The Rector's Daughter

by Jean Fullerton

  Martha nodded.

  Patting her shoulder, Edmund once again returned to his seat behind the desk.

  Martha picked up the coffee pot but, as her gaze skimmed over her husband’s thinning hairline, she couldn’t help but wonder if Philip Thomason-Smyth would have snored.

  ***

  Charlotte fastened the last button on her gown. She gazed out of the window over the cottage roofs surrounding her brother’s house, towards the cathedral. In the far distance the frozen farmland showed bluey-white in the early November sunlight. Watching a couple of labourers, swathed in coats and scarves and carrying bundles of firewood trudging through the stark orchard, Charlotte placed her hands on her growing stomach and imagined how, when the boughs of the apple trees were heavy with fruit, she would be holding Josiah’s child in her arms.

  There was a knock at the door. Thinking it was the maid to fetch away the dirty water, Charlotte called ‘come’. The door opened, and Martha stepped into the room.

  ‘Good morning, Martha,’ she said, forcing herself to smile at the lesser of her two jailers.

  Martha’s lips pulled into two tight lines. ‘You are to pack enough for a few days’ travel and be ready to leave in an hour. The rest of your clothes will follow later.’

  Martha turned but Charlotte shot across the floor and grabbed her sister-in-law’s arm.

  ‘Where am I being sent now?’ she asked.

  ‘Milly will bring your breakfast presently and Edmund will explain everything when you come down,’ Martha told her.

  She tried to free her arm, but Charlotte held on.

  ‘Surely I don’t have to go to the lying-in home until after Christmas,’ she said. ‘I mean, under four petticoats and my high-waisted gown, my condition can be hidden for a few more weeks yet.’

  Something that could have been sympathy flitted across Martha’s face. She looked away. ‘Your brother will explain your father’s plans before you leave.’

  Charlotte let go of her, and her sister-in-law left the room.

  Charlotte stared blindly at the candy-stripe wallpaper for a moment as her jumbled thoughts came into order.

  An hour!

  Gathering her skirt up she dropped to her knees and pulled her large tapestry bag out from beneath the iron bedstead. It was the same holdall she’d intended to take with her when she eloped.

  Throwing it on her bed, Charlotte went to her top drawer, yanked it open and started to sort through her clothes. If she wanted to ensure her most precious and private things travelled with her, she could not afford a second’s delay as in less than an hour she would be heading for God only knew where.

  Just as Charlotte squeezed in the last few items down the side of the carpet bag, Martha came back into the room. While working her way through her breakfast of a hot roll and drinking chocolate, Charlotte had somehow managed to pack enough clothing to last her a week or beyond along with her toilet items, Josiah’s letters and the small purse containing two guineas. She also changed her dress to a more serviceable one of printed wool. She would wear her thick winter coat and put on her walking boots.

  Martha eyed the empty breakfast tray. ‘Good. It’s never wise to travel on an empty stomach.’ She waved Charlotte towards the door. ‘Scofield will fetch your bag. Now come. Your brother is waiting for you in his study.’

  Charlotte made her way down the stairs to Edmund’s study with Martha close behind.

  Charlotte entered the wood-panelled study and the potent mix of beeswax and old papers reminded her of her father’s study back in Rotherhithe.

  Edmund was standing with a curdled expression on his face. He was dressed in his long cassock with its forty-nine black buttons down the front and piping on the sleeve. The flaps of his starched white collar lay on his chest like two ghostly fingers pointing the way to Hell.

  He regarded her icily as she stopped in the centre of the Chinese rug. Charlotte squared her shoulders.

  ‘Edmund,’ she said, holding his hard stare. ‘Where am I being sent now?’

  ‘You ask too many questions,’ he replied.

  ‘I have a right to be told whe—’

  A mottled splash of dark mauve darkened her brother’s cheeks and

  he slammed his palm on the leather inlay of his desk. Martha jumped.

  ‘Have you any idea the damage your indiscretion would do to the family, to me, if it were to become common knowledge?’ He jabbed his finger at her. ‘You gave up your rights, Charlotte, when you threw away your good name by opening your legs to that bastard navvy.’

  Tears pressed in the back of her eyes, but Charlotte held them back, determined not to give her brother or his wife the satisfaction of seeing them.

  ‘Josiah Martyn is,’ she said, forcing the words over the lump in her throat, ‘...was an engineer.’

  Edmund gave a hard laugh. ‘Well, he’s left you to pay the price of your sin alone, Sister.’

  Charlotte clenched her fists and glared at her brother. ‘Josiah didn’t leave, Edmund, he died.’

  A peculiar look passed between her brother and his wife. Martha’s cheeks coloured, and she looked away.

  Edmund thrust his hands behind his back and puffed out his chest. ‘Enough! You are to go to our brother Laurence at Northampton,’ he told her in a flat voice. ‘Father wrote to him when this disgraceful business first came to light and we have been awaiting his reply. Thankfully it came yesterday. He has made the necessary arrangements and you are travelling today.’

  Charlotte brows drew together. ‘I’m going to Laurence?’

  ‘Just so.’

  She gave her brother a quizzical look. ‘I can understand that you have to hide me away, but Laurence is unmarried and in the army. What does he know about lying-in sanatoriums?’

  Edmund sneered. ‘You’re not going to a sanatorium, Sister. You’re to be married.’

  Charlotte’s eyes flew open. ‘Married! To whom?’

  ‘Laurence didn’t name him in his letter,’ said George. ‘And it’s of no matter. What matters is he’s found a suitable man in his regiment who is willing to overlook your indiscretion for the money which Father has graciously settled on you. This will provide a more permanent solution to this most shameful problem than a few months’ absence and it is guaranteed to protect the family’s good name. Doubly so as very soon after your marriage, at the end of February in fact, the regiment is embarking on the Princess Caroline for Alexandria and then south for a three-year tour of duty in Khartoum. You should arrive sometime after Easter.’

  Charlotte grabbed the upholstered back of the nearest chair to stop herself from falling.

  ‘In all mercies, how can Father condemn me to such a life? Married to a man for money then sent on a six-week voyage on a troop ship and across a hostile desert for four hundred miles while I am heavy with child?’

  ‘A bastard child,’ Edmund corrected. ‘A child who could destroy our family’s respectable name and any prospects we might aspire to in the future.’

  Dashing across the room to her brother Charlotte grabbed his arm with both hands.

  ‘For pity sake, Edmund. Could you not prevail on Father to be satisfied with a sham marriage and let me retire quietly somewhere to care for my child without the necessity of sending me thousands of miles away. Beside, childbirth is dangerous. Who will help me when my time comes if I am in a foreign land? Don’t you understand? If you do as Father bids it could kill both me and my baby.’

  Her brother twisted out of her grip and looked down at her coldly. ‘There’s bound to be some local wise woman who attends to such things and an army surgeon stationed in the garrison. Besides, I’ve noted amongst my parishioners that common brats give their mothers very little trouble in their arrival so let’s hope your navvy’s by-blow does the same.’ He flicked a speck of dirt from his cuff. ‘If God saw fit to call you home I would, naturally, mourn you as my dear departed sister but as to the bastard child; perhaps it would be better for all concerned if it did not survive.
’

  She grabbed her brother’s arm again. ‘I beg you, Edmund, speak to Father on my beha—’

  ‘Sister,’ he cut in, shaking her off. ‘I consider Father has done his duty to you as a parent and a clergyman. If you were my daughter I would have sent you from my house without a penny and damn you.’ He picked up his Bible from his desk. ‘I have said enough on the matter. I have morning Eucharist to attend to. Martha will see you on your way and Laurence will meet you at Northampton when he arrives in a few days and you will be his responsibility until your marriage. My man Scofield will travel with you to ensure you come to no harm, and…’ his beady eyes fixed Charlotte with a menacing stare. ‘…to ensure you’re married.’

  Chapter twenty-nine

  Taking two sets of his small clothes off the dryer over the fire, Josiah folded them and placed them in his leather travel bag on the kitchen table alongside his best suit, canvas work trousers and three shirts.

  Being the first week in November there were still three hours of night before the first rays of day would be seen at seven o’clock and no doubt the hard frost of last night still gripped the trees and made solid the puddles in the street outside.

  ‘Are you sure you’re fit enough to travel?’ asked Ezra, who was standing by the newly lit kitchen fire.

  ‘Of course,’ Josiah replied.

  ‘Where will you and Miss Hatton go once you’re wed?’ asked Sarah, handing him his lunch tin which she’d just filled with fresh buttered bread, a thick cut of cheese and two fruit tarts for his journey.

  ‘South Yorkshire,’ said Josiah. ‘They’re sinking new coal mines every day and with letters of recommendation from Isambard and Armstrong, I should get work straight away. I’ll write to you once we’re settled.’

  ‘Me and Sarah might be joining you soon,’ said Ezra, putting his arm around his now very pregnant wife. ‘As I hear the money from the shareholders has dried up and work’s to stop.’

  ‘Are you sure Miss Hatton would have got your letter?’ Sarah asked, putting her hands in the small of her back and stretching.

  She was just a few weeks away from becoming a mother and making Ezra a father.

  ‘I paid the postal courier an extra florin to make sure he gave it to Charlotte and no one else at the house. I stressed that on no account was he to give it to the mistress of the house or Reverend Hatton,’ Josiah replied, praying not for the first time that the man had done just that.

  ‘I hope for your sake he has, Josiah,’ she said. ‘Cos I’d hate to think what sort of reception you’ll get if that stuffed shirt of a brother of hers gets his hands on it.’

  ‘Well, even if has, it’s no matter,’ said Josiah, stowing his writing case at the back of his bag. ‘If I have to tear the vicarage down brick by brick to get Charlotte away from him then that’s what I’ll do.’

  Scooping his money pouch from the table Josiah slid it inside his shirt and under his arm.

  ‘Have you enough?’ Ezra asked. He reached for the jar on the mantelshelf. ‘I have a shilling or two to spare.’

  Josiah raised his hand. ‘I’ll have to pay for the inside seats on the York Flyer, but I’ll make do with a cheaper top seat to St Albans this morning. Hiring a gig from Carlisle won’t be cheap, neither will a night or two in a room in Gretna but after travelling three hundred miles across frozen countryside in her condition Charlotte will need a few days to recover before we head back south. And I reckon the three pounds I’ve got should just about cover that and a few weeks’ rent until I find work.’

  Taking his scarf from the chair, Josiah wound it around his neck. He then took his winter coat from the back of the door, shrugged it on and buttoned it up. Tying his work boots to the straps of his knapsack, Josiah buckled it down tight then slung it over his shoulder.

  ‘That’s me then,’ he said, grinning at his brother and sister-in-law.

  Sarah stepped forward and gave him a hug.

  ‘You take care of yourself, Josiah,’ she said, patting her hair back in place. ‘And, remember, you’re only just out of your sick bed so make sure you eat proper.’

  ‘I will,’ said Josiah. He looked at his brother and stretched out his free hand.

  He turned to his brother.

  ‘Ezra.’ He held out his hand.

  His brother took it in a firm grip. They looked at each other for a moment then embraced and slapped each other on the back a couple of times before breaking free.

  Grabbing his soft crown hat from the back of the chair, Josiah flipped it on his head. With a last look at his brother and Sarah, he turned and opened the cottage door. A rush of icy early morning air tingled his cheeks and promised a bitterly cold ride to St Albans.

  ‘Take care of yourself, Big Brother,’ Ezra shouted after him as he stepped out. ‘And mind you take good care of that little wife of yours when you catch up wiv ’er.’

  ‘Don’t worry!’ Josiah shouted over his shoulder as he shut the door. ‘I intend to do just that.’

  ***

  Mrs Latimer hooked the last copper pan on its peg and surveyed the kitchen. The lid of the blacked pot-belly saucepan on the back of the stove lifted occasionally and sent little puffs of steam up the chimney. It had simmered away since late afternoon with the bones from the roast and would be ready to strain and cool before she went to bed at nine. At the far end of the long dresser the trough of cutlery sat ready for Milly to take up to the dining room. It was her duty to lay up for the family breakfast. On the dresser shelves were three rows of plates, stacked with military precision, while the cups and egg cups acted as sentries in front.

  Mrs Latimer’s gaze drifted onto the deep china sink and draining board at the far end of the room and the single cup and saucer resting on it.

  Turning away, she collected her old knitting bag from the dresser drawer and lowered herself into the wheel-back chair at the side of the range. She drew out the sock she’d been working on and arranged the four open-ended needles at angles to each other. She shoved the needle through the loops and guided the thread around it then snapped it back. She stabbed the point of the needle through again.

  The door from the main part of the house opened and Milly came in. She untied her ash-covered apron and hung it up behind the door. ‘I’ve banked down the nursery fire to keep the children snug overnight.’

  ‘Good,’ Mrs Latimer replied, the point of her knitting needle hooking the next stitch. ‘Young ’uns can take a chill in the blink of an eye if the damp gets on their chests.’

  Milly threw herself into the chair opposite. ‘It’s been a funny old day hasn’t it, Cook? I mean with Miss Hatton going off like that with no one knowing until she was out the door.’

  Odd, more like! thought Mrs Latimer.

  Milly had dashed into the kitchen just after nine to tell her that Charlotte was leaving straight away for Northampton to meet Master Laurence, with just Tom Scofield, Mr Hatton’s man, as escort. Knowing that Miss Charlotte would not leave without saying goodbye to her, Mrs Latimer had struggled upstairs to the main house only to find the front door wide open. Master Edmund was wearing a relieved expression as the coach disappeared through the vicarage gates.

  ‘And if that weren’t enough, mistress took charge of the children all morning and carried John around herself.’ A knowing expression spread across the maid’s face. ‘And I bet you ain’t never seen her do that before.’

  ‘You should be attending to your chores, Milly, not spying on the mistress,’ Mrs Latimer said, hoping the girl couldn’t hear the surprise in her voice.

  To her way of thinking, Mrs Hatton’s sudden burst of motherly affection was long overdue but that didn’t make it any less wondersome.

  ‘And if that weren’t enough,’ Milly continued, pulling the pins out of her hair and twisting her hair back into a neat bun. ‘Master was nowhere to be found when lunch was called. It were a right laugh. There was the stew steaming on the sideboard, mistress sitting at the table and Peters banging on the gong.’


  Master Edmund miss lunch!

  ‘Where was he?’ the cook asked, unable to hide her amazement.

  ‘He said he’d taken a stroll around the garden and forgot the time, but Old Joel said he saw him in the high street just before the London coach rolled up at the Peahen at midday.’

  ‘It’s not for us to wonder at Mr Hatton’s ways,’ she told the maid as she slid one needle over the other. ‘I expect he must have had to visit some poor soul in their hour of need.’

  Milly’s eyebrows rose slightly but she managed to keep a straight face. Mrs Latimer made a show of studying her knitting as her mind whirled.

  What on earth was going on?

  Milly got up and pulled the kettle over the hot plate at the front of the range.

  ‘Tea?’ she asked.

  The back door opened and Fred Mumby’s head popped around the frame.

  ‘I don’t mind if I do, sweetheart,’ he said, giving the maid a broad wink. ‘If that’s all right by you, Mrs L?’ he asked, his nut-brown face taking on an oddly boyish expression.

  Fred Mumby might have the complexion of a pickled walnut, but he had a way about him that was hard to say no to. She hoped that Milly would do, however, until he put a band on her finger.

  He sauntered into the kitchen and took the chair Milly had just vacated, setting his gun across his lap.

  ‘What brings you over from the manor?’ Mrs Latimer asked, setting her knitting aside.

  ‘I couldn’t keep away from sweet Milly,’ he said, casting his gaze in her direction.

  Milly stuck her bottom lip out. ‘I don’t know as I should be talking to you, Fred,’ she said as she handed him his tea. ‘Not after I heard you’ve been courting Ruth Popple from Sopwell.’