by Ann Barker
‘Have you never wanted to do that before?’ Aurelia asked curiously, when Emily had calmed down and they had ordered a fresh pot of tea.
‘I think I have, often,’ Emily admitted, ‘but I have only just realized that that is what I had wanted to do.’
‘What do you usually do?’
‘I go to the cathedral,’ Emily replied simply. ‘I can be myself there. That is where I have always gone if ever I have felt troubled about anything.’ She looked straight at the other woman and said, ‘The Lincoln imp always makes me smile.’ With that she turned upon her visitor a smile of great sweetness that made her look considerably younger than her thirty years.
The second pot of tea had just arrived when there was a knock at the front door, and soon the sound of voices in the hall told them that Mr Trimmer and Sir Gareth had arrived. Had Mrs Trimmer been looking at her hostess at that moment, then some of her earliest suspicions would have been confirmed, but she was suddenly afflicted with a sneezing fit, and by the time she looked at Emily again, that lady was standing up in order to greet the visitors.
In between the arrival of the gentlemen and their entrance, Emily had told herself severely that her strange reaction to Sir Gareth Blades the previous day had simply been some kind of nervous condition, probably brought on by too much novel reading. There was nothing special about him. He was perhaps a little more stylish than most of the men she had met, but that was all.
Then the door opened and, as she caught sight of him, her heart and breathing played the same stupid trick upon her as they had done before. Both gentlemen were dressed in top boots and tan breeches, but Sir Gareth was in a dark-blue coat which seemed to impart some of that colour to his eyes, and his smile was just as devastating as she had remembered.
‘Miss Whittaker, good morning,’ he said in his deep voice, as he bowed politely. ‘Finding that Aurelia had come to see you, we made so bold as to do the same.’
‘You are very welcome,’ Emily managed to say without stammering. ‘Would you like some tea, or …’ She paused, not sure what else there might be in the house that would be suitable for two gentlemen who had just been for a long walk.
‘Tea would be delightful,’ Sir Gareth answered, smiling at the maid who disappeared in order to fetch two more cups. ‘But you must allow me to introduce my brother-in-law to you, for I do not think that you met him when you came yesterday.’
Emily greeted the new clergyman, and was soon put at her ease by his calm manner. ‘Did you have an agreeable walk?’ she asked them. ‘Your sister mentioned that you might perhaps go to Brayford.’
‘The walk there was agreeable,’ Mr Trimmer qualified, ‘but I think that it will be some time before my muscles recover from that climb back up the hill.’
‘For shame, Alan!’ Sir Gareth exclaimed mockingly. ‘What you really need to do is tackle the same walk every day for a week, then you’ll soon be in shape.’
Mr Trimmer looked less than enthusiastic. ‘It’s my belief that you are in conspiracy with the boys,’ he retorted, ‘for they certainly declared themselves ready to take the same walk tomorrow; by the way, we left them at home as we came past.’
‘And what did you reply, sir?’ Emily asked him.
The clergyman looked a little guilty. ‘I told them that I had a sermon to write,’ he admitted.
‘Oh Alan, what a shocking untruth!’ exclaimed his wife. ‘You will have no credibility with them at all if they find out.’
‘I believe I lost most of my credit with them as I staggered behind them on the way up Steep Hill,’ he replied. ‘And I am rapidly losing what remains every time Oliver asks me a question about Lincoln to which I don’t know the answer.’
‘Well what can you expect?’ his wife asked in reasonable tones. ‘Children never believe that their parents know anything, do they?’ she added, turning to Emily.
To her great annoyance, Emily found herself stammering and blushing again, for she could not remember challenging her father upon any matter. ‘I … I cannot say,’ she murmured.
‘Fie, Aurelia,’ Sir Gareth declared. ‘Anyone can see by looking at Miss Whittaker that she was an obedient child.’
‘Unlike myself, I suppose you will say,’ his sister retorted.
‘If the cap fits, my dear, I would be the last man to prevent you from wearing it,’ he replied with a smile.
There was general laughter in which Emily joined, and she reflected that she had not laughed as much as this in her own home for many a long year.
The tea had just arrived when Mr Whittaker came back in and, of course, Emily was then obliged to introduce him to the two gentlemen. Mr Trimmer greeted his fellow clergyman with courtesy and a deference that was pleasing to an older man.
Sir Gareth murmured polite gratification at the introduction then said, ‘Since I met your daughter yesterday, sir, I have been trying to remember where I have met someone by your name before. Today, I have been looking at the portrait above your fireplace, and I wonder whether perhaps it is of Patrick Whittaker?’
They all looked at the picture. It was of a fair-haired young gentleman, captured almost at that very moment when youth turns to manhood. He was rather too sharp-featured for handsomeness, with a shock of fair hair and hazel eyes, very like Emily’s own. His expression was serious and he was dressed severely in black with a high, plain neck-cloth.
The elderly clergyman suddenly became still. ‘You knew my son Patrick?’ he asked quietly.
‘I certainly did,’ answered Sir Gareth. ‘This is a fine likeness, as I recall. He was with me at school, and we were to have gone to Cambridge together. His death was a sad loss, sir.’
Mr Whittaker shook his head. ‘A sad loss indeed,’ he agreed. ‘My sainted Patrick! He was to have gone into the church, you know,’ he explained. ‘Alas, we shall never know the blessings of three generations all serving the cathedral, shall we, my dear Emily?’
‘No Papa,’ Emily replied dutifully.
‘But you must call again and we will have a long talk about Patrick,’ the canon went on.
‘Thank you, you are very good,’ Sir Gareth answered, but when her father turned to speak to Mrs Trimmer, Emily thought that she caught the baronet looking up at the portrait and smiling wryly. She could not help it; she simply had to look at him whilst he was unaware of her regard.
His dark hair, which he wore a little longer than was dictated by the current fashion, was swept back from his face, throwing the line of his jaw into relief. That chin of his was firm, very masculine with a hint of shadow that indicated a strong growth of beard, and the way that he lifted it seemed to say that he could be stubborn at times.
Her gaze travelled down to his shoulders, which so substantially filled that well-cut coat. She recalled James demanding that he feel his muscles. What would the baronet’s own muscles feel like?
Suddenly colouring at such an indelicate thought, she looked up, and saw that he was regarding her quizzically, and all at once she knew that he must have observed her staring at him. Then, to her great astonishment, and so imperceptibly that she could not be sure afterwards that it had really happened, he winked at her!
Looking away hurriedly, she discovered that Mrs Trimmer was inviting her and her father to dinner. ‘It would be a splendid opportunity for you to tell us more about the town and the cathedral,’ she was saying. ‘We do so want to learn all that we can.’
‘That is very kind of you, but I fear that Emily may not be able to come,’ said the canon politely. ‘She usually sits with her grandfather in the evenings. Furthermore, she has been away visiting friends recently, and has been neglecting her duty, and she is not one to shirk, are you, my dear?’
‘No, Papa,’ Emily replied, feeling almost sick with disappointment.
‘I am quite sure that she is not,’ agreed Mrs Trimmer, ‘but on such an occasion, her duty would be calling her in two directions, would it not? Duty of kindness to the stranger is important too.’
‘W
hy yes, indeed,’ the canon agreed thoughtfully.
‘Perhaps, then, Miss Whittaker might sit with her grandfather earlier in the day; then if it would ease your mind, dear sir, I could send my old nurse round to sit with him whilst you are away from the house.’
‘That would be very kind, Mrs Trimmer. Emily, we are very grateful, are we not?’
‘Yes indeed, Papa,’ Emily agreed, wishing that she could make her own thanks without looking as if she needed to be prompted to do so.
She glanced at Mrs Trimmer and, seeing her smiling, suddenly remembered the fire irons and could not help smiling back. It occurred to her that in this new friendship with Mrs Trimmer, she might find the mutuality that her relationship with Nathalie would always lack.
‘Then shall we say next Tuesday?’ asked Aurelia. ‘Emily, I shall rely upon you to help me with finding dependable tradesmen to supply the things that I need.’
‘Of course,’ Emily replied, before her father could assure their visitor that his daughter would do all that was proper. ‘Shall I call round tomorrow, perhaps?’
‘Please do.’
With that, polite farewells were made, and the visitors were gone, and although they had only been there quite briefly, it seemed to Emily that the house felt quite empty after their departure.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘I have heard from Mrs Fanshawe today,’ Emily told her grandfather that evening as she sat at his bedside. ‘She is keeping very well, she tells me, and she is so happy that Mr Fanshawe is with her.’ She sighed and put the letter down on her lap for a moment. ‘Was that how you felt with Grandmama?’ she asked him. ‘I suppose it must have been.’ She stroked the white, papery hand that lay on top of the coverlet. ‘I don’t mean to pry,’ she said apologetically. ‘It’s just that I—’ She stopped suddenly, then picked up the letter again.
‘The sea air is doing her good, she says. Mr Fanshawe is making her walk by the sea every day, and she is sleeping much better at night, but that may be because—’ Again she broke off. This time, she was silent for quite a long time. Then at last, she said softly, ‘Grandpapa, I met a gentleman this week. His name … no, perhaps I won’t tell you his name just yet, but …’ Again she paused. ‘Grandpapa, do you think it is too late for me? I mean, to have what Mr and Mrs Fanshawe have; what you and Grandmama had? This gentleman would never look at me, I feel sure, but—’ She stopped, hearing footsteps outside and, as the door opened softly and her father looked in, he heard his daughter reciting the words of the Lord’s Prayer.
The following day, as she had promised, Emily walked around the cathedral to the house where the Trimmers resided. She had only just reached the gate at the bottom of the path when the two boys came hurrying out.
‘Miss Whittaker, Miss Whittaker!’ they both exclaimed, so excitedly that it was difficult to distinguish one voice from another. ‘Have you come to take us up the tower? May we go now?’
Seeing that she could easily find herself dragged through the cathedral doors by main force before she had even had a chance to speak to Mrs Trimmer, Emily said ‘I need to speak to your mama. Then perhaps we may talk about it later.’
‘We’ll take you in,’ said the older boy, who, Emily remembered, was called Oliver.
‘Thank you,’ Emily replied. Clearly she was not going to be allowed to escape without at least making some kind of future arrangement for climbing the tower.
Mrs Trimmer was with her housekeeper, but she stood up as soon as Emily came in with the boys. ‘Thank you, Mrs Gibson,’ she said. ‘You see, Miss Whittaker has come to see me just as she promised. I shall soon be able to give you all the information you need about procuring necessities for the house.’
Mrs Gibson curtsied and withdrew at the same time as the boys groaned. ‘Oh no, not shopping,’ they declared, in despairing tones.
‘Shame on you, boys,’ declared the deep voice of Sir Gareth from the doorway. ‘It’s the duty of every gentleman to learn to enjoy shopping; otherwise, who would be able to escort the ladies and appreciate the purchases that they made?’
Emily, looking at his smiling face, could well imagine the kind of shopping to which he referred. It would be a frivolous expedition, no doubt, conducted in Bond Street, or one of the other London thoroughfares, of which she had read but which she had never seen. ‘I don’t suppose we engage in the same kind of shopping,’ she surmised.
He smiled and inclined his head. To her great surprise on his face was an expression that might have been pity. ‘Then you will have to instruct me,’ he told her. ‘If you and my sister want to engage in making any kind of purchases, then I will consider myself committed to accompany you. And,’ he went on, before anyone could interrupt him, ‘I will promise to carry any purchase made, whether it be eggs, turnips, or a dead hen, still with its head and feathers.’
Emily had to smile at that, but Mrs Trimmer assured her brother that they would not be making any such purchases. ‘A dead hen indeed,’ she exclaimed. ‘The very idea! I am simply calling on Emily’s expertise to show me which shops can be relied upon, that is all.’
‘But this is excellent!’ the gentleman exclaimed. ‘I may take all the credit for being gallant enough to offer to carry your purchases, without the inconvenience of actually having to do so.’
‘Now you are being absurd,’ retorted his sister. ‘Do you really mean to accompany us?’
‘Certainly,’ he responded at once. ‘And in addition, may I make a suggestion? After we have discovered all that the shops can offer, perhaps if Miss Whittaker is not too fatigued, she might be willing to escort us up the tower of the cathedral.’
‘Us?’ queried Mrs Trimmer.
‘Oliver, James and myself,’ he explained. ‘You know they will not be content until they have been right up there, and I would be glad to see the view, I must admit.’
‘Perhaps Emily does not want to climb the tower today,’ Mrs Trimmer ventured.
‘Oh no, I should be quite happy to go,’ Emily assured her. ‘It is a favourite view of mine.’ The boys, who had wisely kept quiet whilst this matter was being discussed, let out a cheer.
‘Why do you not play in the garden until we return?’ said their mother. ‘Nurse will keep an eye upon you.’ This they agreed to do, whilst protesting vigorously that they would have no need of Nurse’s attentions.
In no time, the three adults were walking out of the cathedral precinct and through the Exchequer gate into Castle Square. There they paused for a few minutes to look around, and Sir Gareth asked Emily to tell them about the castle.
‘It was built by the Normans, but this part of Lincoln was a stronghold even in Roman times,’ she informed him. ‘It is where the assizes are held, and the sheriff’s court, and it also houses the county gaol. I don’t like going there much,’ she confessed.
‘Then you must behave yourself better, and thus avoid being committed so frequently,’ Sir Gareth replied in tones of mock severity.
She stared at him uncomprehendingly, then made the same sound, half choke, half chuckle, that Mrs Trimmer remembered from the previous day. Sir Gareth, hearing it, drew the same conclusion as his sister: this lady did not often get the chance to laugh.
‘I visit some of the inmates,’ she told him unnecessarily. ‘Some of Papa’s congregation at St Mark’s get themselves into debt, you see.’
‘I see.’ It occurred to Sir Gareth that this spinster lady who led a very narrow and uneventful life in some people’s eyes, must find herself going into situations that were far beyond the experience of those who would make such judgements about her. ‘Do you pay their debts for them?’
She shook her head. ‘If we did that for one we would have to do it for all; then we should be in debt ourselves. No, I generally take them some home comforts, and news from their loved ones. Then on the other hand, I try to keep an eye on the families and help them to organize their affairs, so that the debt can soon be paid.’
‘Very commendable,’ the baronet murmured.
Suspecting a slight, she flushed and said, ‘It is not as exciting as going on the strut in Bond Street no doubt.’
He looked back at her narrowing his eyes. ‘On the contrary, I would have said that it was much more exciting,’ he answered her smoothly. ‘Besides, we do not all spend our time walking up and down and looking in shop windows, you know.’
Realizing that she had made unfair assumptions about him, Emily turned away, murmuring, ‘I beg your pardon’, in mortified tones, and thus did not see the twinkle in his eye as he inclined his head in gracious acknowledgement of her apology.
Mrs Trimmer, feeling that the conversation needed a lighter touch, said, ‘No, some of you spend half your time in Jackson’s boxing saloon.’
The baronet laughed. ‘I do try to look in there whenever I can,’ he admitted. ‘No doubt, though, Miss Whittaker will think that just as frivolous as looking in shop windows.’
‘Not at all,’ Emily answered in a flustered tone, wishing that she did not sound like a middle-aged spinster. Then, not wanting to seem abrupt, she went on, ‘Do you really fight in there, or are you just pretending?’
‘I have always wanted to ask that, but I have never had the courage to do so,’ Mrs Trimmer interjected.
‘Yes and no, Miss Whittaker,’ the baronet replied with a twinkle. ‘No, the fighting is not real, insofar as it is not done in anger; although I must admit that on one occasion, I saw two fellows there who clearly had a grudge against one another and things got a little savage. But the activity is just as strenuous as in a real fight and the moves are the same.’
By this time, they were walking along Bailgate and Emily began to point out the various shops to them.
‘Do you go marketing yourself, Miss Whittaker?’ Sir Gareth asked.
‘Certainly I do,’ she replied. ‘It is one of the things that I enjoy the most.’ Again he cast a pitying glance in her direction. Did she never have the chance to do anything simply for her own enjoyment?