by Joan Smith
“Your Grace,” Thorne replied, smiling. Being miffed with the Duke of Saymore, giver of the Tisbury living, formed no part of Thorne’s plans. He was pleasantly surprised to hear him call Edgitha by so familiar a name. The Dame spoke of the relationship between the two, but this was the first sign he had seen of it. “We are honoured,” he said.
“Eddie?” Helver said, offering his arm and biting back a setdown to the Doctor, who spoke of “we” as though he and Eddie were already a conjugal unit.
“You haven’t been to the meadow all week, Eddie,” he said as they walked away from the Doctor. “You said you usually go there afternoons.”
“I couldn’t get away. I don’t think I’ll be going there any more.’’
Helver heard this with a spasm of anger. “The Doctor has kept you well entertained taking you for drives, I collect. I am hearing strange rumours about you, young lady.”
“There’s a change. It is usually I who am hearing them about you.”
“Is it true you’re going to marry that old stick of a Thorne?”
“A thorn stick is for walking, not marrying,” she quipped, but there was no smile for her efforts. “It is true he has asked me to marry him.”
“But you have refused?”
“Not refused exactly. I haven’t accepted either.”
“You can’t be serious! He’s got grey hair at the temples, Eddie. A silly old man who runs around pouring his religious twaddle into matrons’ ears. And the shuffling way he creeps about, like a reptile or a snake. What do you see in him?”
“Oh, but it is not religious twaddle he whispers in my ears,” she teased.
“No, it is the best way to catch a frog or a mouse and swallow it whole, and when to shed your skin. All the best snake lore.”
“Why do you call him a snake?” she asked, pleased at Helver’s anger and trying to gauge the degree of jealousy in it.
“Because he reminds me of Satan in disguise. And not much of a disguise, either. Don’t be an Eve and give in to him.”
“I’ll bear it in mind if he goes offering me any apples.”
“Well, if he goes offering you the vicarage in Tisbury, you might remember that particular apple belongs to me, and don’t think I mean to give him a job, for I don’t.”
This was joyful news to Edith, but she wished to make sure Helver was jealous and pretended to be vexed with him. “You won’t find anyone better qualified. Everyone says he should get the post, and it will look very odd if you bring in an outsider with your own Doctor Thorne going begging.”
“Our own Doctor Thorne may go to hell and damnation where he belongs. ‘We are honoured!’ He thinks he owns you already.” Edith smiled a smile that infuriated him, and he said, “Travers has found some old book about Tudor times for your mother. She’ll send it over.”
“Why don’t you bring it?” Edith asked, remembering her mother’s half-stated inference that respectable house calls were not entirely unacceptable and forgetting completely that Thorne was dying to get Helver to the Court.
“What, and have to sit and listen to old Thorne prose my ear off about gospels and sermons and theology? When does he leave?”
“Sunday."
“Would the Dame let me in, do you think?”
“She will not object.”
“I could bring Lady Anne along for an excuse.”
“You don’t need an excuse to call on us, Helver.”
“Since when?” he asked with a rueful smile. “You let the cat out of the bag the other day. You said she wouldn’t mind if I brought Lady Anne. She doesn’t like me, and who shall blame her.”
Helver looked offended; Edith was angry with her mama but with Helver, too, for giving so much cause for minding. Between baronesses and bailiff’s wives he seemed always to give rise to gossip. “How is your affair with Milady going?”
“Poorly. Like the Congress of Vienna, il ne marche pas, mais il danse.”
“What?”
“Never mind. It would take us too deeply into French and politics.”
“This is the first time she has ever come to one of our assemblies. I suppose you asked her to come?”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“I notice you stood up with her first, as soon as she got here.”
“You will have noticed, as well, I hope, that she was with my aunt and uncle. It was a courtesy merely. Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Eddie?” he asked hopefully.
“Certainly not! She is excessively pretty. Much prettier than the Widow Malone was.”
“But not nearly so pretty as Dame Durden’s daughter,” he smiled gallantly, and Edith flushed with pleasure. “Yes, you have even the Spanish ladies beat, I think. You look a little Spanish with your hair the way you wear it. If the Dame makes you get married, I’ll be your cavaliere servente, shall I?”
“I only look Spanish, and I don’t think Dorion would make a good don. Isn’t that what they call the men there?” She was a little miffed that he followed up his compliments with a reference to her marrying someone else.
“Actually it’s Italy that has the cavaliere serventes,” Helver said stiffly. He noticed that though he had not specified Thorne as a husband, he was the one who occurred to Edith. “But if you do marry Thorne, you’ll need a lover for entertainment. That’s what is done in the Latin countries. They make the young girls marry rich old men.”
“Dorion isn’t rich.”
“All the more reason not to marry him, then. If you’re old and ugly you ought at least to have some money or something to offer a girl.”
“Dorion is very well bred.”
“Eddie, don’t try to gull me you care a hoot for all that Saxon stuff,” he said impatiently. “That’s your mother talking. Look at him now—there he is creeping around the floor with Blanche—Lady De Courcy—and a fine pair they make, too. Does he look like a purebred anything to you, except possibly a thoroughbred boa constrictor who wants to gobble her whole?” He was amazed to see that the Doctor was, in fact, smirking at Blanche in a way that lent some credence to her claim of having attached him.
Eddie looked and had to agree that his blood did very little to enhance his exterior, but she did not admit it aloud. Instead, she spoke about the useful and good life a vicar’s wife would lead till Helver told her bluntly that it was the Dame Thorne ought to be offering for, for if she thought she knew enough to be a helpmate to a Doctor of Divinity, she was crazy.
“Dorion doesn’t think so!” she shot back, cut by this hurting truth.
Their dance was over, but Dorion stood with Lady De Courcy; and, as neither Eddie nor Helver was the least anxious to join them, they made the excuse of getting a glass of punch. He tried to bring forth some semblance of worth in himself by mentioning the brick homes he was building along the Avon, but this only called up the thought of Bessie Moog Sparks and Edith said, “I hear Bessie Sparks is to get a bigger one than all the others, and she doesn’t even live on the river.”
“Joe is my assistant bailiff, you know. He’s an excellent chap.”
“I know all about Joe Sparks. It’s him you used to dash around with before you went away. He wasn’t good for anything but drinking, riding like a demon and chasing girls with you.”
“He’s changed a lot. He’s settled down amazingly since he’s married to Bessie.”
“Yes, and she is still very pretty, too!”
“That has nothing to do with it!”
“Hasn’t it, Helver?”
“Certainly not! What are you hinting at, Eddie? What’s happened to you lately? Has that holy creeper of a Thorne been filling your head with this sort of nonsense?”
“I don’t need Dorion to tell me it’s wrong to make Joe Sparks your bailiff and build him a big house only because you like Bessie.”
Angered beyond civility, he said, “What can you expect of Bluebeard Trebourne?” and marched her promptly back to her doctor, to dance again himself with Lady De Courcy to spite her. If Bessie
Sparks had been there, he would have danced with her, but, in her interesting condition, she was not well enough to attend the assembly.
Lady De Courcy achieved a victory over the village. Not only did the Duke of Saymore pay her more attention than was proper, but Sir Egbert, who had never been seen to dance since marrying Sara, stood up with her for a country dance also. She had one dance with Doctor Thorne and with Mr. Hartman she had two. Sara didn’t speak to Egbert for a week, and took out her ill humour in shouting at Helver. But though Lady De Courcy won an apparent victory, in her heart she knew she had lost the Duke of Saymore. Her most leading comments brought forth no rallying reply, no hint of visits to the little shelter she had found for herself to grow old in. When she told him at last that she was leaving in two days for London, he said, “Tisbury will miss you,” and didn’t ask for her address or whether she was coming back. She and Abbott walked the half a block home.
Edith had confirmed with her own eyes that Helver was in love with Milady—lust, as her mother called it—for he scarcely left her side for the whole last half of the dance. She thought she was a fool not to accept Doctor Thorne on the spot. She nearly did when he broached the matter again before leaving, but Helver had promised to come on Sunday, so she staved off Thorne with a mention that there was no hurry since he didn’t have a living yet.
* * * *
When Lady De Courcy’s travelling carriage with the noble strawberry leaves on the door was hauled out from the stables at the inn and washed down for the trip, the village assumed she wasn’t as crafty as they had thought to be running when she had such a grip on Helver. And she had got Lady Sara and Egbert to recognize her also. They regretted that the red-doored house on the corner would now be sunk to being only brick and mortar like the others. Bessie Sparks’s reputation took a jump—she was considered to be the cause of Milady’s flight, and it was a great inconvenience that her house was so far removed from the village that they heard only secondhand if Helver’s bay mount was seen tethered to the beech tree. With so little to amuse them they turned their interest on the vacant vicarage and determined to get themselves a vicar, for a cleric was always a ripe subject for scandal. If both he and his wife behaved themselves like common folk, they could always be accused of lacking dignity; and, if Dorion and Edith took to putting on airs as people secretly hoped, there was plenty they could say about that, too. But first they had to get the vicarage occupied.
* * *
Chapter 10
In theory, the living of Tisbury and two others were the Duke of Saymore’s to give as he saw fit. The last person in the world he wanted to give the vacancy to was Dorion Thorne, but he was being made aware by subtle pressures that the villagers expected and wanted Thorne to be their vicar. He could not walk down the main street without half a dozen of the good ladies asking him when they could expect to see Doctor Thorne in the pulpit.
At home his mama, a Thorne supporter though she had never met the man, was as impatient as anyone else to be able to attend the service every Sunday instead of only every second Sunday, as they were doing at present. Mr. Evans, the aging rector of St. Michael’s, made the fifteen mile journey twice a month that the good people of Tisbury might hear the word of God and occasionally be christened, married or buried as the need arose.
Thorne was standing by idle, perfectly prepared to fill the post, and unless he went outside the country, Helver knew of no one else to fill it. It had already been vacant too long. He had pretty well decided to offer it to Doctor Thorne when he told Eddie he wouldn’t and, his angry statement to the contrary, he supposed he would do so.
He had still no desire to run into Thorne at the Court, however, and decided to wait till Sunday afternoon to make sure he was gone before hacking over with Travers’s book for the Dame. On Sunday morning it was revealed to him that his mama had invited a few young ladies from the neighbourhood to amuse Lady Anne, and he was to be there to play host. It was an al fresco party his mother had had prepared, with considerable help from Travers and Sara. As is so often the case, the weather did nothing to add to the party’s pleasure. It was not actually raining, but the skies were grey and the breeze chillier than was comfortable, so the party was transferred indoors. What was to have been an elegant pic-nic under the spreading elms turned into a scrambling sit-down luncheon. The guest of honour was smilingly silent but was not a great addition to the festivities, and the young ladies, having come prepared to be seduced by the greatest rake in England, were disappointed to find the host no more than tolerably friendly. The party was not a success, and by five o’clock the disappointed guests were happy enough to get into their carriages and go home.
Helver, who realized he should have had a very good time surrounded by a dozen pretty girls, was not only bored but fidgety. It was impossible to take Travers' book to the Dame, and he had told Edith he would. When the last carriage had left, he took his hack out for a fast ride before dinner.
Thorne had departed right after breakfast. When it got to be three o’clock, then four o’clock, and still Helver had not come, Edith realized he was not coming and told her mama she would take her mount out for a short ride before the storm broke.
“Mind you stay away from the east meadow,” her mother cautioned.
“Don’t worry, I will,” was Edith’s answer. Her pique this time was not directed against her mama. She was angry that Helver hadn’t come. She cantered down to the public road towards Tisbury. In the distance she saw the shells of the brick cottages going up, and set her course in that direction. Sunday with the builders not present was a perfect chance to see them. She dismounted and began looking at the one closest to her. She was not the only visitor, and it was a matter of course that the families, still living in their thatched cottages only a stone’s throw away, closer to the river, should be there in force inspecting progress. She fell into the conversation with the family who was to occupy the particular dwelling she was looking at.
“How very nice this is,” she said to Mrs. Peters, who was smiling rapturously through a hole left in the brick for a window.
“It’ll get the damp out of the cellars and the rats out of the roof,” she was told with a satisfied smile. The woman went on to brag a little about her new home. “Here’s to be our front room,” she said, pointing to one corner of the undivided floor space presently laid with undressed lumber. “With a fireplace in the corner. And a second floor with three bedrooms, all with their own windows and a grate in my and the mister’s room. Not that I’ll think to light it every day, but the wind is chilly off the river in the wintertime. The Dook says it isn’t fitting we should have the wee ones in our bedroom with us—he’s a caution, for sure, that lad. He said to the mister—but I shouldn’t be repeating it to a lady, I’m sure. Still, he’s right.”
It was left for Edith to imagine what indiscretion Helver had spouted about the ineligibility of children in the parents’ bedroom; but, like the mother, Edith felt he was right about it. Trust him to think of that.
A dreamy look suffused the country woman’s face. Life could offer her no more than such a house as this and plenty of children to fill the rooms on the second storey.
“It sounds very cosy,” Edith congratulated her.
“It does surely,” the woman answered, thinking “cosy” an inadequate word to describe her future luxury. “They may say what they will of Helver Trebourne—His Lordship, I ought to be calling him now—but he’s a right one. He ain’t full of starch and manners like the late Dook, but he’s going to be all right. The old one didn’t take such care of us. He may caper up a bit—well, he’s young yet—but I didn’t see the great old gaffer building us such homes as this. And now the young Dook is talking up a new school for the wee ones.”
There was an ominous rumble of thunder, and Edith realized it was time to go home. A few drops of water began falling, and she looked about for a refuge. The old pavilion used for pic-nics was close by, overlooking the rive
r, and she dashed towards it. She was no sooner under its roof than the shower came on hard, and before many more minutes she saw a horseman turn off the road and ride towards the building, seeking shelter like herself. His head was hunched into his collar, and it was by the mount rather than the man that she knew it to be Helver.
“What a day!” he said, removing his hat and shaking himself off as he ran up the steps under the roof. “You, too, were caught unawares, I see.”
“Yes, but I don’t think the shower will last long. It can’t rain so hard for very long.” The rain was lashing in at the open sides of the pavilion by this time.
There was some constraint between them after the near quarrel at the assembly, but, as Helver made no reference to it, Edith was determined to ignore it as well.
“Have you been out riding all alone, Eddie?” he asked as he looked around and saw it to be the case. “The Dame is getting lenient in her old age. You didn’t used to be allowed on the public roads without a footman or groom.”
“I just came out for a short ride and got caught in the rain."
“Has Thorne left?”
“Yes, quite early.”
“I meant to call, but Mama had a party for Lady Anne, and it’s just got over.”
“I see,” she replied, yet it occurred to her that, as he had time for a ride, there was nothing to prevent his having ridden towards Durden Court. “What sort of a party was it, to be over so soon?”
“A very boring party. A luncheon pic-nic that ended up in the house. It’s too bad your mama won’t let you go to such affairs. I knew there was no point asking you.”
“No, I couldn’t have gone. A pity the weather ruined it. I’ve been down to see your new houses, Helver. They’re very nice.”