The Courtship of the Vicar's Daughter

by Lawana Blackwell

  “I love you, Thomas,” he said, awkwardly patting his back.

  “I love you, Father,” Thomas murmured into his shoulder.

  Bless you, Miss Sanders, Seth thought hours later when the house was dark and still and his son lay sleeping in the next room.

  When Jonathan arrived at the schoolhouse early Wednesday morning, he paused at the corner of the building to shout greetings to Luke Smith and the handful of older students who had coaxed him to allow them to come early and target practice. Several waves of hands were sent in return. Jonathan could not join them because of morning lesson preparations but trusted fully that Mr. Smith would not allow any careless behavior. The excitement for the archery team had gone beyond his most optimistic dreams, changing the whole character of the classroom from one of covert warfare to a team marching under one banner. Even the younger children frequently attended practice to watch, encouraging their older brothers and sisters with applause even for the lowest scores.

  Seven more months, he thought, touching a desk on the way to his own up front. After requesting a few days to pray about it, he had given his answer to the members of the school board yesterday. That had been only the preliminary step, the men had explained to him, because now Miss Clark had to be asked if she would consider teaching the secondary school, and the squire if he would sponsor it. But Jonathan somehow knew that it would happen.

  He smiled and brought out his planning ledger, in which he kept track of his responsibilities to the different levels of students. Seven more months in which to prove to Elizabeth that he loved her with all his heart. A gift from God, he had no doubt. And oddly enough, he was almost as happy about the seven more months he would be allowed to continue opening up the world to children, most of whom would never travel farther than Shrewsbury in their lifetimes.

  A knock on the door snapped him out of his pleasant reverie just before Vicar Phelps stepped into the room with hat in hand.

  “Vicar …” Jonathan said, taken by surprise.

  “Mr. Raleigh,” the man nodded tersely as he approached his desk.

  Oh no. Jonathan had a feeling the minister had found out about his decision to stay and, of course, was livid about it. He stood but did not offer his hand for fear that the vicar might not return it in the same condition. “Good morning,” he offered benignly.

  Vicar Phelps planted his fists upon the desk and leaned forward slightly, propping himself up by his arms. “You’ve given the board your answer.” Not a question, but a statement of fact.

  “Yes, sir.” I don’t want to fight a man twice my age. Especially one who happened to be Elizabeth’s father—and with shoulders as broad as a Viking’s.

  “How can we make sure we win that archery tournament next month?”

  Jonathan blinked. “Sir?” he replied, not because he had not heard, but because he needed a moment to collect his wits.

  “The tournament. What would it take to win the thing?”

  Now that he could think, Jonathan had a ready answer. “Saturday practices, sir. If just for a month the children could be allowed a couple of hours away from chores—and still be given time to keep up with their schoolwork, of course.”

  “Hmmm.” The vicar rubbed his bearded chin. “Would have to be on Saturday mornings, after the milk from the first milkings is delivered to the factory. If I call on the parents and can convince most of them, can you be ready this Saturday?”

  “Of course.”

  Incredibly, Vicar Phelps stretched his hand over the desk. Even more incredibly, his face wore a grin. “Then let’s give it all we’ve got.”

  Chapter 38

  With a parcel of peppermints lying on the nearby bench, Mrs. Kingston trimmed dead leaves from her prize Rosa Allea and waited for the Sanderses’ wagon to appear on its return trip up Market Lane. She could only hope that neither of Mercy’s older brothers had been commissioned to drive this Friday, for she was sure the candy would not serve as sufficient bribery for them. And being a strong temperance supporter, she could not in good conscience provide what would surely do the trick.

  To her relief, the one named “Fernie” was at the reins and gladly agreed to wait. Actually he requested ten pence in addition to the peppermints, but after being subjected to Mrs. Kingston’s shaming stare, he meekly held out his hand for the candy.

  “I’ve been praying for you every day, dear,” she told Mercy as they walked with linked arms in a remote part of the garden. “Can you see any weakening in Mr. Langford’s refusal to marry?”

  “None at all, ma’am,” Mercy replied. In spite of the slight melancholy set of her hazel eyes, she looked rather endearing in a simple frock of dove gray crepeline that she must have sewn up this week.

  Can’t the man see what a jewel she is? Mrs. Kingston thought and briefly considered calling upon Mr. Langford to point out that fact. But it was a sad fact of life that some men could not be bullied, and if Mr. Langford happened to be of the same cast, she would be doing more harm than good.

  “But we did have a good chat last week,” the girl went on, as if fearing she was painting too dismal a picture.

  “Well, that’s something.” Mrs. Kingston nodded. “And don’t forget, you’ve three more times to go. I’ve ordered river trout this time. It’s about time we tried some fish, don’t you think?”

  “I feel so beholden to you.”

  “Nonsense! I’m having the time of my life, so let’s not dredge up that old issue,” she added commandingly. She looked about for any lurking ears, then leaned her head closer. “Besides … there is a way you can repay the favor.”

  “There is? Anything!” the girl replied with fervor.

  Lowering her voice, Mrs. Kingston replied, “You can sing at my wedding, dear.”

  The girl froze on the spot to gape at her in wide-eyed wonder. “The squire proposed!”

  “Sh-h-h! No, he has not proposed … yet.”

  After a bemused silence, the straight line of Mercy’s mouth curved into a smile. “No doubt it’s only a matter of time, then?”

  Mrs. Kingston smiled back. “Faith is a wonderful thing, child.”

  After lunch she changed from her gardening and walking clothes into the hunter green cashmere gown she wore when the squire met her train in Shrewsbury. She then settled a gray felt hat trimmed with black velvet ribbon above her chignon. She could have easily walked the distance to the manor house, but it seemed on the occasion of the formal request she was to make, a carriage would be more appropriate. Mr. Herrick, who was the most obliging man on earth, in her opinion, agreed to chauffeur her in the landau.

  “Why, Octavia!” the squire said, rising from his chair and newspaper after she had been introduced at the sitting room door. It was tastefully furnished with walnut paneling and Brussels carpets, in spite of the rather dour portraits of Bartley forebears staring down from all four walls. Catching up her gloved hand to press it against his lips in a courtly fashion, he said, “What a pleasant surprise!”

  “And no inconvenience, Thurmond, I trust?”

  “None at all, madam! Would that I be so inconvenienced every day!”

  If the hint of a future together was attached to this latter statement, Mrs. Kingston chose to treat it with a benign smile. She still harbored a suspicion that the squire uttered such vaguely promising things to see how she would react, thereby justifying himself in assuming she desired to marry him—and possibly losing interest in her.

  “I’m afraid this is not a social call, Thurmond,” she said from the leather high-backed chair he had offered near his after he had dispatched the maid for tea.

  Uncertainty washed across his wrinkled face. “Is something wrong, Octavia?”

  “Not at all,” she reassured him but then amended that with a purse of the lips. “On second consideration, I would be forced to respond that there is.”

  “Pray tell … what is it?”

  She gave a sigh and glanced up at the host of Bartleys captured in gilded frames. “Your
ancestors founded this village, as you’ve told me.”

  “Yes, yes,” he nodded. “Do go on, Octavia.”

  “I wonder what they would think if they could know how sadly Gresham neglects its older children.”

  “Neglects?” The squire’s eyebrows raised, resembling two patches of white broom sedge sprung out of bare earth. “How so, Octavia?”

  Now that she was confident he was in the correct frame of mind, she related the proposal for the secondary school as was put to her by Mrs. Hollis and Vicar Phelps. He listened, alternately pursing his lips and fingering the cuff of his velvet coat—sometimes both activities at the same time. The maid brought tea, and he sipped thoughtfully until he had drained his cup, then set it back on its saucer with a soft clink.

  “And so the primary expenses would be the teacher’s wages and some texts?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “Of course some lamp oil would be necessary and firewood during the cold months.”

  “That shouldn’t be a liability,” he mused aloud. “We’ve firewood in abundance in the woods, and the caretaker could see to delivering it.”

  Mrs. Kingston was not sure if that implied an affirmative answer, so when he became silent again, she waited. And then an idea suddenly struck her, one that would surely ensure his cooperation. And if the board wants to complain, I’ll tell them they shouldn’t send an old woman to do their job! She cleared her throat and gave him a prim smile.

  “How silly of me, Thurmond! I’ve left out the most exciting part.”

  “You have?”

  “The school would be named The Thurmond Bartley School of Advanced Learning,” she replied, clasping her hands together rapturously. “With an elegant signboard, of course, attached to the one that says Gresham Town Hall.” She reckoned she would end up feeling compelled to pay for that herself, but if the children would benefit from it, she would forever have the satisfaction of a wise investment.

  It was clear to see from the slight shift forward in his chair that he was interested, but there was also a curious narrowing of his eyes—almost a cagey look directed at her. “I’ve a better idea.”

  An unsettling awareness of having lost control of the situation almost put her at a loss for words. “You have, Thurmond?”

  “Yes.” Slowly, a smile spread across his face. “I would prefer the sign read The Octavia Bartley School for Advanced Learning.”

  Mrs. Kingston had been expecting a proposal of marriage for weeks but still suffered a jolt when the time actually arrived. With her better instinct still demanding coyness, she affected an expression of incomprehension. “Thurmond … are you suggesting we become associates in sponsoring the school? Because I must tell you that while I have at my disposal considerable funds, this is a project that will need to continue indefinitely. I don’t know if—”

  He shook his bald head. “Octavia. Will you force me to get down on my aged knees?”

  “Your knees, Thurmond?”

  “I’m asking you to marry me!” When she did not reply at once, he sent her the cagey look again. “And it’s the only way I’ll support that school. Marry me, Octavia Kingston, and I’ll even donate a new building next year!”

  “Aleda is at archery practice,” Julia explained to Philip after she and Grace had taken turns embracing him on the railway platform Saturday morning. “She says to come by the school and watch if they’re still at it when we get home.”

  “My sister with a bow and arrow.” The boy affected a shudder. “I suppose I’ll have to stay on her good side from now on.”

  “She doesn’t bring them home with her,” Grace reassured him with a serious expression.

  Julia laughed, more from the joy of seeing Philip than by their remarks. It was good to hear evidence of his same good humor, though she was disturbed by the presence of faint shadows lurking under his eyes whenever he held his head at a certain angle. Either her imagination was playing tricks upon her, or he had lost even more weight, for she had never noticed his Norfolk jacket hanging so loosely upon his frame.

  Andrew hopped down from the driving seat of the landau upon first sight of them. Smiling, he shook Philip’s hand. “I declare you’ve grown another foot.”

  “Why, no, sir, I still have just the two,” Philip bantered, to which Andrew clapped him on the shoulder and laughed at the old joke.

  However, as he assisted Julia into the carriage while Philip was storing his satchel in the boot, Andrew whispered, “Has he lost more weight?”

  “I noticed the same thing,” Julia whispered back.

  They were halfway to Laurel’s school when Julia realized what was the matter, for she had gone through something like this with Philip only a year ago. He’s pushing himself too hard again … just as he did when he wanted to win that trophy. And no doubt at the Josiah Smith Preparatory Academy, competition was even more intense to be among the top students.

  Relief seeped into her tensed nerves, for she had almost convinced herself he had contracted some mysterious disease. Surely this was something that could be mended. She determined to speak with him alone sometime today and make him understand that while it was admirable to set lofty goals, few were worth ruining one’s own health over. And if his appearance did not improve very soon, he would have to stay home and attend the new school, which was but a fortnight or so away from becoming a reality. If it broke his heart, so be it. Reconciling with disappointment was a lesson best learned earlier than later in life.

  Her thoughts temporarily switched to another subject as the landau drew closer to Saint Julien’s—Andrew’s sudden strange behavior. For instead of reining Donny and Pete into the sweeping carriage drive, he had turned onto a side lane shaded by massive oaks. After the horses had come to a stop on the side of the lane, he twisted around in the driver’s seat with a sheepish look across his face. “You went inside with your mother last month, didn’t you?” he asked Philip above the noise of a passing chaise.

  Philip sat up in his seat. “Yes, sir.”

  “Would you mind fetching Laurel this time? It’s just a short walk across the grounds.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “May I go too?” Grace asked as her brother hopped from the carriage.

  “That’s up to Philip,” Julia replied. All Grace had to do was turn her hopeful face toward him, and he grinned and held out his arms to help her alight. After watching them set out across the grounds hand in hand, Julia leaned forward to speak to Andrew.

  “I never imagined you to be a coward,” she teased, for the reason for his behavior had dawned upon her.

  He winced, still twisted in his seat. “Those are words that pierce the heart, Julia.”

  “Surely he’s not as obnoxious as you imply.”

  “And surely Henry the Eighth was just a little temperamental. You met him once. Did you not find him irritating?”

  “Henry the Eighth?”

  “No!” he replied after a little chuckle. “And I must tell you … if Gresham happens to lose that archery competition, I may start parking around back at the service entrance.”

  Julia smiled, then became serious again. “Is that why you’ve decided to forgive Mr. Raleigh?”

  “No, Julia.” Andrew shook his head to emphasis his point. “Although I’m aware the timing appears suspicious. It’s actually because of what you said to me last time we spoke about him. About ‘everyone being someone’s son or daughter,’ if you will recall. Mr. Raleigh has proven himself enough as far as I’m concerned.”

  “And if he asks permission to court Elizabeth again?”

  He took in a deep breath. “That will be up to her, which means it will likely happen, for I believe she still has strong feelings for him. But if and when it does, it will be under my conditions, of course.”

  She recalled the “ten minutes alone after dark” rule he had enforced when Elizabeth was being courted by Mr. Treves and had a feeling the rules of conduct governing Mr. Raleigh would be even stricter. But she couldn’t faul
t him for that. “I don’t think you’re making a mistake, Andrew,” she smiled. “I like the young man.”

  “Well, even though I’ve forgiven him, I can’t quite go that far yet.” Returning her smile, he added, “But if he makes Vicar Nippert eat his words, I will likely be disposed much more favorably toward him.”

  The children returned with Laurel presently. “Why did you wait out here?” she queried her father.

  “It’s a long story,” he replied. He urged the horses at a brisk trot most of the way home, then gave his apologies after the landau came to a stop in the Larkspur’s carriage drive. “I promised Mr. Raleigh I would help him with archery practice,” he said, turning the horses over to Mr. Herrick. “Would any of you care to come and watch?”

  Of course Grace wanted to go, and Laurel as well. They both turned pleading eyes upon Philip, who had just taken his satchel from the landau’s boot. He grinned back at them. “Just let me change from this uniform and say hello to everyone in the house.”

  “I’ll come along with Philip,” Julia said. The short walk would not give them ample time to discuss his schooling, but she was painfully aware that the minutes were rapidly ticking away until it would be time for him to leave again. While her son was being greeted and embraced and teased by servants and lodgers, she sat next to Mrs. Dearing on the piano bench and listened to her halting efforts of a simplified version of “The Beautiful Blue Danube Waltz.” The elderly woman paused from her music to proffer a cheek when Philip walked by, and he planted a hurried kiss upon it.

  Ten minutes after her son had disappeared into his room, Julia was still seated with Mrs. Dearing, who now had begun to practice her scales. She didn’t wish to hurry him, but mindful that he would regret missing the chance to see his sister shoot a bow and arrow, she walked down the corridor and tapped upon his door. He didn’t answer, and she tapped again. “Philip?” she asked, turning the knob and slowly pushing open the door. He had not even changed his clothes but lay across his bed upon his side, with both arms wrapping his pillow so that only part of his face was visible.