Rebecca Stubbs: The Vicar's Daughter

by Hannah Buckland

  CHAPTER 36

  I ALMOST DANCED MY WAY home that evening, hugging my conviction that the budding friendship between Rev. Hayworth and I would flower into something beautiful. No true gentleman, let alone a minister, would give a woman such warm encouragements without a genuine desire to woo her. Of course, when I went through the middle of the village, I walked like any sensible person, but the absurd grin stuck to my face was harder to rectify.

  Every now and again, a song of silent praise rang from my heart to the Lord who does all things well. Each tree and flower I passed seemed to display the Lord’s care and agree with me in praising His goodness. I sailed into the kitchen, glad that the girls had gone home and, having the house to myself, I just pottered about, dreaming, smiling, and singing.

  The next two curtain-dominated days dragged past. The sunny weather gave way to heavy rain and high winds.

  The weather was not the only unwelcome arrival. On Friday morning, Mr. Thorpe unexpectedly appeared. This was most unfortunate as the two maids were due to have their half day that afternoon, and I was hoping to disappear to the Hayworths’. I saw the latter plan disappear before my mind’s eye, for Mr. Thorpe would require an evening meal. I remembered Rev. Hayworth and my parting words, which were spoken in jest but now seemed prophetic, and with an air of dutiful resignation went to find Mr. Thorpe to discuss meal arrangements. Much to my relief, he did not require an evening meal.

  “I have stuffed myself on eggs and bacon at breakfast time. In fact, I have had so much rich food over the last few days, I would be happy with bread and water for the next week!”

  “I trust you had an agreeable time in London, sir?” I asked, having sorted out the meal situation.

  “Yes. I pleased everyone—the Harringtons in going to London, and myself in leaving.”

  “So was it not enjoyable?”

  “Oh, in a way it was. The most satisfactory thing was seeing all the young ladies dolled up in their finest outfits and realising that I am marrying the best of the lot.”

  “That is very good, sir,” I agreed.

  “But what is this I am hearing about you?” he asked with a raised brow.

  Hiding my alarm, I turned to gaze elsewhere. “About me, sir?”

  “Yes. Clara says you are courting the curate.”

  “Then Clara needs her ears boxed,” I said, blushing.

  “Then you can deny it?”

  Instead of giving a sensible reply, I just managed a few errs and umms. Mr. Thorpe chuckled at my discomfort. I tried to change the subject, but it was rather too obviously linked to the last.

  “Before I knew of your plans, sir, I gave both Clara and Molly their half day today.”

  “That will be no problem,” Mr. Thorpe assured me.

  “But I too was hoping to have a few hours off, but I can cancel it if necessary.”

  “No indeed, please go ahead. But what are you doing?”

  “Walking Rex,” I replied.

  “And walking the curate?” he asked knowingly.

  “Well . . . yes, sir.”

  “Actually, I fancy a walk myself,” said Mr. Thorpe teasingly. I imagined the three of us walking rather uncomfortably together. “So I’ll take Rex with me and leave the curate with you.”

  “Oh, thank you, sir,” I answered, relieved.

  “But I want to be properly introduced to this chap before long,” he said pompously. “I have a paternal interest in the well-being of my dependents.”

  I hurried off to get changed and was only just ready when Rev. Hayworth arrived at the kitchen door. As if to illustrate our mood, the clouds broke and the sun shone as we tried yet another route to the cottage. Our long, laughter-filled ramble was rudely interrupted by a heavy shower, so with open umbrellas, we ran, battling our way through the wind and rain.

  “I don’t know if the weather is for or against us,” said Rev. Hayworth with a smile as we shook our umbrellas and removed our dripping coat and shawl.

  It did not matter to me about the weather, for the wind and rain beating on the windows only made the cottage seem cosier and more inviting. We sat drinking hot tea as our outerwear steamed themselves dry next to the stove. As I looked across at the bedraggled Rev. Hayworth, his wet hair unruly and extra curly, a huge surge of love for him took the breath out my lungs. How I longed to run my fingers through those curls and ruffle his hair!

  I was brought back to reality by Mrs. Hayworth tutting about the price of sugar and expecting a coherent response from me. She was busy making a final batch of elderflower cordial and soon had me involved in sieving the liquid through muslin. Her son disappeared to his study.

  Another heavy shower at four o’clock prompted an invitation for me to stay and have soup, bread, and toasted tea cakes before I left. Rev. Hayworth’s enthusiastic seconding of the idea removed any resistance I might have had, and I gratefully accepted. While I munched my way through a fruity tea cake that dripped with melted butter, I thought of Miss Sophia in London—dining in ornate houses, mixing with the elite, sampling the finest cuisine—and I would not have swapped places with her for all the tea in China.

  When we had finished our simple meal, Rev. Hayworth reached for the large, well-thumbed family Bible and read a short passage from Hebrews. He concluded with prayer, thanking the Lord for our food and for safekeeping during the day, and committing the evening and night into His hands.

  After I had helped wash up the crockery, it was time to go. Mrs. Hayworth kissed me good-bye, and her son helped me into my now-dry shawl, saying, “Tonight no church warden will stand in my way of walking you home.”

  Although it was June, the gloomy clouds brought on an early dusk. We picked our muddy way around puddles and pot-holes. Water meandered along the lanes, washing along gravel, leaves, and debris. We crisscrossed our way through the streams, pausing every now and again to re-channel the flow and break up the leafy dams with our boots. This was just the sort of activity that Bessie and I delighted to engage in as we sauntered along on our way home from school.

  As we walked through the village, I tried to describe Pemfield to Rev. Hayworth, but so busy was I with reminiscing, that I did not see a rabbit hole by the verge of the road. My right foot landed in it, but the rest of me continued, causing me to end up flat on my face on the muddy grass. A shearing pain gripped my right ankle.

  Rev. Hayworth’s face was all concern as he helped me sit up and offered me his handkerchief for my mud-spattered face. I tried to laugh the incident off, but when I tried to get up, the pain in my ankle was so intense I nearly fainted. My ankle was rapidly swelling.

  After persuading me it was the wisest thing to do, Rev. Hayworth carefully untied my boot and eased it off my ballooning foot. He then knelt in the mud and let me lean against him while I tried to recover. The thought of his knees getting gradually wetter and colder spurred me into action, and after a while with his support, I managed a standing position. With my arm over his shoulder and his arm around my waist, we made halting and painful progress toward Biggenden.

  Just when we thought things could get no worse, the heavens opened and it poured with rain.

  “Well, there is nothing else for it,” muttered Rev. Hayworth, and with that he picked me up and carried me.

  The pain, mud, self-consciousness, and rain combined could not completely eclipse the enjoyable sensation of feeling his strong arms around me. Fortunately for Rev. Hayworth, he did not have far to go, and soon he staggered into the kitchen and, with an air of relief and triumph, deposited me in an armchair near the stove.

  I did not know whether to laugh or cry as I tried to express my thanks, but Rev. Hayworth was hardly listening, for he was busy arranging a foot stool, removing my shawl, and finding a cold compress for my ankle. As he was stocking the smouldering fire, the door opened and Mr. Thorpe entered waving a poker from the nearest fireplace.

  “I thought I heard intruders,” he said, before walking over and introducing himself to the curate.

>   The two men shook hands, one wearing his soft indoor shoes and looking clean and neat in his tweed jacket, and the other caked in mud and wearing a dripping overcoat.

  “What a state you are both in!” exclaimed Mr. Thorpe, rather unnecessarily. “Have you fallen amongst thieves?”

  “Not thieves, but a rabbit hole,” replied Rev. Hayworth, smiling. “When I was walking Miss Stubbs home, she had the misfortune of stumbling into a rabbit hole and badly spraining her ankle.”

  “And he has been my Good Samaritan,” I added, smiling up at him.

  “That is good of you, Reverend,” said Mr. Thorpe.

  “But, sir, Miss Stubbs is in severe pain and is awfully pale. Do you have any port or the likes that she could drink?” asked Rev. Hayworth.

  “Why, of course,” replied Mr. Thorpe, and he disappeared from the kitchen to find some.

  When we were alone again, Rev. Hayworth squatted down next to me and asked, “How are you feeling now, Rebecca?”

  It was a simple question, but the tenderness of his voice and the fact that he had used my Christian name for the very first time filled my eyes with tears and my heart with love.

  “Oh, Jack,” is all I could utter as I squeezed his arm.

  Tears ran down my cheeks as I looked into his kind eyes. I noticed a crust of mud on his forehead and carefully rubbed it off, wiping my finger on my skirt. He reciprocated by rubbing a splatter off my cheek and was just opening his mouth to speak when, proud of his speed, Mr. Thorpe entered the kitchen, waving a bottle of port and three glasses. Jack and I both faked admiration for his swiftness, but whereas Jack looked cool and composed, I felt hot and flustered.

  “Do take your coat off and join us for a glass,” invited Mr. Thorpe. “Unless, of course, you have signed the pledge.”

  “Thank you, I would be glad to join you, and no, I am not a teetotaller and see no reason to begin now.” Jack smiled back, removing his coat and putting it near the stove to dry for the second time that afternoon.

  I pointed out a tin on the side containing a rich fruitcake, and after further instructions where to find a knife and plates, we all settled with our refreshments. Mr. Thorpe and Rev. Hayworth were soon busy discussing the strengths and weaknesses of the various Oxford and Cambridge colleges, but although Jack’s conversation was mainly directed at Mr. Thorpe, his eyes often strayed in my direction.

  Being unused to strong drink and having been given an over-generous measure by Mr. Thorpe, I soon began to feel drowsy and distant. Despite being close to the roaring stove, I was still cold and shivering. My ankle throbbed more than I cared to admit.

  Jack observed my condition and believed I was in a state of shock. “You need to be tucked up in a warm bed,” he said.

  The thought of dragging myself out to the closet, then up to bed, especially in my muddy state, seemed almost impossible, and it dawned on me how awkward it was having only gentlemen around. This problem must have gone through Jack’s mind at the same time.

  Speaking to Mr. Thorpe, Jack asked, “Is there any local woman we could call upon to help poor Miss Stubbs to get comfortable?”

  Mr. Thorpe thought for a minute and then snapped his fingers. “I’ve got just the ticket. I can ask the groom to fetch a carriage to take you home and to fetch a local woman to help Miss Stubbs.”

  “I do not need a carriage, only the loan of a lamp,” objected Jack. “By the time you have hitched the horses up, I could be halfway home. It seems a shame to disturb the groom at this hour.”

  “This hour is only eight o’clock, Reverend, and after all you have done for my housekeeper, it would please me if you accepted my offer.”

  “Please do,” I seconded. “It is still pouring out there.”

  With that, Jack reluctantly consented. Mr. Thorpe pulled a newly installed bell to summon the groom, and soon all was neatly arranged. Agnes’s mother, Mrs. Brookes, was the nearest neighbour. She, along with Violet, came to see what state I was in, and with much friendly sympathy, they organised hot bricks to warm my bed and opodeldoc lotion for the sprain.

  Jack looked relieved at the motherly attention I was getting and bade me good night, promising to visit the next day. Mr. Thorpe, on seeing the flutter of womanly activity, vacated the kitchen, leaving the kind ladies to attend me.

  I insisted I could help myself, but Mrs. Brookes brushed aside my efforts. Once standing, I was most grateful for her support, because the room spun around before my eyes. Somehow she helped me to the outside closet and then to ascend the stairs. I was for flopping exhausted into bed, but she dismissed Violet, undressed me like a little child, and washed away all the mud. Finally, as if my arms were affected as well as my ankle, she combed my hair before helping me into my warm and cosy bed. I laid back in utter relief. Then, as I tried to express my gratitude to Mrs. Brookes, I burst into tears.

  CHAPTER 37

  I HAD A FITFUL NIGHT. The port sent me to sleep, but the pain in my ankle woke me a few times. When awake I was fully alert, my mind whirling with the events of the evening and the firm realisation that Jack loved me. This knowledge was like a warm cocoon wrapped around my joyful heart—a heart almost bursting with love for Jack and thankfulness to the Lord.

  It did not matter that I had hardly slept and that my foot was throbbing, for my new happiness gave me as much energy as hours of undisturbed slumber. I knew what Mrs. Brookes was like and more likely than not, I would now be her “project” until I was well again, so to prevent my being a burden to her, I was determined to get myself up and dressed before she came to help. Out of sheer stubbornness I painfully wrestled my way into my clothes, tidied myself up, and descended the stairs on my bottom. Having accomplished that, I soon discovered that most tasks in the kitchen were nigh impossible, so I had to await the arrival of the kitchen maids before the stove could be stoked and the breakfast preparations commenced.

  On seeing my swollen and bruised ankle, the two girls rose to the occasion, promised to do all the work, and packed me off to the housekeeper’s parlour. The gardener kindly cut me two sticks that were a great help in the coming days.

  While Clara and Molly busied themselves with the cooking and cleaning, I continued sewing the endless curtain seams. During the morning, Mr. Thorpe visited my parlour to enquire after my well-being, but he could not resist the opportunity to tease.

  “The curate could not keep his eyes off you last night.”

  I was relieved when he left the house to inspect the crops.

  Mid-afternoon the doorbell rang and shortly afterwards, Molly, with a knowing look and a smirk, ushered Jack into my parlour. He had only just sat down when the doorbell rang again and Miss Brinkhill was announced.

  My little parlour seemed overcrowded with this third, unwelcome person present. Jack politely vacated the armchair and brought forward the desk chair for himself. When Miss Brinkhill was settled, we all exchanged rather stilted pleasantries. Molly, out of kindness or curiosity, brought in a tray of tea and biscuits. It was a relief to busy myself with the arranging of cups and saucers and the pouring of tea, for a stern silence was radiating off Miss Brinkhill, creating an awkwardness.

  After receiving her tea and taking a few polite sips, she broke her silence. “I sympathise with you as regards to your ankle injury, Miss Stubbs.”

  “Thank you,” I replied.

  “But I am duty-bound to point out that your accident was a judgement.”

  “A judgement?” queried Jack.

  “Yes, indeed, and out of regard for Miss Stubbs, I felt I should come and reprove her in private, but seeing as you are here too, Reverend, maybe together we can gently point out the error of her ways.”

  I was speechless, but Jack said, “Kindly explain,” in such an icy tone that I shivered.

  Miss Brinkhill was oblivious to the ice and continued, “Well, it has come to my attention that Miss Stubbs has taken to loitering in the dark with an unknown male.”

  I put down my saucer with a clatter, but she went on
.

  “And indulging in unseemly physical contact.”

  I sat forward to offer some incoherent reply, but Jack silenced me by putting his hand on my arm.

  My accuser continued, “And, I am sure you will agree, Rev. Hayworth, such behaviour is unbecoming for a church member, and it is up to the likes of you and me to uphold the standards of the church.”

  “Yes, indeed it is,” replied Jack fiercely. “And the protection of parishioners from malicious slander and gossip is also my duty, so bearing that in mind, I would like to inform you of a few salient facts, Miss Brinkhill. Firstly, it may interest you to know that it was I you saw ‘loitering in the dark’ with Miss Stubbs.”

  Miss Brinkhill’s shocked reaction was most satisfactory.

  “Furthermore, it was I who had his arms wrapped around her. Let me ask you, Miss Brinkhill, is there anything ‘unseemly’ about helping a friend along the road when she is hurt? Can one not help an injured person in such a situation without the tongues of village gossips wagging?” Here he paused, then said slowly and emphatically, “Especially if the injured person just happens to be the woman you have every intention of marrying?”

  Miss Brinkhill’s ramrod body almost leapt out the chair. “Marry? But she is a servant!”

  Jack sprang to his feet. “And so am I! I am a servant of the Lord. So we are ideally matched.”

  “But she is ignorant!”

  Jack was looking so fierce that it was my turn to lay a restraining hand on him. “Then he can teach me,” I said, but this was unheard as Jack answered at the same time.

  “Ignorant? Then I am ignorant, for I find Rebecca my equal.”

  Because Miss Brinkhill looked so defeated, I had a little sympathy for her.

  “Wait until I tell my father,” she threatened as she stood up to leave.

  “Yes, please tell him, for we need someone to marry us,” replied Jack, somewhat cheekily.

  At that, she flounced, wet eyed, out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

  Jack sat back in his chair and said, “Phew,” and we both laughed rather nervously. I suddenly felt very shy.