Finding the Bluestocking’s Heart: The Colchester Sisters

by Darcy, Charlotte

  “It will not have been just out of the blue, although that is exactly as it appeared to me. I was rather surprised,” Verity said and reached out gratefully for the scalding hot cup of tea. “But he will have been here long enough to discover my routine. He would have studied me, for he is already well versed in such an activity.”

  “Yes, I daresay he is,” Mary said slowly. “So, he has come here to apologize? To explain?”

  “If he did, I did not let him do it.”

  “So, he has returned to Hertfordshire?”

  “No, he declares that he will stay for a few days at the coaching inn at Hest Bank and treat his visit to Lancashire as a little holiday.”

  “And you believe that, do you?”

  “Well, he did say that he intended to visit the stone graves at Heysham and the ruins of the chapel.” Verity shrugged.

  “I cannot think that he really means to do that,” Mary said a little cynically.

  “Oh yes, he will,” Verity said with certainty. “He is greatly interested in such things and I am certain that he will make his way to Heysham for the day.”

  “Are you sure?” Mary was still doubtful that anybody could enjoy a day spent in such a fashion.

  “He really does have such an interest in things of that nature. I could see it in his eyes, even as he stood there in Fenham Carr. He becomes so engrossed in a subject of interest, you see. It washes over him, and he absorbs every part of it. I suppose that is why I liked him so very well.”

  “Perhaps because you are so similar yourself, Verity. I daresay that you would enjoy a day spent at Heysham Village looking at the little ruins.”

  “Yes, I would. But not with Mr. Ayres, I told him I did not want to go with him.”

  “And so, he asked you, did he?”

  “Yes, he did. He said that we might share a carriage if I wanted to go.”

  “And do you want to go?”

  “I think I would like to see the stone graves very much. I had never heard of them before, you see, and Irving said that they are believed to date back to the eleventh century.” Verity became a little wide-eyed. “He said that they have been hewn from the very rockface. The graves were not placed there, they were cut there, so to speak.”

  “And now who is allowing their interest to wash over them so that they might fully absorb it?” Mary laughed. “I suppose I ought really to have taken you there at some point over the years. I should have realized that it would have been just the sort of thing to interest you,” she laughed.

  “I suppose that I do have somewhat unusual tastes,” Verity said wistfully.

  “And what is the matter with that? You do not have to be the same as everybody else, do you? Your interests are your own, my dear. They are yours for a lifetime if you will hold onto them and not allow another to take them from you as I once did.”

  “Was my uncle very awful?”

  “Yes, he was,” Mary began. “He was a very small-minded man and rather a jealous one. I wish I had not married him when I was still so very young. I was but seventeen, my dear, and very foolish indeed.”

  “But you were clever even then, Aunt Mary, surely. Did you not see him for what he was before you married him?”

  “Oh yes, I could see it even then. But I chose not to see it, for I was so keen to be married to him. But I had years and years to repent at my leisure, did I not?”

  “So, it is possible to know a man’s character early on? To see the things which will only make themselves worse with time?”

  “Oh yes,” Mary said solemnly. “I believe that wholeheartedly. I suppose you are wondering if this Mr. Ayres is truly a bad character.”

  “I am just wondering why it was I did not see it. After all, I am clever enough, am I not?”

  “You are very clever, my dear.”

  “Then why did I not know him for a liar when I first met him? And why did I not pick up on it as I spent more time with him after that?”

  “I suppose because telling a lie does not necessarily make one a liar. Not a perpetual liar, at any rate.”

  “I am afraid I am growing a little confused, Aunt Mary. I begin to wish that I had never allowed myself to wander down this little path; that little path which promises happiness at the end of it. It is most confusing and not at all rational.”

  “I believe it is not supposed to be rational exactly. But there are rational thoughts to be had around its outskirts; ideas and instincts which ought really to save us from our own worst excesses.”

  “Like knowing a person’s character?”

  “Yes, just that.”

  “But now I have solid information, do I not?”

  “You do. But I am bound to say that my opinion of the man has risen just a little today,” Mary said cautiously. “I am not telling you how you ought to proceed, my dear, only that I have a grudging admiration for a man who would make such a journey with the intention of apologizing and explaining, even if, as you say, you did not give him the opportunity.”

  “Do you think I should have?”

  “I really cannot say. That is a question for you, Verity, not me. I am simply saying that he chose to come and face you. To stand before you, not to send a letter and take the easy way out. I had assumed him to be a coward, you see, thinking that he was content simply to have his feelings conveyed to you via a third party. Now I see that he had likely already embarked upon his journey here by the time your brother had chosen to write to you.”

  “Perhaps that is something I ought to give a little thought to,” Verity said, feeling all at sea once again.

  As shocking as it had been to see him suddenly there so many miles away from where she thought he was, there had been some pleasure in it, just a little, hiding away beneath all her pride and annoyance.

  He really was such a handsome man and, she knew, the only man she had ever been particularly close to. She had thought that he had understood her so well, had even been a little like her. Had all of that really been a lie? Or had it been the truth, albeit built on a lie?

  “No, this will not do. I feel as confused now as I did when I sat with my mother in the drawing room at home. I have come here to be able to think clearly without the distractions of the people I see every day. And now one of those people has followed me here and once again I am thrown into disarray. No, I shall not be going out to the coaching inn at Hest Bank to see Irving. If I am to get to the bottom of things, I shall need to do it without such distractions.”

  “Well, perhaps in a day or two you and I could visit the stone graves at Heysham. It might take your mind off things and divert you well enough. It might even help you to see things a little more clearly.”

  “Very well, yes. I think I would like that, Aunt Mary. But will you not be terribly bored?”

  “Oh yes, I will be terribly bored, my dear,” Mary said with her customary honesty. “But I should be glad to be bored if only to help my dear little niece.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Mary,” Verity said, and wondered if there might be any books in her aunt’s library about the history of Heysham Village.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Just two days later found Verity and her aunt climbing out of the carriage in the picturesque village of Heysham ready to make the short walk to the ruins.

  Whilst Verity had not been able to find a book on the history of Heysham in her aunt’s library, she had managed to purchase a small pamphlet from a bookseller in Lancaster which gave the history of the old chapel and the stone graves.

  And in Verity’s normal style, she had studied the pamphlet from one end to the other in readiness for the trip. But she had not enjoyed it as much as she ordinarily did when faced with a new area of interest. Her concentration had been wavering and, more than once, she thought of Irving.

  Sitting in the drawing room at her aunt’s house as that good woman snored gently by the fire, Verity had almost found herself in tears when she thought of how well she would have enjoyed the subject if she and Irving had been abl
e to discuss it as they had so many other things.

  She had always adored her pastimes, but she began to realize that she had enjoyed them all the more for being able to share them with another person who was equal in his passion about such things.

  Verity realized that the loss of such a wonderful connection, even one that had only been hers for a short while, had made her feel rather lonely in her quest for knowledge about the stone graves.

  “You are very quiet, my dear,” her aunt said as they walked arm in arm past a very pretty church called St. Peters.

  “I am feeling a little low, Aunt,” Verity admitted. “And I am also having to concentrate rather hard. I am not used to walking on cobblestones and they seem to be everywhere here.”

  “I am so used to it that I am hardly a southerner at all anymore,” Mary laughed. “But it really is the shortest walk, see? Through that archway is the beginning of the ruins.”

  “Oh yes,” Verity said, brightening a little as she peered through the archway to the grey stone beyond. “Yes, I see.” She quickened her pace over the treacherous cobblestones, suddenly keen for a diversion that would overwhelm her.

  She took the steps up to the remaining walls of the chapel carefully, for they were very steep. Her aunt followed her with surprising speed and agility and Verity had only looked back once to be sure that she was managing.

  “Here we are,” Mary said in an attempt at displaying interest which made Verity laugh. “And over there are the stone graves. But be careful, the hill drops away very sharply there, and I would not like to see you fall over the edge in your haste.”

  But Verity could not answer; she had fallen silent. There, standing and staring down into the stone graves was a shape she recognized entirely. It was Irving. He had not seen her, for his attention was drawn.

  Verity looked back at her aunt with some dismay and realized that she did not seem at all surprised to see a man standing there at all.

  “It is him. It is Irving,” Verity said, with an instinct that her aunt already knew it.

  “I know, my dear sweet girl. I sent him a note and told him when we would be here,” Mary said bluntly, and Verity could hardly believe what she was hearing.

  Her mouth fell open and she glared at her aunt with open accusation.

  “And yes, I am just one more person interfering in your life, Verity. And believe me, I do not do so lightly, for I would not like it at all myself.” Her aunt stood squarely in front of her and took her hands, holding them rather tightly. “I would never have sought to find a man for you ever, not for a moment. I would never tell you who to forgive or not to forgive, and I would never tell you who to spend the rest of your life with. But there is something you should know about interference, for all interference is not the same. That is not to say that interference is not wrong, for I am bound to say that I believe it is.”

  “Aunt, speak plainly,” Verity said and felt suddenly exhausted.

  “I should not have interfered, but I did. And I did so for the very same reason that Amos did. It is because I love you so very much, child,” she said, speaking very plainly indeed. “The thing about interference is, I discover, that it is perhaps not such a bad thing when it is not enforced. Tell me, my dear, have you ever heard the expression that you may lead a horse to water, but you cannot make it drink?”

  “Yes, of course I have heard it. It is a well-known expression, is it not?” Verity said waspishly.

  “And you understand its meaning?”

  “Yes, of course I do.” Verity was beginning to lose patience. “It means that you can attempt to influence a person, but it does not mean that they will succumb to your influence.”

  “Goodness, you really are very succinct,” Mary said and smiled broadly. “But anyway, what I am trying to say to you is that it is your choice whether or not you follow the path that somebody else’s interference has set you upon. Once their interference is done, it is done. From that point onward, everything is your choice.”

  “And so, whilst you have brought the two of us together, it is still my choice whether or not I approach Irving now?” Verity said, asking herself as much as she was asking her aunt.

  “Precisely. You may walk over there and hear him out, or you may take my arm now and we will go back to the carriage and he will never know.”

  “At least you are honest,” Verity said, already forgiving her aunt’s interference for the fact that it had been so plainly owned up to. “Thank you, Aunt Mary.” Verity leaned forward and kissed her aunt’s cheek.

  “If you do not mind, I shall make my way back to the carriage. I am afraid that ruins rather remind me of my own increasing age.” Mary pulled a face and Verity laughed.

  “I shall not be long.”

  “As you wish,” Mary said and already began to descend the steep stairs.

  As she approached, Irving was still standing with his back to her at the edge of the stone graves, staring out into the Irish Sea as it lapped about the edges of Morecambe Bay.

  “Irving?” she said gently, and he turned around. “Oh, do be careful, my aunt says it is awfully steep there.”

  “Yes, it is.” He turned back to peer doubtfully over the edge. “But I am quite safe.” He smiled at her. “I am glad you came.”

  “Irving, I know you had something you wanted to say to me the other day in Fenham Carr, and I am sorry that I did not listen. But I was so angry, you see, so very upset. I felt so foolish and I have done ever since I discovered the origins of our friendship.”

  “I made a terrible mistake in not being honest with you from the very first. So, I shall be honest with you now, Verity.”

  “Very well,” she said and took a step closer.

  “When your brother first approached me about seeking your acquaintance, I only agreed to it to keep him quiet. You know how he is, you are his sister after all. He is like a wasp buzzing about your ears and the effect only increases unless you give in.” He paused, and Verity laughed, entirely recognizing the description of the brother she knew in her heart she still loved completely. “I had never imagined for a moment that I would find you so interesting. Unusual, yes, but all the more interesting for it.”

  “Is that a compliment?” Verity asked quite seriously, and he laughed.

  “Yes, Verity, it is a compliment.”

  “Then, thank you.”

  “When your brother suggested that I seek you out again and told me how well you liked to walk in the woods, I was more pleased than I had imagined. You see, I do walk in that woodland often and I liked the idea of a lady who enjoyed similar pastimes to myself. But I was quite convinced on that meeting that I ought to give the whole thing up for I was certain you were not at all interested.”

  “But you went to the assembly rooms anyway.”

  “Because your brother was so determined that I not give up…. No, that is not true,” he said and shook his head. “Or at least it is only partly true. I would have refused him at that moment but there was something in me that needed to know more. A young woman with her own microscope cutting off great lumps of tree bark with her own knife certainly warrants a little further investigation,” he said, and Verity laughed again.

  “I suppose there are not many men who would think so.”

  “I have long since stopped trying to behave as other men, Verity. To be anything other than yourself is a very short road to unhappiness and I believe you understand that better than anybody.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “But that night in the assembly rooms, I had never enjoyed myself so much. We had such an open conversation, so smart and engaging, and that was the moment I began to fall for you. And from then on nothing your brother could do or say would influence me in any way at all. I had more or less forgotten how we began, I was just glad that we had. But I had not forgotten it completely; I knew that I ought to have said something to you and I did not.” He blew out a great lungful of air. “And I am sorry for that, Verity. It was the wrong thing to
do and I am truly sorry.”

  “So, you did not continue to share my company out of an obligation to my brother?” she said, knowing that this was the very question which had given her so much uncertainty.

  “Can you really believe that, Verity? When I took you into my arms and kissed you, do you really think that I did not mean that with all my heart?”

  Verity closed her eyes and remembered that moment afresh.

  Only this time she remembered it with all the wonder and excitement that overwhelmed her every time she had thought about it in the days which followed. The pain and the feelings of foolishness had all but evaporated.

  “Now, I do not. I believe you, Irving,” Verity said, opening her eyes to see that he had moved to stand directly in front of her.

  They were but inches apart and she looked up into his face, just as she had done on that wonderful day in his garden.

  “I love you, Verity,” he said and placed a hand on either side of her face before gently kissing her.

  “I love you too, Irving,” she said when he released her. “I was just so afraid that you did not really like me. I felt so foolish.”

  “And I am sorry that I made you feel that way, for I would never have chosen to. Verity, you are the only woman in the world I could ever be in love with. You are the only one who has ever truly meant anything to me.”

  “And you would not want to change anything about me? Not my bluntness nor my interests nor my determination to follow them?”

  “Nothing. You are perfect, Verity, why would I ever want to change anything about you?”

  “Would you like to meet my aunt?” Verity asked, smiling up at him.

  “Yes, I would like to meet her very much. I would like to thank her,” he said and cast a quick look about him once more before kissing her again.

  Epilogue

  “I know I got into terrible trouble for all of this, but I have to say it was worth it,” Amos said as Irving helped his new wife into the carriage outside the church. “If I were a boastful sort of a man, I would probably be patting myself rather hard on the back,” Amos went on and everybody laughed.