Spoiled

by Barker, Ann

  He had thought that he had managed to disguise his interest. When they retired to the drawing room, however, neither Michael nor Mr Granby wanting to linger over their port, he discovered how pitiful his efforts had been. Miss Granby glided over to the pianoforte and he joined her at the instrument, offering to turn over.

  ‘Only if you agree to stop staring,’ she answered in a low tone, smiling serenely as she leafed through the music. ‘It is very unbecoming to a man of the cloth, you know.’

  ‘If you were to be dressed more modestly, there would be nothing for me to stare at,’ he responded swiftly.

  Her smile disappeared. ‘Are you accusing me of immodesty in my father’s house, under his very eyes?’ she asked him, remembering his words to her before breakfast.

  He stared at her appalled. He could almost see this new curacy vanishing before he had even taken it up. ‘That was not my intention,’ he replied.

  ‘Then your words were ill-chosen for their purpose.’

  At that moment, Mr Granby’s butler entered and began a low-voiced conversation with his master. This was Michael’s opportunity to put things right. ‘I did not say that you were not dressed becomingly, Miss Granby,’ he said swiftly. ‘But a lady of your undoubted charms constitutes a temptation to any man. Now a man of my calling is supposed to flee temptation, so what was I to do; run from the house when you came down the stairs? I would then have missed my dinner. You must advise me, ma’am. How must I proceed?’

  Evangeline looked up at him, her expression unchanged. For a brief moment, he felt as if his fate hung in the balance. Then, with a teasing smile, she tossed her shawl completely off her shoulders and ran her fingers across the piano keys. ‘Why, Mr Buckleigh, you must sing con brio. That should do the trick.’

  After two songs, the tea tray was brought in and soon after that, Mr Buckleigh took his leave. ‘It seemed to me, my dear, that you found Mr Buckleigh more congenial this evening,’ Mr Granby remarked before they both retired.

  ‘Since he is to live here and be our clergyman, it would be wrong not to make an effort to get on with him,’ she answered carelessly. She smiled inwardly at the way in which she had discomposed the curate that evening; yet if she were honest with herself, she had to admit that his open admiration had discomposed her just as much.

  In the clear light of day the following morning, Michael’s cottage looked every bit as appealing as it had done the evening before. There were two bedrooms, both furnished with a bed, a cupboard with drawers, a chair and a fireside rug. Each room also had a corner curtained off, with hooks behind, on which clothes could be hung. The larger of the two rooms, which was at the back of the house, was the one in which Michael’s trunk had been placed. There was also a small attic, which could be used as another bedroom, or for storage. Again, Michael silently thanked Lady Ilam for her forethought and, once he was back downstairs, he wrote a polite note of thanks, which he resolved to take to the Hall. He would thank her in person when he saw her, but did not want to be backward in any attention. He had been dreading spending a portion of the small amount of money that he had on furnishings and fuel. This expenditure would not now be necessary. More importantly, because he was so comfortably settled, he would be able to send for Theodora almost immediately.

  He was just finishing his note when there was a knock at the door. He opened it to discover a respectable-looking girl in a crisp white apron standing on the threshold. She was holding a basket with the contents covered by a cloth. ‘Mrs Davies said as I was to bring you this, sir,’ she said, bobbing a curtsy.

  ‘Mrs Davies?’ he echoed, with a tiny frown.

  ‘The housekeeper up at the Hall, sir,’ she replied. ‘May I bring it in?’

  ‘Yes … yes, of course.’ He stood to one side so that she could enter with her basket. She took it through to the kitchen and removed the cloth to reveal a fresh loaf of bread, butter, milk, bacon, cheese, some eggs and a packet of tea.

  ‘You’ve got the fire going, I see,’ the girl said approvingly, as she took a frying pan from the kitchen dresser, put a knob of fat into it and set it over the fire.

  ‘Yes, I heated some water for shaving,’ he replied. ‘Are you about to cook my breakfast?’

  ‘That’s right, Reverend,’ the girl replied. ‘Why don’t you go and study your Bible, or some such, and I’ll call you when it’s ready.’

  ‘Very well,’ he answered, amused but also delighted. He had woken hungry, and had been wondering whether to go to the Olde Oak to see if they could serve him with something at this early hour. To have someone come and cook for him had been more than he had hoped for.

  He had already read the Morning Office, so instead of taking the young woman’s advice, he decided to unpack more of his things. He went upstairs and from his trunk he carefully removed his most prized possession. It was a fine, glossy red Roman pottery bowl, and it had been bequeathed to him by James Warrener who had died only the previous year. He could probably have sold it for a tidy sum, but he could not bear to do so. Apart from its sentimental association, it was the finest thing that he possessed. He carried it downstairs carefully, and placed it on the table in the window. His box of books stood open, but he had not put them on the shelves, so he busied himself with that task until the girl had set a place for him at the table in the window, and told him to sit down as his breakfast was ready.

  ‘May I know to whom I am indebted?’ he asked her.

  ‘My name is Janet, sir,’ she replied, watching him as he tucked into the plate of bacon and eggs which she had just cooked for him. ‘But it’s his lordship as has arranged for me to come and cook for you.’

  He put down his knife and fork. ‘You mean, you are to come regularly? ’

  ‘Oh yes, sir,’ the girl answered. ‘I’m to cook your breakfast, and make sure you’ve enough of something for midday. If you’re not out anywhere for dinner, I’m to come and bring you something then, too. Oh, and Mrs Davies says I can clean for you once a week and change the sheets, but if you want cleaning done more often than that, you’ll need to find someone.’

  ‘But this is more than kind,’ Michael exclaimed, thinking of his lodgings over the butcher’s shop, where he had had to clean for himself, and find what food he could or starve. He felt terribly torn. It was wonderful to be looked after in this way, yet how could he afford it? Eventually, because he could do no other, he said, ‘Mrs Davies must send me an account of what I owe her.’

  Janet looked shocked. ‘Oh no, Reverend, t’wouldn’t be proper,’ she said in hushed tones. ‘It would be like charging the Lord Himself. Would you like a cup of tea, now, to wash it down?’

  Michael agreed that would be most acceptable and, after he had eaten and drunk his fill, he left Janet to do the washing up, whilst he discarded the note that he had written and wrote another. The thanks that he had offered in his first note had been barely adequate, considering all that had been done for him.

  His note written, he left the cottage, and prepared to walk into Illingham in order to deliver it to the Hall. Mr Granby had pointed out the direction in which he should go and he soon found that he was indeed only just outside the village. He met one or two people in passing as he walked and the smiles, together with the touching of forelocks, curtsies and ‘Morning, Reverend,’ convinced him that his arrival was indeed welcome. From what Mr Granby had said the previous day, it seemed to him to be very likely that he would see little of his vicar, Mr Lusty. This would be all to the good, for he might perhaps be able to carve out his own role, without constantly referring to another clergyman.

  Illingham Hall had been described to him as being on the main street, but he had not been prepared for how close to the road the house actually was. No long, sweeping drive here, but a set of wrought-iron gates, with a short roadway behind, leading directly to a mellow-looking Elizabethan manor house. It took him less than a minute to walk up to the front door. He had intended merely to hand the note in to the butler, but in view of all the k
indness that he had received, he asked if he might have a word with Mrs Davies.

  The butler conducted him to the housekeeper’s room where Mrs Davies, a wiry-looking woman with grey hair, stood up from dealing with her accounts in order to receive him. She seemed taken aback by his appearance, looking up at him in surprise, and saying, ‘Oh! But you must be—’ rather blankly, before breaking off and going on, ‘of course you are the new curate. It is a pleasure to meet you, sir.’

  Michael smiled. ‘It is certainly a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Davies. I have just come from consuming an excellent breakfast cooked by Janet, and she tells me that I have you to thank, at least in part. I could not reconcile it with my conscience to walk past without requesting an interview.’

  Mrs Davies’s thin face coloured with pleasure. ‘Well, I’m glad to help, that’s certain,’ she said. ‘It was his lordship’s idea, but he is away and he instructed me to make sure that you would be looked after when you arrived. We were many months without a priest in the village, you see, sir, so his lordship says to me, “When he does come, Mrs Davies, we must look after him. We can’t expect him to tend the flock and do all his own cooking and cleaning as well”.’

  ‘That’s very thoughtful of him,’ Michael answered. ‘I have written a letter of thanks to Lord and Lady Ilam, which I have left with the butler, but I wanted to speak to you in person, to thank you for your own kindness. ’

  ‘It was a pleasure, sir. You must tell Janet if there’s anything you need. One of the men from the estate will look in to make sure you’ve enough logs, and Mary Scroggins, your nearest neighbour, will send her lad round first thing each morning to clear the fireplace and start a new fire; you may need to pay him a few pence to do it.’

  Feeling as if he was living in the lap of luxury, Michael bade the housekeeper farewell, and set off to continue his walk.

  The village was built on a slope and, as he walked on down the main street, he saw a drive leading off from the left which clearly went towards the vicarage. He stood looking at the house that would have been his had he been the vicar here and smiled ruefully. It seemed very sad that Lusty, who was entitled to live there, should choose to live in Sheffield, and this fine house should be unoccupied.

  The next building of any size was the church. Michael walked up the path towards it, observing that it looked to be early English. An elderly man with gnarled hands approached him, identifying himself as a church warden, and asking whether he could be of any service. Michael introduced himself and requested a conducted tour of the church. He soon discovered that there was very little that old Samuel did not know, although most of the anecdotes with which he was familiar seemed to have a rather depressing conclusion.

  ‘You’ll not find any of the family here,’ said the old man, as Michael read the words on one of the memorial plaques. It was dedicated to an incumbent who had been the vicar of Illingham for thirty years. ‘All the angels of Ashbourne are buried in Ashbourne.’

  ‘The angels?’ echoed Michael, puzzled.

  ‘All the men of his lordship’s family are named after angels – like you, Reverend.’

  Michael smiled. It had never occurred to him that he was named after an angel. His name had been his mother’s choice. ‘I shall not remember the half of what you have told me,’ he said after they had completed their tour. ‘You will have to tell me some of it again, I’m sure.’

  ‘If I last that long,’ said Samuel gloomily.

  ‘Or if I do,’ Michael added with a grin.

  Samuel looked at him with a rheumy eye. ‘I’ve known fellows as young and fit-looking as yourself to be carried off,’ he said, nodding in agreement. ‘Will you be wanting anything special for Sunday?’

  They spoke for a little while about Michael’s requirements for the service before they parted company for the time being.

  As Michael came out of church, he saw two young ladies who were placing flowers on a grave and he walked over to speak to them. They greeted his advent with curtsies, but both appeared to be on the verge of having a fit of the giggles. ‘Forgive my introducing myself,’ he said with a bow. ‘I am the curate, Michael Buckleigh.’

  ‘I am Miss French and this is Miss Barclay,’ said the taller lady of the two. They were both about Miss Granby’s age, Michael decided.

  ‘Miss Barclay; Miss French,’ he acknowledged politely. ‘Are you members of my congregation?’

  ‘Yes indeed, Mr Buckleigh,’ replied Miss French. She was as tall as Miss Granby, but dark, and with rather prominent features. ‘We both live just outside the village.’ She pointed in the opposite direction to his own home.

  ‘Have you met many of your congregation so far?’ Miss Barclay asked him.

  ‘Not many. I am just getting my bearings. I met Mr and Mrs Granby and their daughter as I travelled here, and they were kind enough to take me up in their carriage.’

  ‘They have returned from Sheffield, then,’ remarked Miss French.

  ‘They were attending a family wedding, I believe,’ Michael answered.

  ‘Yes,’ Miss French agreed. ‘It seems quite extraordinary to me that Evangeline should be going to weddings and yet not be wed herself. After all, she is quite the prettiest young lady around here. I dare say you have noticed how pretty she is, Mr Buckleigh.’

  Michael could not think how to reply to this, so he was glad that Miss Barclay butted in by saying, ‘Of course he has noticed! Prettiness is not everything though, is it, Mr Buckleigh?’

  This time it was Miss French who did not give him a chance to speak. ‘I have never pretended to be as pretty as Evangeline, but I am spoken for!’ So saying, she peeled off her left glove and extended her hand so that Michael could see her ring.

  ‘Charming,’ he murmured. ‘Will I have the pleasure of marrying you?’

  Both young ladies began to giggle. ‘That sounds so funny,’ said Miss French. ‘I expect you will. As for my friend, well, I may be spoken for, but she is not!’ Yet again, they both lapsed into immoderate giggles.

  Judging that there would be no sensible conversation to be had here, Michael simply inclined his head and, after saying that he hoped he would see them both in church on Sunday – which expectation they both vowed fervently to fulfil – he took his leave of them, hearing their giggles and whispers as he walked to the lych gate.

  He continued his progress down the main street and put his head around the door of the Olde Oak Inn. It looked a respectable place and the landlady seemed to be pleased to meet him. He made up his mind to eat his dinner there once a week. It would be a good way of getting to know some of the villagers, as well as relieving Janet of the task of cooking for him every day.

  He was leaving the Olde Oak when a sudden explosion of noise told him that the children had just been released from school. As they came running out, he entered the schoolroom on impulse, blinking a little as his eyes became accustomed to the interior after the bright spring sunshine.

  ‘Can I help you?’ said a female voice.

  He took off his hat. ‘Good day,’ he said politely. ‘I am Michael Buckleigh, the newly appointed curate. I have just been looking round and I saw the children leaving. Are you the village schoolmistress?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’ The teacher came towards him and he saw that she was a pleasant-faced woman of about his own age, simply dressed with brown hair neatly braided and brown eyes. ‘I hope you are not going to ask me very much about the village or the church, however, for I am very new myself. The previous teacher, Miss August, has only just left to go and care for her widowed mother.’

  ‘That’s a disappointment,’ he replied, his eyes twinkling. ‘Perhaps I should leave immediately.’

  ‘No, please don’t, Mr Buckleigh,’ the teacher said. ‘I should introduce myself and tell you that I am Miss Leicester.’

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Leicester,’ said Buckleigh, executing an elegant bow. ‘For how long have you been a teacher? Is this your first appointment?’

 
‘It is the first time that I have had a school to myself,’ she admitted. ‘My last post was with a vicar’s family. As well as teaching his children, I helped his wife with the village school for one day a week. I enjoyed the work so much that when my appointment there came to an end, I resolved to look for something similar. My previous employer’s wife is friendly with Miss August, and recommended me.’

  ‘Who employs you?’ he asked. ‘To have a school in a village of this size is quite unusual.’

  ‘Lord Ilam is my employer, but Lady Ilam has made the school her special concern. I wonder, Mr Buckleigh, would you be prepared to come into school from time to time? You could tell the children Bible stories, and help them to learn their catechism.’

  ‘Yes, certainly I will come,’ he replied. ‘I would like to get to know the children and this would be a good way. No doubt I will see you on Sunday if not before.’

  She escorted him to the door in order to say goodbye. ‘I look forward to hearing you preach,’ she said.

  As he returned home, Michael reflected that quite a number of people were intending to hear him preach on Sunday. He only hoped that he would not be a dreadful disappointment.

  Miss French and Miss Barclay had gone to the village driven by Miss French’s groom in her father’s gig. After they had encountered Michael, Miss French suggested that they should go and pay Evangeline a visit.

  ‘Do we have to?’ complained Miss Barclay. ‘She always makes me feel so very plain.’

  ‘Yes, we do,’ Miss French replied. ‘I want to show her my engagement ring, and see how green she looks when she hears that yet another of her contemporaries is engaged before her.’

  ‘It’s all very well for you,’ grumbled Miss Barclay. ‘At least you have a beau.’

  ‘So will you when you come and stay with me in London after Reggie and I are married. Anyway, you can always say that Mr Buckleigh flirted with you outside the church.’