A Country Gentleman

by Ann Barker

  ‘Yes, it is very fine,’ Lavinia replied with a sigh. She was remembering the kindness with which she had been treated by Lady Thurlby and her son after the death of her parents. Her ladyship had been motherly and comforting. The earl had been hospitable, gentlemanly, very kind and surprisingly understanding.

  Even when her parents were alive, she had not really felt that she had a home. Since their death, Mr and Mrs Stancross had been kindly enough, but she did not feel as if she belonged in their home either. Yet when she looked at Thurlby Hall she felt a tug at her heart-strings, as if this might be a place where she could belong. Perhaps because of the death of her parents, it felt like the place to be for life’s major crises. How she wished that she could have arrived here without all of the masquerade, subterfuge and lies with which she and Isobel had surrounded themselves. How happy she would have been then! She glanced at Isobel and prayed that her friend would not do or say anything too outrageous whilst she was here.

  As the carriage drew up outside Thurlby Hall, the earl, who had already dismounted, came himself to help them down. Looking hopefully into his face, Lavinia could still see anger written across his features. She looked away hurriedly. She could only hope that Lady Thurlby would be more understanding.

  ‘You will be escorted to your rooms as soon as we get inside,’ he said. Lavinia thought that it sounded as though he was giving orders for some wardress to come and march them to their prison cells. ‘After you have put off your bonnets, you will come downstairs immediately and explain yourselves.’ Exactly like a magistrate, Lavinia concluded, and began to feel angry. He might speak of hearing their explanation, but he had clearly judged them already.

  ‘When I have put off my bonnet, I shall wash my hands and face, brush my hair, and change my gown. After that, I shall come downstairs,’ she said, forcing herself to hold his gaze. Her voice, she was pleased to note, hardly trembled at all. ‘Then, if I think that there is the smallest likelihood of your listening, I shall give you the explanation that you have asked for.’ A spark flew between them that must surely have been one of anger. What else could it be?

  He drew a deep breath, but before he could say anything, Lady Thurlby came hurrying into the hall, a letter in her hand and an unmistakable expression of distress upon her face.

  ‘What is it, Mama?’ asked the earl, his anger forgotten as he became aware of his mother’s anxiety.

  ‘I have received a letter from Thomas Jacklyn, the son of my dear friend Clarice. It appears that Clarice is very ill and not expected to live.’ Her voice choked on a sob.

  Lavinia hurried forward with quick sympathy, her hands held out. ‘Oh dear, Godmama, I am so sorry,’ she said.

  Lady Thurlby gave her hands a little squeeze and, swallowing her sob, smiled mistily at the younger woman. The earl who had reached his mother’s side just after her goddaughter, laid a hand on her shoulder. He looked down at Lavinia. For the very first time, there was something in his eyes which might have been approval.

  ‘Thank you, my dear. I am so very distressed that I am obliged to welcome you in this kind of way. It is not what I had intended at all.’

  ‘Please do not worry, Aunt Phyllis,’ said Lavinia. ‘You have far more pressing matters to consider.’

  ‘Indeed, I cannot seem to be able to think of anything else,’ her ladyship agreed. ‘Victor—’

  ‘You want me to take you to her,’ said the earl. ‘Of course. How soon can you be ready to travel?’

  ‘I am packed already,’ confessed her ladyship. ‘I was confident that you would make such an offer.’

  ‘I trust you will not have to make too long a journey,’ said Lavinia anxiously.

  ‘Some thirty miles,’ replied her ladyship. ‘I must confess that my one fear was that I should be obliged to leave you alone, but by a happy chance, you have brought Miss Macclesfield with you.’

  ‘Happy indeed,’ murmured the earl sardonically.

  Isobel, showing more discretion than might have been expected from one of her temperament, had remained in the background until now, when she made her curtsy. ‘Thank you for your welcome, Lady Thurlby,’ she said. ‘I am so sorry to hear about your friend.’

  ‘I shall only be away for two or three nights at the most,’ the earl resumed, a slight frown between his brows, ‘but I can hardly entertain two young ladies here without a chaperon.’

  ‘I have sent for Miss Wheatman,’ said Lady Thurlby. She turned to Lavinia and Isobel. ‘Miss Wheatman is our late vicar’s sister,’ she explained. ‘She is at something of a loose end since her brother passed away twelve months ago. Although her little cottage is comfortable enough, I think she will be glad of a change.’ Hearing the earl mutter under his breath, she added, ‘Did you say something, my dear?’

  ‘Nothing of consequence, Mama,’ he replied innocently. ‘I merely observed that it would be an ideal solution.’

  Lady Thurlby turned to Isobel and Lavinia. ‘I am so sorry about this, not just for you both, but selfishly for myself as well. I had been looking forward to outings and going shopping, you see.’

  ‘All of that can easily wait,’ said Lavinia. ‘Isobel and I will keep each other very well amused, you may be sure.’

  Her ladyship agreed with a nod, and turned away to deal with some matter that had just come to her mind.

  The earl caught hold of Lavinia’s arm. ‘Yes, that may be so,’ he said in an undertone. ‘But if you get up to anything – anything untoward in your efforts to amuse yourselves, I will make you wish that you had never been born. Do you understand me?’

  Lavinia stared back at him, her expression as stony as his. ‘Yes, I understand you,’ she responded. But, she added to herself, I don’t think that you understand me at all.

  Chapter Six

  ‘We must escape,’ said Isobel the following morning. They were not sharing a room, but they had been placed next door to one another, and Isobel had padded through to Lavinia’s room in her dressing-gown. ‘I do not have the slightest intention of collecting grasses to please that silly old woman.’

  ‘I do not see how we can avoid it,’ Lavinia replied.

  Miss Wheatman had been admitted by his lordship’s butler at the same time as Lavinia and Isobel had descended the stairs the previous day, their bonnets discarded. Lavinia had also put off her mourning attire, to her great relief, and was dressed much more becomingly in a gown of pale yellow, with bunches of primroses embroidered above the frill near the hem, on the cuffs of the puffed sleeves and at the neckline. Lord Thurlby, glancing up the stairs, had seen her, looked away, and then looked again. She had looked pretty enough in black. This particular shade complemented her colouring, bringing out golden tints in her soft, light-brown hair, and the style of the gown emphasized her excellent figure. His mother’s goddaughter had blossomed into a very pretty, exceedingly desirable young woman. Forcing this idea to the back of his mind, he had reminded himself of all the things that she had done wrong. What a pity she is so giddy and thoughtless, he had said to himself, before stepping back to avoid being noticed.

  Miss Wheatman had beamed at the sight of the two young ladies, professing herself to be delighted to be of service, if in such unfortunate circumstances.

  ‘You are very good,’ Lady Thurlby had said, after she had formally introduced the newcomer to her guests, and conducted them all into the drawing room, the earl strolling in behind. By that time the countess must surely have been longing to be gone, but she had given no indication of it. ‘I am sure that Isobel and Lavinia will benefit extremely from your company.’

  ‘I have all kinds of schemes for our entertainment,’ Miss Wheatman had said, adding after a moment’s consideration, ‘I have always thought botany an unexceptionable study for a young woman. It seems to me that there are many different kinds of grasses to be found in any ordinary meadow in England. It would be a charming project to go out into the fields and see how many different types we might find. We could even have a little competition to di
scover who could find the most; perhaps with a little prize. What say you, my lord?’ Miss Wheatman smiled at the earl, and then at the two young ladies, who were looking decidedly unimpressed at this idea.

  ‘A splendid notion,’ the earl had answered blandly. ‘Make sure you choose a sizeable meadow.’

  ‘Ah, but the size of the meadow is not necessarily the most significant factor,’ Miss Wheatman had responded, holding up an admonishing finger, then remembering to whom she was speaking and hastily putting the finger down again. ‘The age of the meadow is by far the more important determining feature in matters of this kind.’

  The two young ladies had listened to Lord Thurlby enduring a lecture from the diminutive grey-haired, rosy-cheeked spinster, and had tried not to giggle. Lavinia had been more successful than Isobel, for she had found herself watching the earl, rather than his interlocutrice. How patient he had looked, as he had sat, his head tilted to one side as he had listened to this string of information which must surely interest him not at all! Why could he not show the same patience with me, she had wondered?

  ‘Well what do you say, ladies?’ Miss Wheatman had said eventually. ‘How exciting it will be to find our grasses, and stick them into a book. I shall award a pretty handkerchief to which ever of you can collect the most. In fact, my lord, I have another splendid idea.’

  ‘Not another one,’ the earl had answered, trying to sound pleased and impressed.

  ‘Yes, indeed. We could have an additional prize for whichever young lady makes the most attractive arrangement in her book! You could award that on your return, my lord. It will be something for you to look forward to.’

  ‘Undoubtedly,’ Lady Thurlby had agreed, carefully avoiding her son’s eye.

  ‘If it is fine, we could start tomorrow, could we not, ladies?’ Miss Wheatman had beamed, quite unconscious of the torture that she was inflicting. ‘And if it is wet, I have an alternative plan, you may be sure; but do not expect me to tell you what it is straight away! I want it to be a delightful surprise!’

  ‘We must find a way to avoid that woman,’ Isobel had said fervently when they had gone upstairs to change for dinner. ‘I vow and declare that if I have to suffer very much of her company, she will drive me stark-staring mad!’

  Lavinia was in agreement with this sentiment but, as she said the following morning, she could not see how Miss Wheatman and her schemes could be avoided. ‘We will just have to make the best of it,’ she sighed. She was still sitting up in bed, sipping chocolate in her room, whence Isobel had come, having risen much earlier than usual in order to plan their campaign. ‘Remember that she said she would be waiting downstairs for us in the breakfast parlour,’ Lavinia went on. ‘If we want to have any breakfast, we will have to go down there, and then we will be caught.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ Isobel replied. ‘Ring your bell.’ Lavinia did so. When the maid came, Isobel said, ‘Miss Lavinia would like her breakfast in bed today. Bring mine up here as well, and we’ll have it together.’

  Lavinia did not really like the way in which Isobel had given the order in her name. Furthermore, she knew that breakfast in bed was frowned upon at Thurlby Hall. ‘The staff have plenty to do without us making them trail food up to the bedrooms,’ her ladyship always said. The only exception to this rule was if someone was ill.

  Isobel wrinkled her nose on being reminded of this custom. ‘Oh pooh, who’s to know?’ she said. ‘Lord and Lady Thurlby are both from home.’ Lavinia was as reluctant to spend the morning looking at grasses as was the other girl, so she said no more on the matter, and soon they were sharing toast and coffee, leaving Miss Wheatman to a solitary repast in the breakfast parlour.

  After the two friends had helped each other dress, they crept downstairs, trying not to giggle, and escaped out of a side door.

  ‘Now where?’ Isobel asked. ‘You know this place best.’

  Lavinia thought. ‘We could always go to the church,’ she suggested. ‘It has some interesting brasses.’

  Isobel cast her eyes heavenwards. ‘Now you are beginning to sound like Maisy Daisy,’ she said. They had discovered the night before that Miss Wheatman’s Christian name was Daisy, so Isobel, making a play on her name in the way in which she had been so adept at school, had nicknamed her Maisy Daisy.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Lavinia apologetically. ‘There isn’t a lot to do around here. Perhaps you would have been better off staying in London after all.’ Then she remembered Mrs Wilbraham and the threat of Harrogate and instantly wanted to bite back her words.

  Isobel gave no sign of distress but simply tucked her hand into her friend’s arm and gave it a little squeeze. ‘But then I wouldn’t have had your company, would I? Lead on, then. The church it must be.’

  The walk to the church was about a mile in length, but the day was sunny, and the time passed pleasantly enough in conversation about some of their acquaintance in London. Yet again, Lavinia noticed the curious phenomenon of Isobel blushing at the mention of Lord Riseholm’s name.

  In a moment of impulse she said, ‘Isobel, are you in love with Lord Riseholm?’

  Again, Isobel blushed, but quickly recovered herself. ‘In love with him? Good heavens! He is an amusing rake, that is all, and far more entertaining than some of the insipid youths that one meets – or than stuffy country gentlemen without a sense of humour.’

  Lavinia made no reply to this, but she recalled Lord Thurlby’s wry expression when Miss Wheatman had been outlining her schemes, and decided that he certainly did have a sense of humour, although at times it might be rather well hidden. She also noted with interest that Isobel had not actually denied being in love with Lord Riseholm.

  The parish church was a fine example of Norman architecture, with a charming lych gate, under which many a newly married couple had paused to exchange a kiss before embarking upon their new life together. Lavinia had a fondness for the place. She remembered attending services there with her parents, when she had visited her godmother years ago. The present Lord Thurlby’s father and brother had still been alive then, and he himself had been newly home from Oxford. She also recalled how later Thurlby had found her there after her parents’ death. The quiet serenity of the ancient church had offered her comfort when she had needed it most. She did hope that Isobel would not say anything mocking about it.

  In the event, however, they did not go inside the church immediately, for as they strolled through the cemetery, a young man opened the gate on the other side of the graveyard, and began to walk towards them.

  ‘Oh my goodness, who is that?’ exclaimed Isobel in an admiring tone.

  ‘It looks as if it might be the vicar, by his dress,’ Lavinia replied.

  ‘Suddenly, I am starting to feel rather pious,’ murmured Isobel, her eyes sparkling. In her experience, clergyman were often elderly, nearly always married, and very seldom the answer to love’s young dream. This young man, on the other hand, was of medium height, with lustrous brown, wavy hair swept back from a broad brow. His complexion was healthy, his eyes clear, and without doubt he would count as a handsome man in any company.

  He smiled at them, showing an excellent set of teeth. ‘Ladies,’ he said, bowing politely. ‘Timothy Ames at your service. I am the vicar of this parish. Are you hoping to visit the church?’

  Both ladies curtsied in response. ‘I am Lavinia Muir, and this is my friend Isobel Macclesfield,’ said Lavinia. ‘We are visiting Thurlby Hall. Lady Thurlby is my godmother.’

  ‘We have come out for a walk, but we would love to see round the church, if you are not too busy,’ Isobel added. ‘We love old churches, do we not, Lavinia?’

  Refraining from contradicting this astonishing assertion, Lavinia simply nodded her head.

  ‘Then I would be delighted to escort you,’ the young man responded. ‘Please come this way. The church is very old, as you see. It was begun in the year 987, but not completed until a hundred years later. Notice the dog tooth design around the round arch in the porch
. This is very characteristic of the time.’

  Both young ladies looked and admired; but it has to be said that although Lavinia was dutifully admiring the stonework, Isobel was more interested in the man who had drawn it to their attention.

  Once inside, they all paused for a few minutes to allow their eyes to adjust, for the interior was quite dim. That done, they looked about them. ‘Here is the font,’ Mr Ames said, pointing to a venerable stone object which stood near the door. ‘It is probably as old as the earliest part of the building.’

  ‘Have you baptized any babies in it as yet?’ Isobel asked. ‘Even your own, for instance? Or is a vicar not permitted to baptize his own children?’

  Lavinia blushed at this – to her ears at least – blatant piece of probing, but the vicar did not appear to take exception to her words. ‘Yes, indeed I have, but not my own. I am unmarried as yet. But a vicar is certainly allowed to baptize his own children.’

  Isobel smiled saucily at Lavinia. ‘I hope you haven’t dropped any,’ she said. ‘I’m sure I should be terrified.’

  Ames laughed. ‘Then it is fortunate that it does not fall to your lot,’ he said. ‘No, I have never dropped a baby, but I must confess that I was a little nervous at my first few baptisms. Now, allow me to show you something else.’

  ‘I do trust you will show us the brasses for I which I believe this church is famous,’ said Isobel, shamelessly quoting the piece of information that Lavinia had let slip earlier.

  ‘You have been well informed,’ said the vicar. ‘Yes indeed, come this way, ladies. They are well worth a journey by themselves.’