The Duke & the Preachers Daughter

by Barbara Cartland

  The Duke dismounted, handed the reins of his horse to the Major and walked through the door.

  The barn had originally held the winter’s hay, but now there was only a small pile of it left and that was in a corner where the girl was already bending over the body of a man.

  The Duke joined her.

  He looked down and saw to his surprise, a distinguished looking man with white hair and fine clear-cut features. He was wearing a threadbare black coat and at his neck were the two white muslin bands which proclaimed him as being a Parson.

  His eyes were shut and his face so pale that at first the Duke thought he was dead.

  Then, as he felt for his pulse, as he had done for Richard last night, he found there was a very faint beat, so faint that at first he thought it was non-existent.

  “He is – alive?”

  The three words were spoken in such a tone of desperate anxiety that the Duke felt relieved that he could reply,

  “Yes, he is alive, but I think you are right. He may have had a stroke.”

  The girl clasped her fingers together, as if at an effort of self-control.

  “What – can I – do?” she asked. “Where can I – find a – doctor for – him?”

  “As it happens,” the Duke replied, “a doctor is calling at my house in less than an hour’s time.”

  “Then could you – ask him to – see my – father?”

  “I think it would be best,” the Duke replied, “if your father was taken to a more congenial place than this.”

  The girl’s eyes widened.

  Then she said,

  “I am – afraid we have – no money.”

  “I am not asking you to pay,” the Duke replied, with a faint smile on his lips. “You had better leave everything in my hands.”

  He turned to walk back the way he had come, and after a second’s pause, the girl followed him.

  “What are you – going to do?” she asked.

  “I am going over to the farm,” the Duke replied, “to ask if the farmer will bring your father to my house in a wagon. I expect you will wish to accompany him and the best way to save him from being jolted would be for you to sit on the floor of the wagon and hold his head in your lap.”

  “I will do – that,” the girl answered breathlessly. “Thank you! Thank you – very much!”

  The Duke reached the door of the barn, then he stopped and looked at her.

  “What is your name?” he enquired.

  “Calvine,” she answered. “My father is the Reverend Aaron Calvine and we come from – Northumberland.”

  The Duke raised his eyebrows but made no comment. He merely swung himself onto his horse and as he picked up the reins he said,

  “Expect the wagon to come for you within the next fifteen minutes. I will see you later.”

  He rode away and the Major followed him to ask,

  “What has happened? Who is that attractive young woman?”

  “Her father is a Parson and he has undoubtedly had a stroke. I thought at first he was dead.”

  “A Parson?” the Major exclaimed. “What was he doing in one of your barns?”

  “I have no idea,” the Duke replied, “but doubtless we shall be told in due course the story of why they are so far from home.”

  “And where is that?” the Major asked.

  “Northumberland,” the Duke replied.

  “I believe you are being deliberately mysterious!” the Major said accusingly.

  “I am merely relating all I know myself. As the Parson appeared to be on the point of death, it was hardly a moment to subject his daughter to a catechism.”

  “It seems extraordinary to me,” the Major said. “If they live in Northumberland, what on earth are they doing here?”

  The Duke did not reply because they had reached the yard of the farm.

  As soon as they clattered into it, the farmer appeared, obviously pleased and gratified to see his employer.

  “Good marnin’ Your Grace. I were a-hopin’ ye’d call.”

  “This is not exactly a social visit, Telford,” the Duke replied. “I have just found a very ill man in one of your barns.”

  “A man?” the farmer echoed. “If it be one of they pesky gypsies, Your Grace, I’ll take a pitchfork to ’em!”

  “No, he is no gypsy but a Parson, who I think has suffered a stroke.”

  The Duke saw the astonishment in the farmer’s face and went on,

  “Get a wagon and convey him to the house. A doctor will be calling on me in the next twenty minutes and I wish to see what he can do to help the gentleman.”

  “That’s good of Your Grace,” the farmer said, “but he’d no right to be a-sleepin’ in me barn, and I can’t think why the dogs didn’t hear him.”

  “Whatever his reasons he is obviously extremely ill,” the Duke said. “I have told his daughter who is with him that you will bring him over to the house as quickly as possible.”

  “I’ll do that, Your Grace, but they’d no right to be there, and that’s a fact!”

  “I shall be waiting for you,” the Duke said briefly and rode away to prevent any further argument.

  He galloped home at such a speed that it was impossible for the Major to question him further.

  When they arrived at Kingswood, the grooms were waiting outside the front door to take the horses and there were footmen on the steps.

  In the Great Hall the Duke handed his hat and whip to the butler saying,

  “There is a wagon arriving here in a short space of time, Bateman, carrying an extremely ill man. I want Doctor. Emerson to see him when he arrives, so instruct Mrs. Newall to have a bedroom prepared for another patient.”

  “Very good, Your Grace, I’ll tell Mrs. Newall right away.”

  The Duke walked across the Great Hall.

  Only as he was turning towards the library, a sudden thought struck him and he turned back to say,

  “There is a young woman with the sick man – his daughter. Tell Mrs. Newall that two rooms will be required.”

  “Very good, Your Grace.”

  The Duke walked into the library.

  “It never rains, but it pours!” he remarked. “First Richard, and now a wandering Parson. I wonder who will be the third casualty?”

  “Good Lord, Nolan! Two is enough!” the Major exclaimed. “The house will become a hospital if you are not careful.”

  “I could not leave the Parson to die unattended in an empty barn,” the Duke replied, as if he was excusing himself.

  “No, of course not. At the same time, it was generous of you to bring him here.”

  “I could hardly say there was not enough room,” the Duke replied with a twist of his lips.

  Two footmen appeared with a tray on which there was a silver pot containing coffee and two large cups.

  Unlike his contemporaries who invariably drank brandy or wine after they had been riding, the Duke preferred coffee and the Major followed his example.

  Holding his cup in his hand, the Duke walked to the window to look out at the lake which glittered golden in the sunshine.

  “I have a feeling, Bevil,” he said, “that yesterday you were thinking it was rather quiet here and that nothing ever happens in the country. Well, your thoughts have certainly been confounded in the last twenty-four hours!”

  “That is true,” the Major agreed. “But I suspect, Nolan, that however tragic Richard’s predicament may be, you are quite enjoying the challenge it affords you.”

  “Challenge is the right word,” the Duke agreed. “It is a challenge and now I am also wondering how I may be involved in taking on another seriously ill man.”

  As he spoke, the door opened and a flunkey announced,

  “Doctor Emerson, Your Grace!”

  The Duke turned with his hand outstretched.

  “Good morning, Doctor. I am glad to see you. Have you had a chance yet to examine your patient?”

  “Not yet, Your Grace.”

  The Doctor wa
s a middle-aged man who had treated the Wood family ever since he had first come to the neighbourhood.

  He knew that Richard Wood was the Duke’s heir presumptive and that if he died the title and the estate would pass to another cousin whom all the family disliked.

  He therefore said with an effort to create optimism,

  “I’m sure he’s been well looked after by Hawkins who is a better nurse than anyone I could provide.”

  “Hawkins is excellent in that capacity,” the Duke agreed. “He told me before I went riding that Richard had passed a peaceful night and he thought he was breathing a little easier.”

  “That’s good news, Your Grace!” the doctor exclaimed. “I’ll go up and examine him, then bring you a report.”

  “When you have finished with Richard, I have another patient for you to see,” the Duke said.

  Doctor Emerson raised his eyebrows.

  “Another?”

  “Yes, I found a Parson in one of the barns on the farm, who appears to have suffered a stroke.”

  “A Parson?”

  It was a question and a puzzled one.

  “Nobody knows him,” the Duke said quickly. “In fact his daughter tells me that they come from Northumberland.”

  “Now I know who you are talking about,” Doctor Emerson replied. “One of my patients told me that she had heard there was a Preacher in the neighbourhood and asked if he could come and pray with her.”

  He paused, then as if in explanation added,

  “I will not bore Your Grace with the story of the long feud that exists between the old lady in question and our local Vicar. She will not allow him to cross her threshold, yet she thinks she requires solace for her soul.”

  “Then you can tell your patient,” the Duke said, “that the Preacher is unlikely to be able to help her at the moment. But you shall judge for yourself.”

  “I’ll ask Bateman to let me know when he arrives,” the doctor said. “It was kind of you to bring him here.”

  “As I have just said to my friend, Major Haverington, I cannot complain that there is not enough room,” the Duke answered.

  The doctor laughed.

  “No, indeed. You could quite easily house an Army Corps. I only wish we’d had a hospital of the same size in France.”

  It was nearly luncheon time when the Duke and Major Haverington met again in the library.

  The Duke had not only received a report from Doctor Emerson regarding the two patients in the house, but had also dealt with a large correspondence brought to him by his secretary, and listened to a number of requests from the Major Domo concerning repairs and decorations that were necessary in the house.

  It had in fact been a full morning and he felt he was entitled to a glass of champagne which the butler poured out for him.

  “Well, Bevil, what have you found to do?” he enquired.

  The Major was just about to answer him when the butler asked in a respectful voice,

  “Excuse me asking, Your Grace, but I was not sure where you would wish the young lady to have luncheon.”

  For a moment the Duke found it difficult to think of whom he was speaking.

  Then he realised that he was referring to the daughter of the Reverend Aaron Calvine, and he noted with faint amusement, that the butler who was an extremely perceptive man when it came to putting people in their right categories, referred to Miss Calvine as a ‘lady’.

  The Duke hesitated before he replied with a twinkle in his eye,

  “Ask Miss Calvine to have luncheon with us in the dining room.”

  “Very good, Your Grace.”

  Bateman left the room and the Major exclaimed,

  “The dining room? Surely that is unexpected?”

  “Why not?” the Duke replied. “You are bursting with curiosity and since neither I nor the doctor can tell you all you wish to know, you can ask her for yourself.”

  “The dining room!” the Major repeated, thinking as he spoke, of the shabby appearance of the girl who had run to them for their help.

  “A guest is always a guest,” the Duke said blithely. “Even my father invited the local Vicar to dinner once a year.”

  “My father still does the same,” Major Haverington laughed, “and an extremely boring meal it usually turns out to be!”

  “It is undoubtedly a traditional duty,” the Duke said, “and therefore we must not shirk ours where the Parson’s daughter is concerned.”

  He poured himself another glass of champagne and he thought, as the Major followed his example, that they both had some reason to be curious about the travelling Preacher.

  The Duke remembered such men moving about the countryside when he was a boy.

  They usually appeared at the local races and horse fairs declaiming against the sins of those who were gaming and threatening the fires of hell as a punishment for those who did not listen.

  He remembered being fascinated by the way their voices were raised in a kind of rapture that excited everyone who listened.

  Sometimes the exhortation was followed by a hymn, after which there would invariably be a collection and most of the crowd who pretended to listen would quickly drift away.

  The Duke supposed that that was how the Parson and his daughter must live and he thought that their congregations could not have been very generous because the girl had admitted that they had no money.

  The door opened and Bateman announced,

  “Miss Calvine, Your Grace!”

  She was still wearing the shabby patched gown that she had worn early in the morning, but now there was a clean white collar round her neck which gave her the appearance of a Quaker.

  Her shining hair was neatly gathered into a bun at the back of her head and her eyes, which the Major now realised, were the colour of the morning mist, were wide and apprehensive in her pale face.

  She looked at the Duke a little anxiously, then curtsied with the grace that the Major had noticed when she had walked ahead of him.

  “I was told,” she began in a quiet little voice, “that I was to have luncheon with – Your Grace.”

  There was a pause before the last two words and it was obvious that, when she had learned who her host was, she was surprised.

  “I am delighted to hear from the doctor that your father is none the worse for the journey here,” the Duke said.

  “The doctor confirmed that Papa has in fact had a stroke and is in a coma.”

  “You can trust Doctor Emerson to do what is right for him,” the Duke reassured her. “May I offer you a glass of champagne?”

  “No – thank you.”

  “You are quite sure? This morning must have been a shock and a glass of wine will do you good.”

  “It is – kind of you – but I very seldom drink – wine and I have not had – anything to eat today.”

  It struck the Duke from the way she spoke that she had eaten little the day before and he knew she was being sensible in refusing the champagne.

  He was about to suggest that she might like another sort of drink when luncheon was announced.

  Without being told, Miss Calvine walked beside the Duke down the wide corridor which crossed the hall and continued on the other side towards the dining room.

  She did not speak, but he noted that she looked at the pictures and he thought it would be hard for anyone, let alone a poverty-stricken Parson’s daughter, not to be impressed.

  In the dining room the Duke sat at the head of the table, with his latest guest on his right and Major Haverington on his left.

  The Duke, who had seen starvation in Portugal and in the last years of the war in the villages of France, knew by the sharpness of the girl’s chin bone and the thinness of her wrists, that she was undernourished.

  He also noticed that she ate slowly and deliberately, taking minute portions of each course, as if she was well aware it would be harmful for her to eat very much.

  In fact, before the meal was finished, it was obvious that it was impossible for he
r to consume more.

  But she drew no attention to the fact or to herself, but merely answered the questions she was asked in a soft cultured voice, which had struck the Major as being so unexpected the first time she spoke.

  “You have come all the way from Northumberland on foot?” the Duke asked.

  “Yes, Your Grace. My father wished to preach to those who would hear him and to pray for those who were ill.”

  “He has no Parish of his own?”

  “Quite a large one when we lived in Huntingford.”

  “Then why did your father leave?” the Duke enquired.

  He felt in a way that he was taking an unfair advantage in forcing her to speak about herself. At the same time, he knew that if he did not ask the questions, the Major would.

  “When my mother died,” Miss Calvine said in a low voice, “my father could not bear to stay any longer in the house where they had been so happy together. He felt he had a call to help the people outside the parish. I could not let him go alone, so I went with him.”

  “It must have been a difficult thing for you to do,” the Duke commented.

  “Not really,” Miss Calvine replied. “I love him and we are always happy together.”

  “It seems strange,” the Major interposed, “that your father should wish to do such a thing.”

  “Papa was always unpredictable,” Miss Calvine replied, “but he is a scholar and all he read told him that those who inspired others invariably felt the need to go into the wilderness at some time or other.”

  The Duke looked at her questioningly.

  “The wilderness?”

  “That is only a figure of speech, Your Grace,” she replied. “Jesus fasted for forty days and forty nights in the wilderness, Buddha left his home and wandered for many years until he found enlightenment. Mohammed went on a pilgrimage and so did every spiritual leader of whom one has ever heard.”

  “Does your father think he is a leader in some way?” Major Haverington asked incredulously.

  “I think he does,” Miss Calvine answered, “but then everyone who is consumed by faith believes that they must carry their message to those who are ignorant.”

  The Duke was astonished by the way she spoke.

  Then after another course had been taken round the table, he asked,