Rescued by Love

by Joan Vincent

  “You must tell us about your family, Miss Durham,” Lady Phillippa said eagerly. “Have you other than a sister? Surely there are some families living nearby? Why would your father have a church if there were not?”

  As their questions continued, the marchioness took Miss Durham’s arm and beckoned her to lead on.

  Lady Imogene followed closely, with Josh coming after them leading the team, the heavy baskets tied to their harness. Only the baroness hesitated. Pressing her lips into a tight frown, she belatedly strode after them.

  The marchioness motioned Lady Imogene to Miss Durham’s side and joined Lady Brienne. “Isn’t Miss Durham a lovely, tiny thing?” she whispered. “I wonder if she is betrothed?”

  Lady Brienne threw a cautioning, warning glance at her sister.

  “I was only wondering. After all, what would our trip be if we did not assist at least one romance after encountering our own on this same journey so many years ago?”

  Chapter 2

  Two furlongs up the road Sarita turned onto a well-trod path, which narrowed as they progressed. Conversation ended when they were forced into single file.

  Spoken word turned to unvoiced awe as the woods thickened and its beauty enveloped them. Tall, massive trunks reached to the sky like spires of a magnificent cathedral. Oaks and sycamores held their leafed branches upwards in a posture of prayer, while birds twittered and flew among them; squirrels chattered and scampered through them, raised their own form of praising hymn.

  Even Lady Brienne forgot her concerns, a smile coming to her lips for the first time in months.

  Glancing at her, Lady Phillippa saw it and gave a few small skips in celebration.

  Suddenly two shots rang out. Everyone froze. Josh fumbled for the blunderbuss he had tied to the team’s harness.

  “Leave be,” the baroness ordered quietly. “They were not near us. Whose land are we on?” she asked Miss Durham.

  “Lord Pergrine’s—but he allows no hunting other than for his own enjoyment. ‘Tis likely a poor cottager seeking meat for his family’s table.”

  “A poacher?” Josh asked contemptuously.

  “You would be too,” Sarita turned on him angrily, “if you were charged high rents and given no improvements. Would you let your family slowly starve while his lordship’s woods abound with game?”

  “I meant nothing,” the large lad said, retreating from her wrath.

  “Calm yourself, child,” Lady Phillippa said softly. “We wish no one to go hungry. Come, we tarry too long. Why, it must be past time for tea.”

  Sarita stamped forward, her anger still apparent.

  The three sisters, realizing that Miss Durham’s ire was directed against the selfish lord, exchanged understanding glances before following.

  “Is that the rectory?” Lady Brienne called to Miss Durham a short time later as she spied a long, low roof ahead.

  “No, but we do not have much farther to go.” The young woman halted, a frown creasing her brow. “How thoughtless of me not to let you rest. I am sorry. At times I get so angry with—with the way matters lie that I forget all else.

  “Father insists that patience is its own reward and that we should all practice it. He says time alone will change Lord Pergrine but I would rather I were a man and could give his lordship a sound enough thrashing to change his ways now,” she said heatedly.

  “Bravo,” cried Lady Imogene, clapping her hands.

  Miss Durham’s colour, heightened by anger, deepened even more.

  “I did not mean to embarrass you, child,” the countess assured her sincerely. “I have often felt the same way.”

  “We all agree with you, Miss Durham,” the baroness said, allowing a little warmth into her tone. “Unjust landlords deserve no less.”

  Recalling Josh’s judgment of his “fair, just, and generous” mistresses, Sarita gave them a weak smile.

  To end the young woman’s discomfort, Lady Phillippa asked, “Is yon building a home? ‘Tis an odd sort of edifice.”

  “It is what is left of Lord Pergrine’s ancestral home, now in ruin,” Sarita explained.

  “But smoke rises from one of the chimneys. Does someone live there?” Lady Imogene asked.

  “Monsieur Mandel and his son, Pierre, live there. They came here after the terror in France and, strangely, Lord Pergrine has allowed them to stay—without rent, rumour has it. M. Mandel experiments with plants, grains and flowers. His work is most interesting.”

  “His son is young?” Lady Phillippa inquired, her matchmaking senses alert.

  “Pierre is near my age, slightly older perhaps, about three and twenty.” Miss Durham wrinkled her nose at this uncommon interest. “Let us go now,” she told them and strode forward before further questions could be broached.

  The sun was casting long afternoon shadows, and the ladies had to shield their eyes as they emerged from the forest into a broad clearing.

  “Lud,” exclaimed Josh. His eyes widened at the sight of a huge daub and wattle manor house with two towers jutting from the southern face. It stood to one side of the clearing not far from them, unlike any rectory anyone in the group had ever seen. “That can’t be a rectory,” the footman stated.

  “I did say it was singular,” Miss Durham laughed. “We didn’t know what to think of it when we first saw it either. It is even more impressive, almost imposing, from the carriage road.”

  “But where is the church?” Lady Imogene asked.

  “It is quite hidden by the rectory. Come, I will show it to you after you have refreshed yourselves. The church is interesting in its own right, being older than the house and constructed entirely of wood. I find its porch intriguing and often sit beneath its roof during the cool of the evening just to think. The church dates from the sixteenth century, with the rectory built before the close of the century,” she added as they walked towards the manor house.

  “But how did so vast a rectory come to be built here?” Lady Brienne questioned.

  “It was not built as a rectory, but as the home of a man called Malvern. Legend has it that he did some terrible deed, which haunted him. He wished to be near a church, even though he had a chapel built within the house.

  “The tale also says that prayer and proximity to the church proved unhelpful to the poor man. He hung himself in the Hall one night. But he deeded the house to the Church before doing so and when the original rectory was destroyed by fire shortly afterwards, it was decided that the manor would replace it.

  “Father and Mother were rather startled when they first saw the manor,” Miss Durham continued, “but we have grown accustomed to it. Of course we do not use all the rooms, only those necessary for our needs.”

  “Poor Mr. Malvern,” Lady Phillippa sighed. “One may hope his giving the manor aided his soul’s fate.”

  “There are those who claim his spirit still walks about in the Hall and nearby woods. When I was younger, I spent many a night in the Hall trying to remain awake so that I could see him. But alas, I always fell soundly asleep, and Mr. Malvern proved an exceptionally quiet spirit, for I never was awakened by him.” Sarita laughed.

  The others joined her, except for Lady Brienne who scowled in disapproval. “One should respect the departed,” she noted primly.

  “Oh, Brienne,” the countess clucked.

  “Never mind her, Miss Durham. It was a delightful story.”

  Sobered by the baroness’s comment, Sarita led them straight to the front of the manor house. “Let me show you to our sitting room,” she said as walked up the steps to the massive entry doors recessed between the three-sided towers.

  “Miss, what am I to do with the horses?” Josh asked, sensing he was about to be left standing on the carriage drive.

  “Oh, the stable is to the east, just around the side of the rectory,” she answered. “When you are finished, come to the kitchen at the back of the house,” Sarita instructed with a smile.

  “Thank you, miss. I’ll fetch along the baskets then,”
the young footman said and led the team away.

  “Now, your ladyships, I will take you to Mother. She must be finished with her class by now. Then I will see to tea for you.” Using both hands, the small figure gave an expert twist to a metal knob on one of the doors, and it swung slowly open.

  “Fortunately the doors are managed by a system of weights,” she explained, seeing the surprised looks on the three dowagers faces. With a backward step she dipped into a light curtsy and motioned the ladies to enter.

  Lady Imogene and Lady Phillippa swept forward, eager to see the interior of so unusual a minister’s home. After a pause, Lady Brienne walked forward stiffly. She hesitated on the threshold at the sound of children’s voices.

  “Oh, dear,” Sarita moaned. “You had best—”

  Her words were cut off by a mob of laughing, running children who flooded into the Hall and ran out through the door, bumping and turning the baroness about in their hasty departure. “Step aside,” Miss Durham finished lamely.

  “So much for your assurances that the rectory is not overrun with children,” Lady Brienne said scathingly as she righted her hat and tugged her skirt into place. “At least it cannot be said to be small.” She straightened rigidly and marched in.

  “But it was only Mother’s class,” Sarita began in protest, then shrugged and followed.

  “My dear, what a magnificent example of a double hammer beam ceiling,” Lady Imogene exclaimed. “And the wall hangings! They are extraordinary!

  “Phillippa, have you ever seen such fine work?” the countess continued as she peered at the tree-of-life design woven into the tapestry hanging above the ornate wood panelling on the lower half of the forty-foot wall.

  “Sarita, is that—?” A young woman stopped short at the sight o£ the three unknown women.

  “We have guests, Deborah.” Sarita edged to the fore. “Would you please tell Mother?”

  “Has your sister come?” a soft voice called from behind Deborah.

  “Yes, Mother,” she answered.

  “Sarita, you can’t mean it,” Deborah hissed, joining her sister. “What will we do?” She threw an indignant look at the dowagers, who stood in the centre of the hall.

  The baroness overheard the protest. “We shall return to our coach, Miss Durham,” she said disdainfully.

  “Whom do I hear, Deborah? I thought you said Sarita had returned?” A plump, delicate duplicate of Sarita walked daintily into the Hall. “Guests. We have guests? Oh, my.” She began to wring her hands; distress clouded her features.

  “It is all right, Mother.” Sarita hurried to her and put an arm about her. “My ladies, this is my mother, Esther Durham. Mother, I would like you to meet Lady Phillippa.” She guided her to the spritely white-haired marchioness.

  “You have a beautiful daughter, Mrs. Durham,” Lady Phillippa smiled.

  “This is Lady Imogene,” Sarita continued, going to the ample-figured countess, hoping that her mother’s silence would not be misconstrued.

  “The rectory is so unusual, Mrs. Durham. The hall is magnificent,” Lady Imogene assured her hesitant hostess.

  “And Lady Brienne,” the young woman ended.

  “The Dowager Baroness Mickle,” the baroness added haughtily, then gasped.

  Only Sarita saw the hasty kick dealt Lady Brienne’s shin by Lady Phillippa.

  “Mother, I am certain our guests would enjoy the sitting room. Their coach has been disabled, and their coachman has gone to Pordean to seek aid with the repairs.”

  “But wouldn’t the solarium be more—oh, yes, my class.”

  Deborah approached the trio. “Are you truly a baroness?”

  “Deborah, would you put water on for tea?” Sarita manoeuvred her sister towards the Hall’s exit nearest the kitchen.

  “Are they really titled? All three of them?” Deborah whispered excitedly.

  “Yes, and be quick about the tea.

  “My ladies,” Sarita turned back to them. “Follow me, please. Mother.” She took her hand and led the way. After seeing that everyone was seated, Miss Durham excused herself and dashed for the kitchen at the far end of the house.

  Deborah paled at the sight of her sister. “You left Mother alone with them?”

  “You know she does quite well just visiting.”

  A pounding at the kitchen’s outer door swung Deborah around.

  “It is only young Mr. Caine, the ladies’ footman,” Sarita assured her sister and hurried to open the door. “Let me help you,” she told Josh, reaching for one of the baskets he carried.

  “Watch it ain’t too heavy for you. Lud, you’re a strong one for all your lack of size,” he added admiringly. Setting the other basket down, he snatched his hat from his head and bobbed a bow at Deborah.

  “This is my sister, Miss Deborah Durham.”

  “Pleased, miss.” He bowed once more and shifted his weight uneasily.

  “Did you find all you needed for the horses’ comfort?” Sarita asked.

  “Yes, miss. And I’ll fetch the other basket right away.” Josh bobbed another awkward bow and fled.

  “What a clumsy lad,” Deborah laughed.

  “That is unkind,” Sarita admonished. “Let us see what is inside these.” She removed the towel covering the basket’s contents and gave a sigh of relief. “This has to be a tin of tea.”

  “I wondered at your promising them tea.”

  “Our herbal tea is not distasteful,” Sarita defended. “But let us hurry.”

  “Yes, you still have to do something about supper, and what are you going to do about this eve? Their coach will never be repaired in time to carry them on.

  “Are they truly of the peerage? Their travelling gowns seem rather old.”

  “I know only that they are elderly widows and our guests. And it is their tea we are now serving. Do hurry along with it while I run to the garden. Father will be returning soon also.” Just outside the kitchen door Sarita encountered Josh.

  “Set the basket on the table with the others and take an apple or two. You must be famished. I’ll call you as soon as supper is ready,” Sarita told him hurriedly and ran towards the vegetable garden. The largest of the tender young carrots quickly pulled, and she pinched off spinach greens. A shadow loomed before her.

  “Best o’ the day, Miss Sarita.” A burly young man stood before her. “Thought you—that is, thought that Reverend Durham and all might enjoy these.” He held forth three large hares.

  “You are God sent, Clem,” she said, almost hugging him in her relief. “Now supper will be complete. Nay,” she laughed, “possible.”

  “Well, ah, thank you, Miss Sarita. I can dress ‘em if you wish.” he stammered, turned awkward by her evident pleasure.

  “Do and you’ll have some rabbit pie come tomorrow. You truly saved me, Clem, for we have guests.”

  “That young lad I saw be one of them?” he asked. Wondered. I best be at my task.” He pulled his knife from a side sheath.

  “Bring them to the kitchen when you’re done,” Sarita told the thickset young farmer. She gathered the carrots and spinach leaves in her skirt. Yanking some leeks from the ground as she passed them, Sarita ran back to the kitchen.

  * * * *

  “The tea is excellent, very similar to our own blend,” Lady Imogene complimented Deborah as Mrs. Durham refilled her cup.

  “Are you certain there are no biscuits?” Mrs. Durham asked her daughter for a third time.

  Her cheeks tinged red from the countess’s words, Deborah shook her head. “You were speaking of your journey?” she encouraged Lady Imogene to take up the conversation, hoping to divert her mother’s attention from the lack of biscuits.

  “So fortunate you are—to be able to travel at will,” Mrs. Durham said just as the countess began to speak. “I did so before my marriage to Reverend Durham. Perhaps you are acquainted with my brother, Mr. Incole? We are second cousins to Baron Snold of Bath.” She smiled hopefully.

  “I fear we know neithe
r gentleman,” Lady Phillippa replied gently.

  Mrs. Durham’s mind changed direction. “But where is your baggage?”

  “There is no need to be concerned. We shall return to our coach as soon as we finish our tea,” Lady Brienne announced.

  “Oh, but you mustn’t,” Mrs. Durham protested. “You must remain with us. How silly of me not to think of it before. How delightful to have guests.” She clapped her hands, her mood altered once more.

  “Deborah, see to the guest rooms. Those nearest your room, I believe, will suit best. Remove the dust covers and ready them. This shall be grand,” she rattled on excitedly.

  “Confound it, where is everyone?” a deep voice came through the open sitting room door. “Sarita! Deborah?”

  “Oh, dear, your father has been upset by something.” Mrs. Durham rose agitatedly. She hurried to the door and called, “We are here—in the sitting room.”

  “Do you know what Lord Pergrine has done now?” the voice thundered nearer. “I may have to use Sarita’s methods yet and horsewhip some sense into that confounded man.” The words preceded the medium-built, dark-haired rector into the room.

  “Oh, Father,” Deborah groaned while Mrs. Durham quailed.

  Two of the dowagers gave each other faint smiles. Even Lady Brienne forgot momentarily and smiled as she thought what interesting prospects their situation presented.

  Chapter 3

  “Why are you in the sitting room this time of day?” Reverend Durham asked as he entered. Seeing the three older women, he apologized with a gracious bow.

  “My pardon, I had no idea we had guests.”

  “Never fear,” Lady Phillippa smiled. “It is comforting to know that the ministers of the Lord are plagued just as we.” She winked mischievously.

  Reverend Durham looked questioningly over his wife’s head to Deborah for some explanation of the present invasion.

  “Father, this is Lady Phillippa, Lady Imogene, and Lady Brienne.” She motioned to each in turn. “Their coach has suffered a mishap, and they shall spend the eve with us,” Deborah ended uncertainly.

  “Were you on your way to visit Lord Pergrine?” Reverend Durham asked abruptly.