by Joan Smith
“Oh, no! We are eager to get on with it. I hope you will do us the honour to attend our wedding, Your Grace.”
“I don’t mean to miss Eddie’s wedding. When is it to be?"
“The last Saturday of June. We shall send you a card.”
“Perhaps I’ll give the bride away. She has no father to do it for her.”
“That would be very kind of you,” Thorne answered, greatly pleased with the notion.
“I’ll talk it over with Eddie and the Dame and see what they think.”
Thorne was deep in concentration as he drove back to the Court. That his bride was called Eddie by the Duke filled him with glee. He spoke of her almost as a sister, or better, girl friend, and, if that couldn’t be put to advantage, he wasn’t Dorion Q. Thorne. He felt Edith could wind the fellow round her thumb if only she weren’t such a little fool.
In the vestibule, Travers was lying in wait for Helver and asked him at once what he thought of Doctor Thorne as a new vicar.
“He’s a jackanapes, if you want the truth. I can’t imagine what Eddie sees in him.”
“What the Durdens see in him isn’t visible to the naked eye. Blood—Saxon blood. Of course, it is all the Dame’s doings. It must be.”
“It is the Dame pushing the match, but she wouldn’t make Eddie have him. Would she?” A little frown creased his brow.
Travers weighed her answer carefully. An affirmative would clinch Helver’s marrying Edith. A heroine being forced into a loveless marriage would appeal strongly to him; but, as there was a definite possibility that Edith wanted to marry Thorne, she would not like to throw the girl into the path of being kidnapped and dragged to Gretna Green, which she well knew Helver was capable of doing. On the other hand, she suspected that Edith had always loved Helver and was becoming more and more convinced that the feeling was now reciprocated. “Why don’t you ask her?” she compromised.
“I will,” he said and walked away frowning harder than ever. He was absent-minded throughout dinner, so Travers didn’t give up hope of yet seeing her favourite settled to her satisfaction.
Helver didn’t go out that evening. He went early to his room and thought over the turn events were taking. He couldn’t believe Edith loved Thorne, but he couldn’t believe either that she would have become engaged to him unless she was determined to marry him. She was a prim little lady; and breaking an engagement, especially to a churchman like Thorne, was not the sort of activity indulged in by well-bred young ladies. He would tred softly, for a change. There was a month till the wedding. Anything could happen in a month.
* * *
Chapter 12
On Sunday Helver had the experience, which he did not consider a pleasure, of having his benevolence bruited from the pulpit by Doctor Thorne. The learned Doctor spoke long, for, in addition to a sermon he wrote to display his erudition and eloquence, he had to say several words regarding his benefactor. He had worked out a laboured analogy featuring himself as the shepherd of the flock, with Lord Saymore the man hiring the shepherd. Butter was poured over everyone, from employer to shepherd to sheep. There never was a better flock, and never one in such good hands, either, both temporal and spiritual.
It was when Dorion was in the pulpit that Edith would think she could marry him, but today she took no pleasure in his speech. To hear him publicly praise Helver, whom he abused in private, was extremely annoying. After the service and a good deal of hand shaking and complimenting—for the good people of Tisbury found no fault in the speech—the two guides, temporal and spiritual, were to repair to Durden Court for luncheon. This had been Doctor Thorne’s idea. He meant to foster the friendship between the families to the utmost of his considerable abilities.
Being six years older than the fatherless Duke, he hoped to stand in as a sort of father for the boy in managing his various affairs, but was soon disabused of this idea. “I would be happy to give the Beadle a hand in the matter of the parish boys,” he began, referring to the orphans. “As they assist at my services, I will come to know them well, and there is no need for the Parish Officer to be running to you every time he has a truant on his hands.”
“No need to run to you, either, Doctor Thorne,” Helver replied. “If the Parish Officer and the Beadle between them can’t handle such a small matter, they are incompetent and must be replaced.” Then turning to Dame Durden with a smile he said, “I haven’t tasted roast bitterns and Lumbard fritters since I left home, Ma’am. I think yours must be the last house in Wiltshire that still serves them.”
“The old ways are good enough for me,” she answered, pleased with the compliment.
“Nowhere else in England could one sit down to such a meal as this,” Thorne said, to outdo him in praise.
“How are the houses along the edge of the river coming, Helver?” Dame Durden enquired after a little.
“The brickwork is coming along nicely. Nothing much has been done inside yet. It’s hard to get well-qualified workmen.”
“That is a vastly expensive project you are taking on,” Thorne mentioned. With so much money to throw around, another two hundred a year would never be missed, he was thinking. “I don’t think it does to spoil those good, simple people. If I might proffer a suggestion, Your Grace, could the men and women not do the interior work themselves, during the winter months when their farm labour is not great?”
“No, I don’t want shoddy amateur work; it is a job for carpenters and stone-layers. The craftsmen can well use the work; it is only that, with so many homes being built at one time, they are busy.”
“I should have contented myself with replacing one or two of the worst and let the others be for the present.”
“My bailiff and I considered all alternatives. It was less costly to have done with it all at one time. Ordering the materials in large quantities was less expensive, and also saved time.”
“As to a bailiff, I shouldn’t put myself totally in his hands till I had a good notion of his character, Your Grace. They are only mortals, like the rest of us, and subject to human failings. There is no saying he isn’t looking to make a profit on such a transaction himself. There must have been a great quantity of materials purchased, and workers contracted and so on. Very likely he has taken advantage of your inexperience in such matters and made himself a handsome profit under the table.”
“It is not my custom to put myself totally in anyone’s hands. We took the decision together, Forringer and I, and, as he has been with the family for forty years, serving us faithfully, it’s not likely he’s turned criminal at this late date.”
Edith thought how ironic it was, and how revealing of his true feelings, that Dorion should speak as he did after just praising the common people in the pulpit an hour before.
“Still, you must step cautiously, Your Grace,” Thorne went on. “You will forgive my taking such a liberty, but you are young, and, as I am your spiritual mentor . . ." Helver shot a discouraging glance towards the speaker at this piece of imprudence but held his tongue, and Thorne went on. “I feel it incumbent on me to point out the possible pitfalls.”
“I interpret your duties quite otherwise, Doctor. You should more properly restrict yourself to spiritual matters.”
“Yes, very true, Your Grace. Spiritual matters are the very gist of my calling. There is no argument there. I agree with you on that score, but, as an older man with some experience in these affairs, I would feel myself remiss not to point out to you that a large building undertaking is a chance for double dealing. I never knew one yet to come in under the budget.”
“Your experience in construction cannot be much greater than my own, Doctor. Surely you didn’t do your thesis on the construction business.”
“Ha, ha, you make a fast joke, Your Grace.” Helver felt that, if he was called “Your Grace” once more at that table, he would be required to arise and leave. “No, indeed, I did my thesis on incipient heterodoxy in the Church of England. An interesti
ng subject. I will be happy to discuss it with you, at your convenience. But as an older man . . ."
“Now take care, Doctor. You will be giving your bride the idea she is marrying an old man.”
"He didn’t say old, he said older. Older than you is what he meant,” Edith said, rather sharply. Her anger was vented at Helver, but it was really her fiancé she was peeved with. Why must he be so officious when it was clear Helver wanted no help from him? She had wanted Dorion to appear in a good light, but it was his worst foot that was going forward at every step. At least he didn’t mention wanting a higher salary.
Helver left as early as was polite after lunch. He found the Doctor intolerable.
“He’s not as biddable as I’d hoped,” was Doctor Thorne’s comment when he sat with his bride in the parlour.
“He is not biddable at all,” Edith told him. “You have only to say ‘black’ to anything for Helver to say ‘white’ at once.”
“You know him very well, Edith. You’ll know just how to manage him. He didn’t take to me much. It is you who must get the St. Michael’s living for us. Best mention it when I’m not around, or he’ll think I put you up to it.”
“I have no intention of conniving behind his back. He has given you Tisbury Church. That will have to do for the present.”
“Oh, yes, it will do for the present. Don’t push him too hard. He’s too good a patron to lose. I heard at Salisbury when I was at the Conference that the Dean had been to see him. He might do something for me in that quarter, if we can keep him interested in us.”
Edith kept all her disgust to herself except such bits as escaped through her flashing eyes and flouncing shoulders when she went to get her pelisse to go to Tisbury, to go through her future home.
“Here will be my study,” Dorion said, standing in the middle of the front parlour.
“This was always the late Vicar’s parlour,” Edith told him. “The study is the little room at the back there, facing the garden.”
“Ha, ha, it wouldn’t hold the half of my library,” Dorion told her, smiling fondly. “No, most of my business and meetings and so on will take place in my study, not the parlour, and we shall require the best room for that. You forget I will have a Duke calling on me.”
“You expect me to entertain in that tiny little room?” Edith asked, surprised at his selfishness.
“Not for long. Not for long, Edith,” he answered with a gloating smile; then he crept off on shuffling feet to inspect the dining room and picture to himself a Duke sitting at his board.
His stay at the Court was of indefinite duration. Edith began to fear he intended to stay there till they moved into the Vicarage and was appalled. The next day he asked Edith to go with him to the Hall, where he was eager to ingratiate himself.
“We don’t visit the Hall,” the Dame stated firmly.
“I know you don’t, but this is business, Dame Durden,” Dorion pointed out in his best clerical manner. “It is not a social call. You may be sure of that. I share your feelings on the matter of who is socially acceptable for us to mix with.”
Edith looked at him, and all the little doubts that had been festering gathered to a head in one giant ball of loathing. Hypocrite! He was delighted to have an excuse to be paying a social call on the Duke, and to deny it made it no better but a hundred times worse. Not mixing socially! Hadn’t he bragged that a Duke would be calling on him in the best room, specially set aside for the purpose? Hadn’t he already called once to deliver his thanks, and to be taking herself along proclaimed it as a social call in the clearest manner.
“His Grace would be surprised to hear that,” Edith said angrily.
Thorne looked at her in alarm. “He is not to hear it, Edith. What passes between the family is not for outsiders to hear.”
“He has a good idea already,” Dame Durden said with satisfaction.
When they drove up to the double doors of the Hall and were admitted by a butler, Thorne made no pretence that the visit was anything but a social one. The Duchess, however, was stunned.
“Well, if it isn’t Edith Durden!” she said. “I never thought I’d see the day your mama let you come to call on me, Eddie. Come in and let us meet your young man.”
Although the ladies at the Hall and the ladies at the Court did not call on each other, they, of course, met in other places and were by no means strangers. For that matter, Eddie was well acquainted with the stables and kitchens of the Hall, where she had often been with the heir during her childhood.
The Duchess turned her attention to Doctor Thorne and made him welcome as only a Doctor of Divinity could be welcomed by a religious fanatic.
“So pleased to hear you’re taking over the parish, Doctor,” she gushed. “A shame the way Helver let it go so long.” That Helver had been abroad was either forgotten or thought too poor an excuse to proffer. “But you’ll take us in hand. We’ve been becoming careless with only two sermons a month to tide us over. A lovely sermon you gave us Sunday. So interesting. St. Paul—always one of my favourite saints. Redemption and atonement—so uplifting. I have felt the good of it all week.” As it was only Monday morning, this said little for its sustaining power; but at least her heart was in the right place.
Dorion sensed at once that here was a strong ally for him. “I am happy you liked it, Your Grace,” he said.
“Yes, I think the positive aspects of Christianity must be emphasized. We’ll leave the fire and brimstone to the Baptists.”
“And the sobriety to the Methodists,” she inserted, remembering her six months’ commitment to that strict body.
“It is unusual to find a lady so keenly aware of these theoretical aspects of Christianity,” he began playing up to her. She was no more interested in theology than in the theory of Copernicus, but was thrilled at the imputation.
Helver entered the room just in time to hear Thorne’s last speech and glared at the sight before his eyes. “You wanted to see me, Doctor Thorne?” he asked rather impatiently.
“Your Grace!” Thorne was on his feet. “I hope I don’t disturb you. Merely a social call.” Edith noted the phrase and seethed. “My fiancée and I were just passing and stopped by to pay our respects.”
“Very kind of you,” he said and shook the outstretched hand. “I can’t stay long, I’m very busy. But we’ll have a glass of wine together.”
The wine was produced and they all drank. Thorne found the Duke uncommunicative, and, with a meaningful glance at his bride to soften him, he returned his own attack to the Duchess. His every platitude, clothed in break-teeth words to make it unintelligible, impressed her immensely, and she felt she hadn’t spent such a worthwhile half hour in months.
Helver turned aside to Edith. “It seems this wedding is to have one good effect in any case. This is the first time you have ever called on me, Eddie.”
“It was Dorion’s idea.”
“I assumed as much. Did he have any reason for coming? Does he want to see me about something?”
“No, you heard him say it is a social call.” He wondered that she should blush to admit it. She quickly went on to look about his saloon and compliment him on its various fine furnishings.
Lady Anne was still staying at the Hall, and when her abigail heard there was company, she brushed her charge’s hair and sent her belowstairs in order to give herself a rest. It was very trying playing with dolls for hours on end. Anne looked very pretty when she entered the saloon, and nodded and smiled at everyone. She liked Helver and walked to him and Edith to take a seat. She said not a word but sat down like a polite child to listen to their talk.
A few inquiries as to what she had been doing brought forth no response but only friendly smiles, and, after a moment, she picked up Edith’s reticule and began looking through it.
“That’s not polite, Annie,” Helver chided her gently, with an apologetic smile at his guest.
“It’s all right. There’s nothing in it she can harm,” Edith
said, and Anne settled down to extract pennies and shillings and put them into neat piles, and to examine her face in a little enamelled mirror Edith carried. Doctor Thorne, informed of the girl’s parentage, was eager for her acquaintance, and Anne was called away to sit with the other group.
“Poor Annie,” Edith said. “It is a pity she is so retarded, for she is the prettiest little thing I ever saw.”
“Oh, lord, Thorne’s trying to talk religion to her,” Helver said, smiling; but, to his surprise, Annie made answers to his questions. They heard in amazement that she liked church very much, with all the nice music, and with amusement that she liked to look at the ladies’ hats, too.
“What will your erudite doctor make of that?” Helver asked.
“Her answer is no different from other peoples’, if they told the truth.”
“Yes, it’s pretty hard to get the truth out of people. Why are you marrying him, Eddie?”
“Mama told you why.”
“She told me why she wants you to marry him. You didn’t say a word.”
“My ideas are no different from hers.”
“You want to marry him, then?”
“It is time I settle down.”
“Dammit, Eddie, that’s no reason, and you know it.”
“It’s a very good reason! You’re trying to make something of your life; well, so am I. I can do something useful in the village, helping him.”
“You don’t have to marry him to be useful in the village. Who ever heard of getting married for such a reason?”
“I know you have no good opinion of marriage; I happen to feel differently.”
“Well, so do I, but not about this marriage.”
“Don’t talk about it here,” she said, glancing towards the other group.
“Where, then? We must talk.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know how long he’s staying. I can’t go to the meadow.”
“I’m coming to the Court to see you.”
The Duchess arose and said to her son, “Lady Anne is going to show Doctor Thorne the garden, Helver. Why don’t you and Eddie go along with them?”