not know the family well, and had no wish to intrude at such a time. He had therefore bade his mother a fond farewell, and had set off immediately for home, making the most of some good moonlight, then staying the night at Colsterworth and setting off early the following day.

He did not want to leave Miss Wheatman alone with her charges for too long. Goodness only knew what they might be up to, or what gifts from Lord Riseholm might have arrived for Lavinia in his absence. He wished he did not feel as he imagined how his old headmaster at Eton must have felt when confronted with a wayward pupil.

He smiled at the idea of the young ladies spending the morning in collecting grasses. That would certainly teach them to behave themselves!

He rode round to the stables in his carriage, stopped to have a
word with his stable staff, gave notice that he wanted to ride later, then strolled to the house and into the hall, where he encountered Miss Wheatman looking rather forlorn, a book in her hand.

‘Miss Wheatman,’ he said, ‘were you not intending to explore the meadows today?’

‘Why yes indeed,’ she replied. ‘It is such a fine day for it, as you see, but the young ladies have gone out without me.’

‘Really?’ he said, frowning. ‘I thought that a definite
arrangement
had been made.’

‘So did I,’ she agreed. ‘I waited for them at breakfast but they did not appear. I suppose I must have been mistaken. Perhaps they will come and find me later.’

‘I shall be sure to tell them to come and find you when I see them,’ he promised. A truly gallant man would offer to go and collect grasses in their place, he supposed. Clearly, he could not be very gallant. Salving his conscience with the thought that he had much estate business to be getting on with, he went
thoughtfully
to his study. Encountering his butler on the way, he paused briefly to make a discreet enquiry as to where his two young guests had consumed breakfast. The answer that he received made him a little tight-lipped as he opened his correspondence.

No doubt there were many of his milieu who would have thought it strange to make such a thing of breakfasting
downstairs
. To ask for breakfast in bed was not a grave solecism, certainly. At the beginning of a visit, however, such a deliberate disregard for the known customs of the household did not augur a very helpful attitude.

He recalled that he had not yet spoken his mind either with regard to their mode of travel on the day of their arrival, or concerning Lavinia’s masquerade. He would have more than one thing with which to tax them when they deigned to return. He had no intention of running off looking for them. No doubt there was nothing that two such bold young ladies would like better.

On their arrival back at Thurlby Hall, Isobel declared that she wanted to go to her room to lie down. ‘All those tedious church brasses have given me a headache,’ she said.

She did not sound very ill, and Lavinia wondered whether she was making an excuse to be alone so that she could think about Lord Riseholm. Undesirable though this might be, it would probably be preferable to making plans for the seduction of the vicar.

It was perhaps just as well that Lavinia could not see what her friend was up to, for she would have discovered her speculations to be disturbingly accurate.

Isobel had no intention of allowing Lord Riseholm to forget her whilst she was out of London. He should be made to remember how desirable she was and, if possible, he should hear of her triumphs with other members of his sex. Timothy Ames would no doubt soon fall victim to her charms, whilst Lord Thurlby, though a tougher nut to crack, could probably be coaxed out of his ill humour. Riseholm would not know if she exaggerated her conquests a little.

She had thought carefully about how to continue her
clandestine
correspondence with him. On their visit to the village, she had noted an inn, the Horseshoe, and had guessed that mail was probably distributed from there. She decided that the best way to proceed would be to send her letters directly from there, and pick them up from the same place. She knew perfectly well that Lord Thurlby would frank any letters that she sent to respectable sources. She also knew that correspondence directed to Lord Riseholm from a single young lady could not be included under this heading. What was more, if the earl caught her sending anything to the notorious rake, he would instantly guess that she had been the object of his attentions all along. Then she would be sent back to Mrs Wilbraham in disgrace. There could be only one
consequence of that; Mrs Wilbraham would pack her off to Harrogate to stay with her grandmother.

This aged relative had very firm ideas on how a disobedient granddaughter should be brought to heel. These included walking a horrible, bad-tempered smelly dog, sitting day after day in a cold house, and listening to a tirade of criticism, occasionally punctuated by a few blows with a switch wielded by the old lady, whose arm was much stronger than someone of that age had any right to expect. If Grandmother was in an exceptionally good mood, then she, Isobel, might be permitted to be a fourth at one of the interminable whist parties attended by her aged relative. She would rather die than go to Harrogate, but she could not give up Riseholm.

With this in mind, she made her way up to her room with deceptive casualness, then waited for Lavinia to come upstairs afterwards. After waiting for a while without hearing her friend’s footsteps in the passage, she crossed to the window and by great good fortune, spotted Lavinia crossing the lawn. Quickly, she put her bonnet back on and hurried down the stairs and out of the house, taking care not to be seen. Should Lavinia catch sight of her, she had an excuse prepared – a lost handkerchief which she feared she had dropped earlier. She walked back to the village and once there, she made her way to the Horseshoe, and asked if she might speak to the landlord.

‘How may I be of service, miss?’ the landlord asked her, wiping his hands on his apron as he came to attend her.

‘It is simply that I would like to bring some letters here to be sent to London, from time to time. I am also expecting letters to arrive. Could you hold them safely for me, until I can come and fetch them?’

‘I’ll do better than that, miss,’ the landlord replied beaming. ‘I’ll make sure they’re brought up to the Hall with the rest of the mail. You are from the Hall, aren’t you?’

Inwardly, Isobel cursed the inquisitive nature of village society.
No doubt the servants at the Hall were related to half the village. ‘That is very good of you, but I would prefer to collect them myself,’ said Isobel, keeping her manner calm so as to not arouse attention. ‘Mrs Hedges, my friend whose correspondence it is, is a very retiring lady, and has particularly asked that only I should collect her letters.’

If the landlord thought that this was a trifle odd, he did not say so. ‘Very well, miss,’ he answered, smiling even more broadly when she handed over some coins.

‘For your trouble,’ she said graciously. ‘And for your discretion.’ She gave him her first letter, which instructed Riseholm to send his correspondence to Mrs Hedges. ‘I’ll be in here regularly to deliver and collect her letters,’ she concluded. Her expression as she returned to Thurlby Hall would have instantly told Lavinia that she was up to mischief, but Lavinia was elsewhere and did not see her.

Benjamin Twizzle had been sharing a jar or two with an
acquaintance
in the tap room of the Horseshoe. He had been on the point of leaving the inn, when Isobel had appeared, and asked to speak to the landlord.

Although a hedonistic young man, he was not essentially greedy, and providing for the future was not something that had ever occurred to him. As long as he had money in his pocket to spend on the needs of today, the requirements of the morrow concerned him not at all.

Recently however, his sunny existence had become
overshadowed
by a cloud. His father, displaying an optimistic streak somewhat at variance with his generally gloomy cast of mind, had always hoped that his youngest son would follow in his
footsteps
and, eventually, take Holy Orders. This would at least be a means of making his way in the world and also, as Rev’d Josiah Twizzle had admitted to himself somewhat guiltily, a way of removing from the vicarage a presence which the clergyman found very disturbing.

When at last the vicar had accepted that this would not happen, he had given his son an ultimatum; he would continue to pay him an allowance until he was twenty-five. After that, young Mr Twizzle would be obliged to fend for himself.

Benjamin had put these warnings to the back of his mind. It had therefore come as quite a surprise on his twenty-fifth birthday when his father, as a birthday gift, had presented him with a full year’s allowance. With it was a copy of the letter which he had sent to his bank, terminating the regular quarterly payment from then onward.

The money itself had been very welcome, and Benjamin, thinking as usual only of the present, had simply seen that in his hand he had four times as much as usual. He had therefore set about spending it four times as quickly.

Part of this spending had involved joining a select group who played cards together at one of the less salubrious establishments in Peterborough. The table had been presided over by one Cyrus Nightshade, who had been impressed by Benjamin’s well-
turned-out
person and apparently affluent circumstances. Carried away by the excitement of the game, Benjamin had signed numerous IOUs, and by the end of the evening, he had found himself owing a large sum of money that he had no way of paying. When he had first met Lavinia and Isobel, he had been attempting to hide from Mr Nightshade, whilst at the same time, trying to decide which of his relatives might be good for a trifling loan.

The reason why he had been on the stage was that he had been visiting his eldest sister, who resided in Huntingdon with her husband, an impecunious army officer with a weakness for cards. Esther was the most sympathetic of his siblings, and he had been hoping that she would help him out, but to no avail.

‘We haven’t sixpence to scratch together,’ she had said frankly. ‘Tom is on half pay and I’m increasing again. And if you try to persuade Tom to gamble with you, I’ll skin you alive.’

Vigorously denying any such intention, he had decided to set
out for home and apply to his father. Asking any other of his siblings for money was simply not possible. One of his brothers was in the navy and at sea, whilst another was a curate living in lodgings. A third was serving in the army overseas, and a fourth was a tutor, escorting his charge around Europe on the Grand Tour. Another sister was married to the meanest man on the planet, whilst another was visiting her husband’s family
somewhere
in Scotland. Then just before he had left Esther’s house, she had scuppered his plans completely.

‘Father and Mother are visiting an old university friend of Father’s,’ she had told him. ‘Mother told me in her last letter that they would be away for some weeks.’

This news had effectively cut off his last source of money. On hearing the name of Miss Isobel Macclesfield, however, he had felt an immediate surge of optimism, for he knew that she was a considerable heiress. He had not been able to decide how to make use of this knowledge to begin with, particularly since he was
persona non grata
at Thurlby Hall.

Since making a strategic retreat from the inn yard of the George, therefore, he had resolved to drop in at the Horseshoe in Thurlby to find out what he could about the activities of his two travelling companions. He had been on one previous occasion, but had discovered nothing. This time, he could not believe his luck.

He kept out of sight, and managed to hear what had been said. Knowing better than to approach the landlord himself, he
beckoned
to a waiter and gave the man a coin, after first making sure that the man could read.

‘Send me word whenever letters pass through this place either for or from Mrs Hedges,’ he said. ‘And tell me who is her
correspondent
.’

He would wager that the latter would prove to be Lord Riseholm, otherwise why not have the letters sent directly to Thurlby Hall? And what might the young lady not be prepared to
pay to ensure that her host did not discover to whom she was writing? The whole business gave every evidence of being
profitable
enough to extract him from his immediate difficulties.

Had anyone challenged him on the morality of this plan, he would have defended himself stoutly. His motive was not greed; it was sheer survival, and his involvement of Miss Macclesfield would enable her to perform a noble act of charity, which would no doubt be good for her soul.