by Barker, Ann
All of these thoughts and ideas came together in Michael’s mind as they travelled to Ashbourne Abbey. They were still buzzing about in his head when he stood upon the threshold and saw the man who must surely be his father bending over Evangeline whilst she clutched at his arm. Suddenly, for Michael, the whole scene was overlaid with a red mist. There were other people in the room, but Michael was barely aware of them. He saw before him a man in his forties, immaculately dressed, with jet-black hair save for the white wings at his temples. His face was faintly lined, perhaps with dissipation. There was elegance in his every movement. In Michael’s mind, it seemed as if everything was slowed down, as he watched Ashbourne gently lift Evangeline’s hand from his sleeve, touching her skin as he did so. The earl straightened and took a step forward to meet him. In his eyes, Michael saw the truth of his suspicions. He crossed the room, almost at a run, drew back his fist, and struck Ashbourne down with a blow to the jaw. Then, entirely ignoring the mayhem that resulted from his precipitate action, he turned on his heel and half stumbled, half ran from the room.
Chapter Fourteen
‘Raff!’ Jessie exclaimed anxiously, swinging her feet to the floor. From where she was sitting she could see the prostrate form of her husband.
‘I’ll attend him,’ said Gabriel, as he crossed the room to kneel at his father’s side. The older man was already stirring. ‘He’s all right; just slightly shaken.’
Eustacia, Lady Ilam took hold of Jessie’s arm and urged her to remain seated. ‘Let Gabriel attend to him,’ she said soothingly. Then, to her husband, she said in a puzzled tone, ‘What is the meaning of this? That cannot be the curate of whom you have spoken so highly, my love.’
‘It is,’ Ilam replied shortly.
‘But why would he do such an outrageous thing?’ Eustacia demanded, puzzled.
‘I think I know,’ said Jessie softly. ‘He’s Raff’s son, isn’t he?’ Ilam nodded.
It was left to Evangeline to speak the words that everyone else in the room had in mind. She crossed the room until she was face to face with Lady Agatha. ‘You evil old witch,’ she said.
‘Oh tush, they had to find out some time,’ Lady Agatha said carelessly. ‘The rest of you were tip-toeing around the matter in the most inept way possible.’
By this time, Ashbourne was sitting up, but was still looking a little shaken. ‘Sensitive as always, my dear sister,’ he said, chuckling faintly. ‘Your penalty can be to ring the bell and order me some brandy. Are you all right, Jez, my dear?’ He allowed Ilam to help him to his feet, and thence to the chaise-longue where his wife was sitting.
‘Perfectly all right, if you are well,’ Jessie responded, taking his hand.
‘I shall do,’ said Ashbourne, rubbing his jaw ruefully with the other. By good fortune, he had not struck his head as he fell. He turned to his son. ‘Ilam; would you…?’
Ilam nodded. ‘I’ll go after him.’
After the viscount had left the room, Jessie said, ‘Stacia, take Evangeline up to my dressing room so that she can compose herself.’
‘Good idea,’ remarked Lady Agatha, utterly unconcerned about the furore that she had set in motion. ‘She looks as if she’s been dragged through a hedge by her feet.’
Evangeline stared at her disdainfully, but when she looked in the mirror in Lady Ashbourne’s room she gave a squeak of dismay. Never had she appeared in public looking so untidy. Eustacia gave a chuckle, but bid her sit down and was soon brushing out her hair.
‘Remember how you did my hair for me when I came to stay with you before I was married?’ she said. Evangeline nodded. A few minutes later, Eustacia whispered in her ear, ‘He is very pretty, isn’t he?’
Evangeline turned her head abruptly, to the imminent danger of the arrangement that Eustacia had almost finished. ‘Oh Stacia, I don’t know what to do.’
‘About Mr Buckleigh?’
Evangeline nodded. Then she told her friend everything that had happened between herself and the dashing curate, beginning with their first encounter in Sheffield. ‘I have to admit that I … have a fondness for him,’ she said eventually. ‘But what will Mama and Papa say? A penniless, illegitimate clergyman is not at all what they had in mind for me.’
‘My dear Evangeline, when did that ever worry you?’ Eustacia asked. ‘I seem to recall a time when you declared that all you had to do was to drum your heels upon the floor and they would accede to your demands.’
‘I hope I have grown out of that by now,’ Evangeline replied with dignity.
‘You have said that you’ve a fondness for him. Now I have a fondness for a good many people but I’m only in love with one man.’
‘You’re very lucky,’ Evangeline answered. ‘The man you fell in love with met with your parents’ approval.’
‘Not straight away, he didn’t,’ Eustacia answered with a chuckle. ‘It was almost more than Mama could stomach to see Lord Ashbourne, a former dishonourable suitor of hers, become my father-in-law.’ After a brief silence, Eustacia went on, ‘If it is the thought of living in poverty with him that you cannot bear, then be honest enough to say so straight away. It is not fair to keep the young man dangling.’
‘I am not keeping him dangling,’ Evangeline answered wretchedly. ‘He has not declared himself. Not that I blame him. I … I haven’t been very nice to him, Stacia. I do not even know whether he loves me as—’
‘As you love him?’ Eustacia concluded softly. ‘Well, now might be a good time to go and find him. After what has transpired this afternoon, he must have all kinds of ideas going round in his head and he is probably hurting quite badly.’
‘But I may not be the person that he wants to see. I know that Amelia likes him; I suspect that Miss Leicester does too.’
‘But neither one of them knows what has transpired this afternoon.’
‘You think I should go?’
‘You will have to decide that for yourself – but would you feel at ease if you did not?’
Michael had almost reached the end of the lengthy drive of Ashbourne Abbey when the jingling of harness told him that someone was coming in pursuit.
‘Climb up,’ said Gabriel as he drew the gig to a halt next to his half-brother.
Michael looked up at him, his face stormy and troubled. ‘You’re very good, but I’d rather walk,’ he said.
‘If it’s any comfort to you, I’ve frequently wanted to take a swing at him myself,’ said Ilam. He paused. ‘It was Ashbourne who sent me after you, by the way.’
‘My lord, I don’t want to be rude, but I need some time to myself – to clear my head.’
Ilam sighed. ‘Very well,’ he answered. ‘You know where to find me. My name’s Gabriel, by the way.’ Michael looked at him, startled. ‘We are brothers,’ the other reminded him, before turning the gig and driving back towards the house.
Michael had no idea for how long he walked in the end. In his first anger, all he wanted was never to see Ashbourne again. He had always known that to bear resentment against another was incompatible with his calling as a clergyman, and he had been convinced that he regarded his father with indifference. He had just discovered that to discount a theoretical father was very different from seeing the real man face to face, especially when that man was leering over the girl with whom he was in love.
By the time he reached his cottage, his thoughts were calmer but no clearer. What was certain was that he had struck down a peer of the realm, a nobleman on whose estate much of his work was based, and upon whose good favour his position must partly depend. Such an action could not possibly be overlooked. He would be exceedingly lucky to keep his situation after this.
He then realized that the post had arrived whilst he was out. Lord Ilam employed a man to collect letters from the inn. His lordship had been kind enough to arrange that Michael’s letters should be brought to his door as well. On this occasion, he had only received one letter. A brief glance at it told him that it was from the bishop.
Dear Mr
Buckleigh
It is with a feeling of deep disappointment that I write to inform you that I have received a most serious complaint about your conduct.
He read the opening greeting and the first sentence. For some minutes he stood staring into space, his mind unable to take in any more. He looked down at the letter again, but it contained very little more information. The bishop was very much shocked. He feared that he would have no alternative but to remove Mr Buckleigh from office. The curate was to attend him at his palace in Sheffield.
A complaint! From whom? With a sinking heart, he remembered that Evangeline had threatened to complain to the bishop on more than one occasion. Now it seemed that she had done it; with that action she had destroyed both his fledgling hopes of gaining her love and also his career. He had now failed as a curate for the third time. No doubt Ashbourne would also complain to the bishop after the day’s events. As a consequence, he would be unfrocked, and all his plans for Thea’s safety and future comfort would come to nothing. The poor girl would probably be better off going as a governess, as Miss Leicester had suggested. It couldn’t possibly be less secure than attempting to depend on the provision of her idiot brother!
He poured himself a large glass of brandy. It had been a gift from Lord Ilam, he recalled; Ilam, called Gabriel – his half-brother. For the first time, he remembered that Gabriel had acknowledged the relationship. However ignorant he, Michael, had been, his half-brother clearly had known something about him before. What was more, the violence that he had exhibited towards Ashbourne had not noticeably shocked him. At least the viscount had been favourably disposed towards him, until today. Perhaps talking to him might be a good idea. It was a tiny spark of hope in a very dark landscape. He could not speak to Gabriel now, however, for he was still at Ashbourne Abbey. Michael tossed back the rest of his brandy and, early though it was, he prepared to drink his way through the bottle.
When Evangeline tapped on Michael’s cottage door, there was no answer to her first knock or even her second. Tentatively, she turned the handle and walked in. Michael sat sprawled in his chair, a brandy glass in one hand, one leg carelessly thrown over the arm of his chair. He did not stand as she entered, but looked at her, his brows raised. He had pulled off his stock and his hair was loose and in disarray. Never until this moment had she seen him looking as much like the rogue whom she had met in Sheffield.
His drunken appearance confirmed all her worst fears, but strangely, she did not think any the worse of him. Perhaps Miss Belton and Miss Leicester would be shocked to see the curate drunk, but Evangeline had always thought of him as a man who simply happened to be a clergyman.
‘Mr Buckleigh, you really do look the most complete rake,’ she said, without thinking.
‘All the more attractive to you then, no doubt,’ he replied.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked, honestly puzzled.
‘You obviously have a liking for rakes. Take Fellowes, for instance; you were disporting yourself all over the county with him. Then there was Ashbourne who was pawing you today, leering over you like some debauched roué, without your making any obvious objection. And don’t let us forget Mr Leigh, shall we? You were very happy to go off with him, weren’t you? Didn’t like him so well when you found out that he was a parson, though.’
Evangeline stared at him. A good deal had happened to upset him that day. Furthermore, she could see by the bottle that he was far gone in drink, and he probably did not mean half of what he was saying; but his words hurt nevertheless. ‘You are quite mistaken,’ she began; though to what she was referring she would have had difficulty in saying.
He did not wait for her to explain. ‘Well, don’t worry. I won’t be a parson for too much longer. You can’t blot your copy-book much more than I’ve done, can you? How many curates lay their most distinguished local landowner to the floor on first meeting him? I’ll be unfrocked, then I’ll become a rake, just like Ashbourne and perhaps you’ll find me as desirable as you find him.’ He stood up, swaying slightly. ‘Well? Shall I put my arm around you, rest my cheek against yours, run my hands up and down your arms like he did?’ He suited his actions to his words. ‘How do you like that, eh? Not so much as when he did it, I’ll bet.’
She made no reply, and neither did she struggle. She was not sure that he would listen to anything she said anyway. Eventually her patience was rewarded when he released her. ‘It can’t be as bad as you say, surely,’ she said eventually.
‘Can’t it?’ He walked unsteadily to the table, and picked up a sheet of paper that lay upon it. ‘Just cast your beautiful eyes over that, then look me in the face and tell me that you are not to blame.’ He thrust it into her hand.
‘Infamous!’ she exclaimed, after she had read it. ‘Who could do such a thing?’ Then, as the meaning of the letter sank in, she suddenly remembered that she herself had written a letter of complaint to the bishop: a letter which she had signed, and addressed: a letter that she could not remember having seen in her room recently.
She turned hot and cold. As she looked up at him, shock and consternation were written all over her face. ‘No, it can’t have … Michael, I never meant—’
‘You didn’t mean me to find out. No, I don’t suppose you did. I just wish I could have done so before you ensnared me like all the others. Don’t worry. I won’t be pestering you with my threadbare curate’s attentions. I know; I’ll join the army and put on a scarlet coat. Then you might want to go cantering around the countryside with me.’
‘Michael,’ she ventured.
Before she could say any more, he threw himself back down in his chair again. ‘God, I’m tired.’ He closed his eyes.
Evangeline stared at him in consternation. Was he really going to fall asleep in front of her, in the middle of a conversation? She looked around for something with which to cover him, and in the end ran upstairs, pulled the coverlet off the bed in one of the rooms and brought it back down with her. How young and vulnerable he looked, she thought as she tucked it around him.
She had only just straightened when she noticed that Michael had opened his eyes. ‘Evangeline,’ he murmured in puzzled tones. ‘What are you doing here?’ Then before she could say anything, he covered his eyes with his hand. ‘God, I remember. What a bloody fool I’ve made of myself.’
‘No, I—’ she began.
‘You know damned well I have,’ he interrupted. ‘Would you please go now? I don’t want to talk to anyone just now, least of all you.’
His words had an ominous ring, but she could see that her presence here was not doing any good. He would never listen to her while he was drunk. ‘Very well,’ she answered. She walked to the door, then thought of one thing that had been upon her mind when she had set off for Illingham. ‘Where is your sister? She should not see you like this.’
He wrinkled his brow, as if he were trying to remember. ‘She’s at the school,’ he said eventually.
‘I’ll fetch her and take her home with me,’ she said. She had suspected that Michael might welcome the removal of his sister to another location and had come prepared to take Theodora back with her to Granby Park in the gig.
‘Thank you,’ he answered, closing his eyes again. She went out, softly closing the door behind her.
Michael woke up, he did not know how long after Evangeline’s visit. Indeed, he could have convinced himself that her appearance had been a dream, but for the coverlet around him which carried the faintest hint of her perfume. He wandered into the kitchen for something to eat and, on finding a hunk of bread and cheese, consumed that and some ale. Then he went up to his room to lick his wounds. Janet arrived in order to cook his dinner, but he called down, telling her not to bother. He was not well and his sister was from home.
She was much concerned and could not be dissuaded from preparing a hot drink for him, but after she had brought it upstairs, she left, promising to return in the morning. He did not feel in any condition to argue with her. After she had left, he went down
stairs for the rest of the brandy, and finished the work that he had started earlier.
The following morning he felt as though a whole battalion of elves armed with little hammers had taken up residence inside his head. As well as feeling in poor shape physically, he felt thoroughly ashamed of himself. He was the resident clergyman and ought to be setting a good example to the community. Instead, he had behaved like the village drunkard. What if there had been some emergency the previous evening? He could never have gone.
He went downstairs for hot water so that he could shave and wash and, having taken the jug back to his room and attended to his ablutions, he felt a little better. Then his eyes lit upon his prayer book and once more he felt covered with shame. How could he read the Morning Office when he had behaved so disgracefully? To make matters worse, there was the letter from the bishop that still lay on the table downstairs. In his present mood, he could only feel that the complainant had had the right idea. He was utterly unfit for his office.
He went downstairs at a pace that was quite at variance with his usual athletic stride. Janet had seen him the previous day when he was the worse for wear. He could hear her moving about in the kitchen. He did not know how he was to look her in the face.
He had just reached the bottom of the stairs when Janet came into the room. ‘Good morning, Reverend,’ she said softly. ‘How are you feeling today?’ She was holding a tankard in her hand. ‘His lordship sent this for you,’ she said. ‘Lord Ilam, I should say. He said he thought it would make you feel better.’
Michael looked at her with narrowed eyes. ‘Did you tell Lord Ilam that I was … ill?’ he asked her.
‘Oh no, sir,’ Janet replied. ‘His lordship just seemed to know that you might be in need of something. He said if you drank it down quickly, it would be best.’