along with her dark gown into the shadows beyond the
spacious front hall.
“Pay no attention to Mrs. Lennox.” Simon placed his
hat on the mahogany coat stand by the stairs. “She is grim
even on the sunniest day.”
Darcy had no chance to do more than nod before Mrs.
Lennox returned.
“This way. He will see you now, Dr. Garnett, miss,”
mumbled Mrs. Lennox, opening a door just past a longcase
clock that Darcy had not noticed until now.
Again Simon motioned for Darcy to precede him. She
entered a small room containing a pair of dark red settees
in the center. A desk and its chair took up the space within
a bay window. Thick, brown drapes were as somber as the
furniture and the simple rug. The room’s ceiling was low,
so if Simon had not removed his hat, it would have brushed
the rafters crisscrossing it.
A man who was taller than Simon stepped out of the
shadows, startling her. His pale hair contrasted with his
black coat. Its high collar emphasized the hollows in his
cheeks, for his skin stretched tightly across his narrow
face. Yet when he smiled, his features no longer resembled
a death mask.
“Simon, what a pleasant surprise,” he said in a warm
baritone. “I hadn’t expected callers today.”
“Father suggested we drop by, Andrew.” Simon
slapped the other man on the arm and gave him an
unexpectedly warm smile. Darcy realized this must be the
vicar, even though he did not wear his reversed collar. “He
has told me that you have expressed a great curiosity about
Darcy—about Miss Kincaid’s work on her typewriter
machine.”
“I could have stopped in at Rosewood Hall to see it.”
“And interrupt my work?” Simon laughed, the sound
again very jovial. The vicar must be a good friend. “You
know how dangerous that is. I get discussing something
with you, and before I know it, the day is past.” His smile
remained as he turned to Darcy, but she could not help
noticing how his lips grew taut at the corners. “You must
have guessed this is Reverend Mr. Andrew Fairfield.
Andrew, allow me to present my secretary, Miss Darcy
Kincaid.”
Reverend Fairfield took her hand and bowed over it.
He started to relinquish it, then lifted her hand to his lips.
More amazing than having a clergyman kiss her hand was
the pulse of distaste that riveted her. Taking such an
immediate dislike to someone was not something she
usually did. Or was it simply that his polite gesture
reminded her of how her mind had been filled with wanton
thoughts at Simon’s touch? She must not let her guilt
muddle her reactions to the vicar.
“So are you the mistress of this amazing contraption
Hastings has told me about?” he asked pleasantly.
“Yes.” She drew off her gloves and folded them, hoping
the motion would give her hands something useful to do.
She could not allow them free rein to touch Simon again.
“At Dr. Garnett’s convenience, I’d be glad to show you
how it works, Reverend. Or perhaps he would prefer to
show you himself.”
Reverend Fairfield chuckled. “You can already use the
typewriter machine, Simon?”
“Barely.” He opened his book, and, withdrawing a few
of the pages she had done on the typewriter, handed them
to the vicar. “See for yourself, Andrew.”
Motioning for them to sit, Reverend Fairfield carried
the pages closer to the bay windows. Darcy hesitated, then
sat when Simon gestured impatiently at the settee. When
he sat next to her, she fought to keep a pleasant, innocuous
expression. Pretend, she warned herself. Pretend nothing
unusual had happened on the way here.
“I’m amazed,” Reverend Fairfield said.
“I was amazed, too,” Simon replied, “when I first saw
Darcy’s work.”
She wanted to add she was as amazed as both of them.
Not at her work, but at how easy and calm Simon’s voice
sounded. He leaned back on the settee, his brightly shined
shoe propped atop his other knee. To look at him, nobody
would have guessed he had held her in his arms, his mouth
against hers, only minutes before.
Reverend Fairfield chuckled. “I’m speaking of how
far you have come with your research, not of Darcy’s
work.”
The slightest emphasis on her name brought heat to
her face. She wanted to retort that Simon’s use of her given
name was at his father’s insistence. She remained silent,
for her protest might cause more damage by embarrassing
Simon.
“Why are you surprised, Andrew?” Simon asked. “You
knew I was ready to finish the manuscript as soon as I
decided upon hiring a secretary.”
“Yes, although I had no idea you were planning to
hire a secretary with Miss Kincaid’s—” He paused, then
said, “Her attributes.”
Darcy squared her shoulders, shocked by such a
comment from a vicar. Then, telling herself she must not
paint him with the colors of her own misguided thoughts,
she said, “Reverend Fairfield—”
He must not have heard her for he continued to look
at Simon. “Why haven’t you shown me these pages
before?”
Simon shrugged. “To be honest, Andrew, I didn’t think
you were interested in my work. It can be tedious for
anyone who doesn’t share my interest in etymology. Even
Father disdains it, and he usually enjoys researching
through weighty tomes.”
“Yes, like father, like son.”
“In the case of enjoying academic study, yes.”
Darcy glanced from one man to the other as the vicar’s
smile became brittle. Why was Reverend Fairfield
questioning Simon in such a sharp tone? She had thought
the two men were friends.
Simon took the pages back and held out the book.
When Reverend Fairfield mumbled his thanks, she relaxed.
Simon was not offended by the questions, so maybe she
was mistaken. Reverend Fairfield’s voice might be simply
brusque, even though that was not the best tenor for a vicar.
“I haven’t yet gathered the books you told me you
wanted to borrow, Simon,” Reverend Fairfield said, putting
the book on the desk. “Why don’t you ring for Mrs. Lennox
to bring in some luncheon for us while I give the books to
your secretary? You look exhausted.”
Simon smiled. “Because I am.”
“Did you work all night again?”
“A bad habit I can’t rid myself of, I’m rather afraid.”
“I’m glad to hear it isn’t because Hastings has taken
ill again.”
Simon’s smile vanished. “Father has been doing as
well as can be expected.”
“I’m very glad to hear that.” The vicar finally looked
back at Darcy as he asked, “Miss Kincaid, will you please
come with me before Simon disgraces himself with a
&
nbsp; yawn?”
Darcy nodded, relieved. The vicar’s compassion for
Hastings seemed appropriate. When Reverend Fairfield
edged to one side to follow her into the hall, she tried to
ignore the pinch of uneasiness in her stomach. She was
startled, for it was not the vicar who made her
uncomfortable. How was she going to set aside, as Simon
apparently had, what had happened near the wishing pool?
Reverend Fairfield led her down a narrow hall into a
miniature of Rosewood Hall’s spacious library. Two
windows overlooked a small garden, but sunshine could
not reach far past the bookshelves. The rows of shelves
were set too closely together, and the books were shoved
in at every angle. She wondered how the vicar found
anything.
Turning up the gas lamp, he handed her a large book.
“May I express a personal opinion, Miss Kincaid?”
“Of course.”
“You’re a good influence on Simon.”
“Why do you say that?”
He reached up and plucked another book from the
topmost shelf. Placing it on the heavy one she held, he
gave her a cool smile which she suspected he offered to
sinners and saints alike. “He hasn’t called here in more
than a month because he’s been lost in the attempt to finish
that book of his.”
“He needs to spend considerable time ferreting out
the origins of each word.”
“Ah, I see you are quick to champion his work.” He
drew out another book, glanced at it, and put it back among
the others. “Is that one of the qualities a good secretary
should possess?”
“I’ve seen the results of his intensive research.” She
shifted the books to readjust their weight as she trailed
him along the bookshelf. “He’s dedicated to his work.”
“Now.” Reverend Fairfield turned, and she stepped
back so he would not bump into her.
She gasped as the ruffles on her small bustle struck
shelves behind her, knocking several papers to the floor.
Only then did she realize they had come to a corner.
He put his hands over her fingers which were curled
up over the books’ spines, astounding her at his
impropriety. “Have you no curiosity as to what he was
before?”
“No.” She wished he would step aside. His touch was
as startlingly familiar as Simon’s was, but her reaction
was very different. Simon’s drew her closer, and the vicar’s
urged her to put more distance between them.
“Has he mesmerized you so completely?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Guilt
pierced her as she lied to a clergyman. Mesmerized? That
was the perfect word to describe what had happened by
the pool. She had been caught up in something she could
not now understand, but some part of her remained eager
to tempt it once more . . . as if she had had her will altered
by a hypnotist’s tricks.
“You don’t?”
She slid her hands out from beneath his and tried to
edge past him, but the books were too wide. “Reverend
Fairfield, I’m here to help Simon with his work. Nothing
else.”
“Forgive me for suggesting some indiscretion on your
part or his, Darcy. I trust I may call you that.” He gave her
no chance to answer. “I think only of your well-being and
Simon’s. He hasn’t been the same since the accident.”
“Accident? What accident?”
Reverend Fairfield frowned. “I find it impossible to
believe no one, especially Mrs. Pollock who loves to
gossip, has said nothing to you about the accident which
took Margaret and Juliet Garnett from us.”
“Who?”
“Simon’s mother and older sister. Margaret and Juliet
were returning from their regular calls on a rainy day nearly
five years ago. Their carriage overturned and fell down
the steep embankment beside the old Roman bridge.” He
sighed. “I tried to look at that quick death as a blessing,
but nothing lessens Simon’s grief. Or his guilt.”
“Guilt? Why should Simon feel guilt about an
accident?”
He wrung his hands, his face growing long with
despair. Turning to stare at the bookshelves to his left, he
said, “You might as well know. Everyone else does. Simon
had plans to restore the old bridge, so his father halted
arrangements to have the new one built until Simon
returned from India. The accident happened before he got
back. Now no one uses that bridge.”
Darcy closed her eyes. No wonder Simon fought to
keep his emotions so tightly in check. He was not hiding
something. He was hiding from something. By immersing
himself in his work, he could escape the pain of his loss.
Reverend Fairfield took the books from her. “I see I
have distressed you. I apologize, but I thought you needed
to know to understand his moods.” He walked to the door.
“Although he seems content to stay here with Hastings
rather than wander about the world, he has not put aside
his guilt about what happened. The anniversary of the
accident is only a few weeks away. Every year at this time,
he is even more morose than usual.”
“Thank you for telling me. You are a good friend to
him.”
“I try to do what I think is best for all of those in my
parish.”
Her first impression of the vicar clearly had been more
accurate than her second, which was that he was too brazen
and sharp-spoken for a clergyman. His housekeeper had
seemed nervous when they arrived, warning them this was
the day Reverend Fairfield wrote his sermon. Maybe
Reverend Fairfield was as vexed to be disturbed at his
work as Simon was. No wonder the two men were friends.
As she started to follow the vicar out of the library,
her gaze was caught by a view of Rosewood Hall through
the window. Not of the house itself, but the wild section
of gardens that ended among the trees of the small wood
that clung to the side of moor.
She hesitated before asking, “Reverend Fairfield, did
you, by any chance, see anyone climbing the hill above
the village a few nights ago?”
He paused in the doorway where the sun brightened
his blond hair. “Why are you asking? Did you see
something amiss?”
“I saw lights from my bedchamber window. It looked
as if there were several people with torches going into the
wood.”
“Yes?”
Abruptly she felt as if she were a young girl being
hauled up before Miss Mumsey to be chastised yet again.
She should have followed her first instinct and remained
quiet about what she had seen. Knowing it was too late
now for those regrets, she said, “If the wood is used without
care, the torches could easily ignite a fire that could
endanger Rosewood Hall. With all the tall shrubs in that
section of the garden, the flames would spread toward the
&
nbsp; house quickly.”
“I can see why you are concerned.”
“Did you see anyone?”
He shook his head as his mouth grew straight. “I don’t
make a habit of spying out my windows at my neighbors.
I suggest you do the same if you want to continue enjoying
your time at Rosewood Hall.”
Darcy recoiled from his sharp tone. Nothing he had
said was threatening, but gooseflesh rose along her arms.
She was not certain what she replied then or if she said
anything more during the rest of the call. Even when she
again sat beside Simon as the carriage took them back to
Rosewood Hall, she was silent.
“What’s wrong?” Simon asked. “You aren’t usually
this quiet.”
She wanted to tell him he had no idea what she
customarily was like, but said only, “I know.”
“If you’re worried about continuing your employment
after today, I can assure you that I won’t ask you to leave
because of my inappropriate behavior earlier.”
“It isn’t that.” Even though she knew it had been a
mistake to let him kiss her, she did not like to hear him say
so.
He leaned one elbow on the window. “Then what?
You didn’t laugh at a single one of Andrew’s jests.”
“I didn’t hear anything amusing. All I heard were
questions about you and your father and Rosewood Hall.”
“You must excuse Andrew’s inquisitiveness. It’s quite
normal, for he grew up at Rosewood Hall.”
“He did?” She sat straighter, startled.
“Andrew’s father was my father’s distant cousin. When
he died, Andrew came to live with us. Father arranged for
him to have this living.” He looked out the window. “We
once did everything together.”
“And now you are doing your book without him. That
explains why everything about your manuscript distresses
him.”
“Bah!” He waved her words aside. “He has no interest
in my work.”
“He’s envious of your upcoming success.”
“He’s a vicar. He has his own life’s work.”
“That doesn’t matter. Couldn’t you see that he was so
upset you were going ahead with it without him?”
His smile became frigid again. “This viperish side of
you isn’t pleasant. Why are you belittling him like this?”
As they passed through the gates to Rosewood Hall,
Ferguson, J. A. - Call Back Yesterday.txt Page 10