Seth did feel some sentiment for Mrs. Brent’s things. The little touches here and there gave the stone cottage an almost nurturing atmosphere and were a softening to the days spent outside with hammer and nails. More than once, when smoothing the quilt over Thomas’s shoulders at bedtime, he had wondered what the woman would have thought had she known that her handiwork would one day provide warmth for an orphaned boy.
But this evening as he heard Thomas’s prayers and tucked him in for the night, his thoughts were taken up with what was troubling the boy. He claimed to have had a good first day at school the three times Seth had inquired. Each time he had responded with the same hollow inflection in his voice and the same unconvincing smile. Across the table from him at their usual supper of tinned beef and pears, the boy’s eyes had rarely met his.
This left Seth in a quandary over what to do. While common sense told him that children were entitled to moods too—he certainly had his own struggles with them, especially when thoughts of Elaine drifted through his mind—he didn’t like the idea of leaving the boy alone in that big bed with such a haunted look in his blue eyes.
He decided to make one more attempt and this time not ask the same question in the same way. “Thomas,” he said, seating himself on the side of the bed.
“Yes, sir?” answered the small voice.
As usual, Seth felt a little pang at being referred to as sir instead of father, as he himself had come to think of the boy as his own son. But he would never allow Thomas to know. There were some things that shouldn’t be forced. “I want to know what happened at school today.”
Whether it was because of the insistence in Seth’s voice or because he could no longer bear the burden of his thoughts alone, Thomas gave a truthful reply. “Some boys said you killed someone and stole his money.”
The answer was so unexpected and delivered with such seriousness that Seth gave a chuckle. So that’s all there was to it! “Oh yes?” he said, raising both eyebrows. “And who is it that I’m supposed to have killed? Did they tell you?”
“No, sir.” Relief mingled with the worry in Thomas’s expression. “You didn’t?”
“Of course not.” Smoothing some ash-colored hair back from the boy’s forehead, Seth replied, “Did you really think it was true?”
After a fractional hesitation, the boy shook his head.
“Well there, now you have it,” Seth said, reaching for the lamp.
“Then you didn’t go to prison?”
Heaviness from within suddenly pulled at Seth’s chest. How foolish he had been, he told himself, to assume that moving far away from Newgate would ensure that this question would never be asked. It was even more painful to have it come from the lips of the person who mattered most in the world to him! His immediate thought was to deny it, but he found himself unable to give voice to a lie. He straightened again and let the lamplight be.
“I’ve been to prison, Thomas,” he replied softly, watching for any sign of waning of affection in the boy’s face.
“Why?”
Seth blew out his cheeks and figured he may as well tell the whole story now and be done with it. “I was accused of stealing a piece of jewelry. I spent ten years in Newgate Prison. Have you heard of it?”
“No, sir.”
“And you never would have had someone not said such a thing to you. I was innocent, Thomas. When the person who accused me confessed, I was set free. That’s how I came to have enough money to buy this place.”
“He gave it to you?”
“Yes. Now, do you think any less of me?”
The boy blinked again, his blue eyes serious. “I never did, sir.”
Studying the young face, Seth said, “Not even when you worried that they might have been telling the truth?”
Now his bottom lip trembled a bit. “You’re good to me, sir.”
How overwhelming, to be the recipient of such blind devotion, when just seconds ago Seth had fretted inwardly over being addressed as sir. He could have robbed and murdered someone, and Thomas would still want to be with him! While he would have much preferred that his past had never been mentioned, the heaviness in his chest lifted, replaced by a great warmth.
Finally a question occurred to him. “Which boys said this to you, Thomas?”
“Jack and Edgar.”
“Who?”
“They live in that house with the cake lady.”
“Oh …” Now it was becoming clear to him. He could see now that the prison talk was simply a weapon with which to goad someone smaller and more naïve. Perhaps he himself had helped to foster such notions, keeping their lives as private as possible and spending so much money upon his arrival in Gresham. How ironic that the very actions he had taken to keep his past from being discovered were used to spin fabrications that were painfully close to the truth.
“Well, next time you hear such talk, just ignore it,” he told the boy. “If they can’t get a reaction from you, they’ll soon tire of trying.”
“They will?”
Smiling, Seth smoothed back hair that really didn’t need smoothing, just to have an excuse to touch the boy. “Yes, they will—unless boys have changed a whole lot since I was one.”
“You seemed preoccupied at supper last night,” Elizabeth’s father commented over breakfast the next day. “Did you not enjoy Mr. Treves’ company?”
“We had words earlier,” Elizabeth replied truthfully.
Her father’s bearded face became anxious. “I’m sorry. Perhaps I shouldn’t have invited him without consulting you.”
“It was kind of you to invite him, Papa. It was just a small disagreement.”
“Well, that’s good. I was thinking we should have him over every Monday evening—a standing invitation.”
“That would be nice,” she replied, picking up her fork and knife to cut her bacon. Men’s work! As if God made only the male fingers capable of grasping a pen! She had assumed she was over her irritation, but as she recalled their walk late yesterday afternoon, her pulse quickened, and it wasn’t because of the kiss.
“Beth?”
She looked up at her father. “Yes, Papa?”
“You’re overdoing the bacon a bit, aren’t you?”
It was then she realized that she had sawed the strip into tiny pieces, bearing down so hard that her knife scratched the china. Sheepishly she met her father’s hazel eyes again. They were filled with concern or sadness—she couldn’t tell which. Perhaps both.
Hours later, after Andrew had retired to his study to write his sermon and Elizabeth had penned several pages of notes into the journal, her father came into the upstairs sitting room to remind her that they were invited to have lunch at the Sykeses. “He’s trying to make it up to me,” he grumbled but did not elaborate.
Of course Elizabeth knew exactly what he meant. She couldn’t help but smile a little. “Would you mind going without me?”
“Not if you would rather stay. Are you all right, Beth?”
“Yes. Just not in the mood for company.”
He nodded understandingly. That was the good thing about her father. While he insisted that she and Laurel live their lives according to biblical, moral standards, he seldom obligated them socially. His way of thinking was that he was the person the church had assigned to Gresham, and his girls were just as entitled to lives of their own as were the cobbler’s or smithy’s daughters. “Shall I ask Mrs. Paget to send up a tray?”
“No, thank you,” she replied, stretching in her chair. “But if she wouldn’t mind making a sandwich, I’ll come down later for it. It’ll be good to have an excuse to move around for a few minutes.”
Some ten minutes later, she found herself on her way downstairs to the kitchen. “Miss Phelps,” the cook said, looking up from the potatoes she was peeling at the worktable. “The vicar said you wasn’t in no hurry for the sandwich. If you’ll sit a minute I’ll make one right away.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Thank you, but I’m not hungry yet,
Mrs. Paget. I just thought I’d get some fresh air. Would you care for anything from one of the shops?”
“We’ll be needin’ more silver polish soon!” Dora called from the scullery.
The cook pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I could use a pound of salt. And Luke was sayin’ this morning he was almost out of harness soap. Can you manage that, Miss Phelps?”
“Of course.” She was taking her everyday straw bonnet from the rack in the vestibule when it occurred to her that one of her nicer hats upstairs would best accent the burgundy-and-cream gown she wore. She chose a narrow-brimmed hat of fine burgundy felt, trimmed with a velvet band and a cluster of ribbons at the side. And as long as she was in her room, she sat briefly at her dressing table and decided to twist her straight, wheat-colored hair into a chignon before angling the hat upon her head.
“Why, Miss Phelps, you look like a princess!” Dora said, appearing just as Elizabeth reached the bottom of the staircase for the second time. “If Mr. Treves could see you now, eh?”
Elizabeth thanked her but flushed guiltily, for Paul had been the last person on her mind. She wished now that she hadn’t committed to making purchases. Her place was upstairs penning archeological material, not strolling by the schoolhouse in the hopes of seeing Jonathan Raleigh while the children were at recess.
There was no use in denying it to herself. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had known all along her reason for offering to shop for Mrs. Paget. Why do you even care about seeing him? He made a fool of you. She decided that since she couldn’t very well tell the cook she had changed her mind, she would send not even a glance toward the schoolhouse. If Mr. Raleigh happened to be outside, there was nothing she could do about that, since he had ensconced himself into a position of importance in the village. But there was no law that said she had to look at him. As she unlatched the garden gate, harness soap, silver polish, and salt were the only thoughts occupying her mind—at least for a while.
From the schoolhouse steps, Julia was the first to catch sight of Elizabeth. She lifted a hand to wave, but the young woman did not turn her face to the left. In fact, she walked on the opposite side of Church Lane, as if trying to distance herself as far from the school as possible.
Julia was not tempted to call out to her. For one reason, she would have to screech like a fishwife to be heard over the squeals and shouts of the children at play. And her main reason was that if Elizabeth did not want to look in this direction, then she would respect that. She had no doubt that the reason was sitting near her finishing up the square of shortbread Mrs. Herrick had sent him.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” she heard Mr. Raleigh say softly beside her. She turned to look at him. He was staring off at Elizabeth, his gray-green eyes sorrowful.
“Yes, Mr. Raleigh,” Julia replied, grateful that Miss Hillock had not appeared with her students yet, for only a handful of people in Gresham knew of Elizabeth’s and Mr. Raleigh’s past courtship. “Her character as well as her looks.”
“I only cared about the looks before,” he admitted. Then he turned to Julia. “You know, that’s not entirely true, Mrs. Hollis. As wicked as I was, I always respected the goodness in her. I never tried …” His voice trailed off and he stared out again at Elizabeth, now shielded from sight every few feet by the row of elder trees.
He does love her, Julia thought. But she agreed with Andrew. Love without commitment and moral standards was shallow and ultimately damaging. That she knew from personal experience.
Chapter 27
“This is nice, isn’t it?” Andrew said to Julia as they sat in the Larkspur’s garden Friday afternoon. September breezes eddied pleasantly about them, stirring the fringe upon Julia’s forehead and wafting over the scent of the Worthy sisters’ white jasmine. “I’ve seen so little of you this week.”
“Next week will be a little less hectic,” she smiled. She wore a chartreuse silk gown that made her hair seem as russet as changing leaves, and she could see in his eyes that he liked the effect. “I’ve told Mr. Raleigh that I won’t be back in the classroom.”
“You did? I suppose he was happy about that.”
“Actually, he seemed a little distressed.” The memory of the anxiety on the young man’s face brought a small pang, and again Julia questioned if she should have offered to stay another week. But he assured the school board that he was capable of the position. And without me looking over his shoulder, perhaps he’ll have more confidence in himself.
Andrew’s voice nudged her out of her thoughts. “Julia, are you sure you’re ready to trust him with Aleda and Grace? I’m certainly not ready to trust him with Elizabeth.”
“I trust Mr. Raleigh as their schoolmaster, Andrew. It’s not the same as with Elizabeth.”
“Yes, I suppose so …” His broad shoulders moved with a sigh. “Life was so much easier before he decided to come here.”
“Easier for us, Andrew,” Julia said. “But what about for Elizabeth?”
“Why, she was happily planning a future with Mr. Treves.”
“I don’t know about the ‘happily’ part.”
He looked shocked. “What are you saying, Julia?”
“Something you’ve pointed out to me yourself. It doesn’t seem she’s totally committed to Mr. Treves.”
“Well, that does seem the case,” he conceded heavily after a thoughtful hesitation. “Even more so lately, I’m sorry to say.” But then his jaw tightened. “Surely you’re not suggesting I allow Mr. Raleigh to court her. Because it’ll be a cold day in July—”
Leaning over the tea tray to raise fingers lightly to his lips, Julia said, “I’m suggesting no such thing, Andrew.”
Miffed as he was at Mr. Raleigh, he still managed enough ardor to catch up that same hand and plant a quick kiss upon her fingertips. “Then what are you suggesting?”
“That you do nothing at present. Mr. Raleigh isn’t staying here just to prove to you and Elizabeth that he has developed some character. I believe he wants to prove it to himself as well.” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “And I sincerely hope you won’t be needling him at chapel anymore. It’s quite beneath you.”
Andrew grimaced. “I had hoped you’d forgotten about that. I suppose he has sulked over it all week?”
Julia smiled to herself at the faint hope in his tone. She could appreciate how hard this was on him—how torn he was between protecting his daughter and attempting not to influence her plans for the future too strongly. “He hasn’t sulked at all, Andrew.”
Saturday morning, Andrew borrowed the Larkspur’s landau so that he and Elizabeth could make the trip to Shrewsbury to collect Laurel from school. “If you’d like to wait here, I’ll go inside,” Elizabeth told him after he had reined Donny and Pete into a circular drive crowded with other carriages in front of Saint Julien’s Academy.
“That might be best,” Andrew told her, leaving the reins long enough to help his daughter from the landau. How blessed I am! he thought as he watched Elizabeth weave her way around waiting carriages to walk into the red brick building. He had seen more cases than he cared to recall during the years of his ministry of children from all social levels who had grown up only to bring sorrow and shame upon their families. While his daughters were often an enigma to him, he was immensely proud of the women they were becoming. The thought of seeing Laurel again after a week’s absence brought sunshine into an overcast September morning.
“Why, good morning there, Vicar Phelps!” From Andrew’s left boomed a voice as familiar and as bothersome as a recurring toothache. Andrew turned his head as Vicar Nippert and his wife and daughter sent threefold grins at him from a carriage facing the opposite direction only two feet away. “Fetching your daughter, eh?”
“Good morning.” Andrew tipped his hat to Mrs. Nippert and the young Miss Nippert. “How are you today?”
“Oh, most excellent as usual, what ho? Ernestine here tells us that it looks as if she’ll be the head of her class again this year. Good
thing your daughter’s in a lower form, eh? Wouldn’t want to have hard feelings among friends, would we?”
“Laurel happens to be very bright,” Andrew replied, still smiling but with an edge to his voice. Which was of course lost on Vicar Nip-pert, because he opened wide his mouth and rolled out a thunderous laugh.
“Spoken like a true father, eh? Well, no doubt she’ll do fine, won’t she?” That last question was directed to his wife and daughter, who both bobbed heads in agreement.
Andrew detected an underlying smugness in the looks they sent to each other, and it irritated him. However, he was determined not to allow Vicar Nippert to spoil the day he had looked forward to all week, so he allowed the smile to stay upon his face and sent a meaningful glance to their two horses in harness. “I suppose you have a long drive ahead of you?”
None of the Nippert smiles wavered. “And it isn’t getting any shorter, is it?” replied the vicar. “As pleasant as it is chatting like this, you will excuse us, won’t you? Ernestine here is teaching our chancel choir an arrangement she composed over the summer this afternoon.”
“By all means.” Now Andrew’s smile required less effort. Tipping his hat again to the female Nipperts, he bade them all good day.
“And to you as well, eh?” Vicar Nippert returned as he lifted the reins and his horses began to move. “Why, with our fetching and delivering our daughters here every week, we’ll soon be as tight as Jonathan and David, won’t we?”
“Hello, Papa!”
The Courtship of the Vicar's Daughter Page 30