by Barker, Ann
‘He didn’t, though.’
‘That doesn’t matter, does it?’ replied Miss French with more than a little touch of impatience. ‘If she likes him, it will make her jealous. We might also find out exactly what happened when the Granbys took him up in their carriage.’
Evangeline was at home, and professed herself to be delighted to see dear Maria Barclay and Jennifer French. As they kissed the air next to one another’s scented cheeks, Evangeline suddenly felt weary of the pretence of friendship expressed by such as these young ladies. It seemed so utterly false. Had it been the encounter with danger when they had been held up that had made her suddenly aware of this? Or had it been that meeting with the rakish Mr Leigh which, despite their assumed identities, had had an earthiness about it that had stirred her blood?
Nevertheless she smiled, welcomed them in, and rang the bell for cakes and tea. After the initial polite introductory chit-chat, Jennifer said, ‘I don’t suppose that anyone has told you about my good news.’ She took off her glove, and extended her hand as before.
Evangeline crossed to her side to examine the ring. ‘It’s charming,’ she said, looking at the diamond surrounded by sapphires. ‘Absolutely charming. Who is the lucky man?’
‘Reggie Price-Matthews,’ Jennifer answered, with a satisfied smile.
Evangeline smiled in polite acknowledgement, her expression giving nothing away. ‘I am very pleased for you, Jennifer. When is the wedding to be?’
‘The date is not set,’ said Jennifer coyly. ‘You will have an invitation, of course. I am so sorry to have taken your beau from you, Evangeline.’
Reggie had been one of Evangeline’s court over two years before. For some months he had loitered about in Illingham, constantly bombarding her with bunches of flowers. He was a pleasant enough young man, but, at the time, Evangeline had been in the throes of her infatuation for Lord Ashbourne, and she had not given him a second glance. Obviously, he had seen the hopelessness of his cause, and transferred his interest to Jennifer.
Evangeline had no desire for Reggie’s admiration. She did not want him back and, although she knew the power of her own beauty, she was too good-natured to take him away from Jennifer, even though she was sure that she could do so if she exerted herself. But it did seem a little hard that plainer girls were finding their life’s partner before her. It was particularly difficult to tolerate when they stood before her with the kind of triumphant air that Jennifer was displaying at that moment.
‘Please don’t give it another thought,’ she replied airily, pouring the tea which had just been brought in. ‘It is not as though he is the only beau I have had, after all.’
‘No, there was Morrison, wasn’t there?’ said Maria. Both the two visitors giggled. This time, Evangeline really was annoyed. Morrison had jilted Eustacia Hope, now Lady Ilam, at the altar nearly two years before. After this disgraceful behaviour, he had fled to London where he had attached himself to Evangeline, and then returned to the district as a guest of her family. As soon as she had realized that he was a jilt, she had dropped him like a live coal. Lord Ilam had seen that the fellow had left the district immediately. By no means everyone knew the whole story, however, and unfortunately there were those who had chosen to believe that Morrison had run away to escape from Evangeline.
‘How sad to be so devoid of news that one feels bound to bring up something that happened years ago,’ she remarked, trying not to show how irritated she was feeling.
Miss French looked annoyed at this remark, but merely said, ‘You cannot expect us not to take an interest in you, Evangeline. After all, you are a local celebrity.’
‘Like our new curate,’ Maria put in helpfully.
‘You have met Mr Buckleigh, then,’ said Evangeline.
‘Yes, just now in the village,’ replied Maria Barclay. ‘He really is exceedingly handsome, isn’t he?’
‘If one can tolerate the contrast between his hair and his eyebrows,’ Evangeline agreed.
‘You, of course, had a chance to meet him before any of us,’ said Jennifer. ‘He told us that you had taken him up in your carriage.’
‘Yes. We met him at an inn on the way from Sheffield. We dined together then he travelled on with us in the morning.’
‘You have stolen a march upon us, then,’ said Miss Barclay, in rather a sulky tone.
‘Oh, pooh, what is one carriage ride?’ responded Jennifer. ‘We have had the most charming conversation with him outside the church just now.’
‘Indeed,’ Evangeline responded dubiously. She had had a number of conversations with him, some of them flirtatious, some angry, some passionate, and some whispered. She could not recall any that could have been called charming.
The two other ladies must have caught something of the ambivalence in her tone, for Miss French said, ‘Oh dear, Evangeline, you must be losing your touch! I showed him my engagement ring and, when he heard that Maria was not spoken for, his eyes fairly gleamed.’
‘I very much doubt that,’ said Evangeline, thinking only that from what she knew of Michael, she could not imagine him being so hopelessly indiscreet with such a silly young woman on such slight acquaintance.
‘Well, really!’ exclaimed Maria Barclay. ‘Just because you are so pretty yourself, you cannot imagine any man taking an interest in another woman whilst you are about.’
‘No, not at all,’ Evangeline protested.
‘I dare say you think that he is yours for the taking,’ declared Miss French indignantly, springing to her feet.
‘If that is your view, then I can’t deny you the right to express it,’ Evangeline replied, reaching the limit of her patience.
‘Come, Maria, we will bid Evangeline farewell,’ said Jennifer, seeing that they were not going to find out anything else. ‘Obviously Evangeline still thinks that she can snare any man she wants. Well, she will soon find that she is mistaken, that is all.’
Chapter Five
It was not until Friday that it occurred to Michael that he had still not found anyone to iron his vestments. Necessity had ensured that he was quite capable of ironing them himself, but he had no flat iron. He was quite certain that Janet would willingly do them for him, but so much was already being done for him by the staff of Illingham Hall that he rather shied away from asking for more. Had there been a laundry day that week, then he might have sent them with the washing, but as he had only just moved in, there was no need for anything to be washed.
After a little thought, he waited until he knew that school was over, and walked down the village street in search of Miss Leicester.
‘Bring them down here,’ she said, when he had explained his dilemma. ‘I’ll do them for you.’
‘I am quite happy to do them myself,’ he said. ‘I am very capable and do not want to give anyone extra work.’
Miss Leicester thought for a moment. ‘I have a suggestion to make,’ she said. ‘Two of the window frames in the schoolroom are not very secure. If you would be so good as to fasten them for me with hammer and nails, then I will iron your vestments. It will be a fair exchange.’
‘An excellent idea,’ Michael replied. ‘I’ll go and get them.’
‘And I will have hammer and nails at the ready.’
In the event, Michael’s task did not take as long as Miss Leicester’s, so he remained in the cottage talking to her whilst she finished the ironing. ‘Thank you very much, Miss Leicester,’ he said, when she had finished. ‘I shall be the image of the perfectly dressed clergyman.’
‘Please, call me Juliana,’ said the schoolmistress. ‘We are very much in the same boat, are we not? Both educated people in a country village where education is a rarity; both incomers; very much the same age, if my guess is correct.’
‘Very well, then; you must call me Michael,’ he answered.
He had been so pleased to find friendship that it was not until he lay in bed that night that he wondered whether he had been entirely wise to encourage a spinster to call him by hi
s Christian name so early in their acquaintance. However, the deed was done, and it would be dreadfully insulting to tell her now that she must call him Mr Buckleigh. He decided that since she was a sensible woman, she would probably be prepared to accept that they should only use Christian names in private. But then, that suggestion would imply an intimacy between them that did not exist. Really, life could be very complicated.
It was with a feeling of anticipation that was part excitement and part anxiety that Michael collected his crisply ironed vestments and his service books and set off for church on Sunday morning. Fortunately, the day was fine and bright, but the walk did give him pause for thought. Come a wet morning with muddy roads, he could easily end up looking like a drowned rat. He might keep his robes in the vestry, as long as the church was not damp. He would have to ask Samuel’s advice. If there was any danger that they might become mouldy, no doubt the verger would be delighted to say so!
So well prepared was he that it was with a sense of shock that he opened the door to find Henry Lusty already there. ‘Ah, Buckleigh, I’m glad you’re in good time,’ he said. ‘You will assist me.’
Of course, Mr Lusty was the vicar and he was perfectly entitled to come and conduct the service. It seemed a little unfair, however, that he should have allowed his curate to make all the preparations without informing him that his work would be unnecessary. Michael must have looked completely taken aback, for Lusty spoke again, this time with a touch of impatience. ‘I do trust that you have not forgotten that I am the vicar of this church and you are merely the curate?’
‘No indeed,’ Michael replied, pulling himself together. ‘It’s an agreeable surprise to see you here. I had not expected you today. I was feeling very nervous, I must confess.’
‘It’s not at all surprising,’ said Lusty, his tone indulgent now that his superiority had been established. ‘You will soon become accustomed. I shall turn up from time to time, you may be certain, just to ensure that you are on your toes. Come now. You may help me into my things.’
Much to his annoyance, after the service was over Michael was forced to acknowledge to himself that his greatest disappointment had been that he had been unable to do anything to impress Miss Granby. She and her father had come in just before the start of the service and had taken their places near the front. She had been dressed on this occasion in a pink gown and pelisse and a straw bonnet with pink ribbons and feather to match. He had imagined her being in the congregation whilst he captivated all present with his powerful and eloquent words. Instead, he had been obliged to wander about after Henry Lusty, holding things for him, reading what was passed to him and, in his own mind, impressing nobody at all, least of all himself. It had taken all the self-control of which he was capable to conceal his disappointment. At the close of the service, he had wanted to disappear into the vestry and never come out. He would have been quite surprised to discover that he was far from being the only disappointed person present.
When the new vicar had been selected, Lusty had been the preferred candidate of the Bishop of Sheffield. Perhaps partly out of guilt because he had robbed the clergyman of his bride, Ashbourne had confirmed the appointment. However, the villagers did not care for Mr Lusty, who had never taken very much interest in parish affairs, preferring to attend to his duties as bishop’s chaplain. Michael, on the other hand, had made a favourable impression even in the few days that he had been in the village and had begun to endear himself to many. He had listened tolerantly to Samuel’s ramblings, and exclaimed appreciatively about Janet’s cooking. His personal call on Mrs Davies, and his willingness to taste her peapod wine had not gone amiss. He had made sure that he was up in time to thank the lad who had come to clean the grate. The landlady at the Olde Oak was partial to a handsome young man and had enjoyed her conversation with him; some of the children who attended the school had spoken to the new curate and received a cheerful reply. This had duly been reported to their parents. The congregation was a large one that day. Most of them were local to the village, but among them were Sir Lyle and Lady Belton and their daughter Amelia. Everyone had come to church hoping to see Michael in action.
Evangeline Granby had been among those who were disappointed, somewhat to her own surprise. She had come intending to look for things in the curate’s conduct of worship in which she might find fault. Instead, she had had to watch Henry Lusty taking charge whilst Michael acted as his assistant. The thing was that she found herself not watching Lusty at all, but observing the other clergyman instead. Whether performing the tasks allotted to him by the vicar, or simply standing or sitting, he played his part with enormous dignity and grace. By the end of the service she realized, to her mortification, that whereas she had absolutely no idea of what Mr Lusty had said or done, she could have described Michael’s every gesture and movement in some detail.
Mr Lusty, though pleased at the numbers present, was disappointed at the restlessness of his congregation. He was also a little baffled at their behaviour afterwards, as they dutifully thanked him for his message, but spent as long, if not longer, commending the curate for his reading, his stance, and his expression.
‘You must ask Mr Buckleigh to dine with us,’ Amelia told her father, as they left the church.
‘Very well, puss,’ he answered, smiling down at her. ‘No doubt you’ll want us to come again so that we can hear him speak.’
‘It was very disappointing, I must say,’ agreed Lady Belton, unfortunately in Mr Lusty’s hearing.
They were then obliged to speak to Mr Lusty who was also exchanging words with Mr Granby, for he wanted to be certain that his curate knew that he was in good standing with some of the best families. This meant that by the time the Granbys and the Beltons were free to engage Mr Buckleigh in conversation, he was already talking easily with Mr and Mrs Crossley, who were tenant farmers of Lord Ashbourne.
‘We can take you up with us when we go home if you like, Reverend,’ Mrs Crossley was saying comfortably. ‘We have plenty of room for you and Miss Leicester, now that our Anna is married and living away.’
Mr Granby greeted the young curate warmly at this point, and commended him for his first public appearance. ‘I was pleased to see that you didn’t fling the Good Book today in the way that you did when we encountered the highwaymen,’ he said jocularly.
The busy hubbub stilled for a moment as those who had been talking about their own concerns took in this interesting piece of information. ‘What was this?’ Mr Lusty asked, his face disapproving. ‘I trust that Buckleigh has not been treating the scriptures carelessly.’
‘Mr Buckleigh has been of great service to the community in aiding the capture of some desperate rogues,’ Sir Lyle explained, his very tone a warning against further criticism of the young curate.
‘Indeed,’ answered Lusty. ‘Remarkable.’ He sounded very unimpressed.
‘In fact, Mr Buckleigh, I have been meaning to ask you, are you a cricket player?’ Mr Granby enquired.
‘Why yes. I very much enjoyed playing at Oxford,’ Michael replied.
‘It is just that there is an annual match which takes place at the Illingham Hall garden party in the summer,’ he went on. ‘I always captain one side, and Lord Ilam captains the other. I was wondering—’
‘For shame, Mr Granby, sir,’ interrupted Mr Crossley in his deep rumble. ‘His lordship should have an equal chance to claim a new player.’
‘We’ll talk about it over lunch, if you’ll join us,’ said Granby craftily.
‘We were rather hoping that Mr Buckleigh would dine with us today,’ said Sir Lyle, his words echoed by his wife and daughter.
‘You are all very kind, but I have already accepted an invitation to dine with Mr and Mrs Crossley,’ Michael answered. His eyes met those of Miss Granby. He thought that she looked disappointed, but he could not be sure.
There was a moment’s quiet, during which a number of those present became conscious of Henry Lusty’s rigid figure. ‘Mr Lusty, you must joi
n us instead, then,’ said Mr Granby. The vicar thanked him and accepted, but he did not look at all pleased at being second choice. Michael would not have gone so far as to say that he had made an enemy, but he was aware that he would need to treat his superior with kid gloves. Evangeline did not look very excited at the prospect, either.
After most of the congregation had left, and Lady Belton had also accepted an invitation on behalf of her family to dine at Granby Park, the two clergymen prepared to remove their clerical robes.
‘I intend to leave them in the vestry,’ Michael said to Miss Leicester, who was standing nearby. ‘That way, they should not become creased.’
‘I will always iron them for you again if there is need,’ she replied.
‘Only if you have other chores for me to do in exchange,’ he responded cheerfully.
Both Evangeline and Amelia eyed the schoolmistress with interest. She was dressed neatly, if not fashionably, but her figure and carriage were excellent. Many would say that a woman in such a station in life would be an excellent match for a clergyman. Amelia was not pleased at the reflection. Evangeline, though disturbed at the thought, could not have said why.
The Crossley family, together with Miss Leicester, were waiting for Michael when he returned from hanging up his vestments. He had had a brief and rather unsettling conversation with Henry Lusty in the vestry. ‘Well, Buckleigh, you have certainly wasted no time in making yourself popular here.’
Michael hardly knew what to say in response to this, so he simply murmured something about people having been very kind. ‘No doubt,’ Lusty replied, rather thin-lipped. ‘Pray do not imagine that the popularity of a clergyman can be built upon his ability to attract young women. Such allegiance is all too fleeting, believe me.’
‘I have never thought, sir, that a clergyman would be wise to seek popularity in such a way,’ Michael answered, lifting his chin a little.
‘One would not have supposed it from past experience,’ Mr Lusty retorted.