The Parson's Pleasure Page 10

  Claire looked quite upset. Poor child, thought Sophia. It must have cost her much discomfort to explain her aunt's meaning to him. The whole episode was most distressing! Perhaps, Sophia thought, she should alter the words of that prayer if they could be so grossly misconstrued!

  CHAPTER NINE

  The next day at eleven o'clock, not having received any message to the contrary, Mr. Bennett was preparing to receive Claire's old nurse, when he heard the sound of coachwheels in front of his house. He strolled out front to greet the woman and her attendant in the carriage, but upon reaching the drive he saw to his astonishment that it was Claire and not a groom who was driving.

  After a moment's hesitation, he greeted her, smiling grimly. A small, upright woman was seated in the back, her disapproval showing in the rigidity of her posture. Claire presented the woman to him as Nurse Sutton, and he smiled graciously for her benefit. Then, turning back to Claire, he spoke kindly, but authoritatively.

  “You need not have troubled yourself to bring Nurse Sutton to me, Miss Oliver, but I assume that your groom was otherwise employed. I shall be happy to drive you to your house if you will give me the reins."

  Claire could not suppress a smile.

  “I will be happy to let you drive if you prefer, Mr. Bennett, though I must tell you that I am known to be a capable whip.” She paused momentarily, then stated firmly, “And I have every intention of accompanying you on your mission."

  “I do not doubt your capabilities with the reins for a minute,” replied Mr. Bennett, trying to preserve his stern air, but finding it very hard not to respond to those engaging blue eyes. “But I cannot let you accompany us. It would not be appropriate."

  “When I have Nurse with me?” questioned Claire, in a tone of disbelief. “I can't believe that even the strictest critic would say so."

  The rector cleared his throat and looked at her ominously. “I was not referring to the propriety of our being together, madam, as you well know. It would not be proper at all for me to take you on a call to the hovel in question."

  “I have the permission of my mama, sir, so you cannot possibly object,” said Claire primly.

  Mr. Bennett looked at Nurse for confirmation of this.

  “It won't be no use, sir, tryin’ to talk any sense to ‘er,” Nurse Sutton replied with glaring looks at Claire. “She's that headstrong, she is. And her ladyship ain't no better. A pair of ’em, as han't got no sense to be doin’ the business they do. But it won't be the first time she's put herself in where she's not needed and where she's like to catch her death, so don't go blamin’ yourself"

  Claire laughed warmly at this speech, before voicing her objections. “You really should not speak of me so to Mr. Bennett, Nurse, or you will have him thinking that I will be terribly in the way. And you know very well that I can be useful."

  The old nurse agreed reluctantly, but there was pride in her eyes. “I will give her this, sir, she's mighty good in a sick-room. She was right helpful when them Cratchet twins had the fever, but she had to go and get it herself, then—a light case it were, thank the Lord—but it weren't enough f6r her to help out just a little bit. You should've seed her with—"

  “That will be enough, Nurse,” Claire interrupted, her face turning pink with embarrassment. “You must not bore the rector with descriptions of my spots. He will have quite a pretty picture of me,” she said, laughing.

  By this time, Mr. Bennett had realized that he must give in. He climbed up beside Claire in the carriage and gently took the reins from her.

  “No, please, Nurse. I would love to have a description of her spots,” he said teasingly. “I am sure they must have been charming."

  Claire protested loudly, “You are not to do anything of the kind, Becky,” she said, reverting to the use of her nurse's name. “You are to remember your loyalties and your affection for me, and not to respond to any of this gentleman's questions without my permission."

  The nurse did not respond to this interchange, perhaps disapproving of the tone, but Mr. Bennett laughed with enjoyment and flicked the reins for the horses to start.

  They drove for a while, chatting harmoniously. From the direction they were taking, Claire guessed that the boy's cottage must be somewhere on Lord Sitchville's estate, but she refrained from comment as Mr. Bennett drove confidently, obviously knowing the way. He was good with the reins and complimented her on her horses, which she knew to be a fine pair.

  Before she could respond, though, he brought the horses up short at the sound of a distant gunshot.

  “That sounded as if it came from the village,” he remarked with some alarm. Then, seeing Claire's demure posture and amused expression he relaxed and drove on.

  “I can see that you are about to explain it to me, Miss Oliver. Don't tell me that I have a deranged parishioner who fires shots from a shop window."

  “Of course not.” She giggled. “It was just Lady Sitchville."

  “Oh, better yet” he exclaimed. “A deranged patroness! “

  “Now don't be foolish!” Claire laughed, making an effort at primness. “I did not mean that Lady Sitchville fired that shot. You know I did not,” she protested as he began to correct her.

  “It is simply that she has bribed the coachman on the mail to fire a shot if there is any news of worth from London. You must know that she prides herself on always being the first to have any news that could possibly be of interest. When the shot is heard up at their house, someone will be sent quickly to the inn to find out what it was for. It will most likely be about the Duchess of Kent's confinement. I believe that she was due about this time, and Lady Sitchville is particularly interested in royal births. We will be given the news at the soonest possible moment and I shall be happy to pass it on to you."

  Mr. Bennett thanked her profoundly and they continued onward, both well content in each other's company.

  The hovel in question was soon reached, and Claire saw immediately that Mr. Bennett's concern for her had not been unjustified. As she descended from the carriage with the help of his hand, she could not help letting her eyes show some alarm. Mr. Bennett merely gave her a look as if to say, “I told you so,” before leading her to the door.

  The structure was the meanest of cottages. It was made of nothing but mud and straw, with bits of glass or old, cast-off windows stuck in the mud walls to admit light. The entrance was a small opening formed by odd pieces of wood, barely held together.

  The three grim-faced visitors presented themselves at this door and found the mother of the boy within. She was dressed in a threadbare linen skirt and large checked apron that were now little more than rags. There was fear in her face as she retreated into the hovel, and she seemed to be pleading with them to leave, but to Mr. Bennett and Claire her words were almost incomprehensible.

  “Becky,” Claire said urgently, “you must make her understand that we are not come to hurt her and that we would only like to help.” The nurse then spoke to the poor woman in a way that was obviously understood, for the woman stopped pleading and listened with less fear in her eyes.

  Claire looked around the room, taking note of the poverty. The only furnishings were some boards nailed together to make rough tables and chairs. In a remote corner of this small space was a bed of straw on which lay the little boy. Claire urged Nurse to explain that they had come to inquire about the child's health and that she was experienced in taking care of children. The elderly nurse smiled grimly and spoke to the woman. Then she turned to Claire and Mr. Bennett and said, “It won't do no good tellin’ her I like to take care of little ones, Miss Claire, for she might think I was trying to come over her, like. So I told her my gran was a witch—may the Lord forgive me—and that I know some special cures. She'll like that som'at better,” Nurse said apologetically to Mr. Bennett.

  The rector smiled his appreciation. “You are an admirably resourceful woman, Nurse Sutton. I can see that you were indeed the best person to bring along. Do you think you could look at the
child now and see if he is very ill?"

  With the mother's consent, the nurse approached the child, talking to him in the same Anglo-Saxon dialect, which, it could be seen, put him at ease as it had his mother. Claire and Mr. Bennett exchanged glances that spoke much of the horror of these people's poverty before turning their attention back to the sick-bed.

  After looking the boy over gently, all the while conversing with the mother in a low voice, the nurse turned towards them. “There's not so much wrong with ‘im that a load of food and a good scrubbin’ won't cure, sir,” she reported, “but he isn't goin’ to get it ‘ere. His mother don't ‘ave it to give ‘im, even if she believed it would do ‘im any good, which she don't."

  “It seems like their troubles started with that ... that big light thing that crossed the sky—you know the one, more ‘an five years back? Anyhow, she thinks it was on account of it that her husband got pressed and her boy got snatched by a sweep to be a climbin’ boy."

  Mr. Bennett nodded grimly as he remembered. “The comet in 1811, I think it was. It was supposed to be a harbinger, wasn't it. Ask her how it was that he got away from the sweep,” he requested.

  After a minute Nurse answered, smiling, “It seems like this boy has some spunk, sir, ‘cause he pretended to be stuck up in a chimbley one day and held on while they poked at ‘im, until the sweep got fed up with waitin’ an’ loped off. Then before the folks there could get anybody to do anything about it, he scampered down and out the door and made it back home. And he's been here since, sir ... that is until he went into the village and fell in the rubbish heap.

  “Spunk, indeed,” the rector said with sincere admiration on his face. Then, looking at Claire, he said, “It seems to me that we should take him to my house and get him cleaned up and fed."

  “I have a better suggestion,” said Claire. “I am sure that Nurse would be more comfortable, and the boy's mother, too—surely you see that she cannot be left here, either—if they all came to my parents’ house. You do not have the resources to care for them for long and I am convinced that it will be some time before this child can be considered healthy."

  Mr. Bennett had opened his mouth to protest but the logic of her argument stopped him. After a moment's hesitation he agreed.

  “I am afraid that your parents will be shocked when they receive such a visit,” was his only comment, though he sounded bitter.

  “Nonsense,” said Claire, not understanding his bitterness. “They are not so faint hearted, as you know."

  His face cleared and he smiled. “No, they are not and neither are you.” He looked at her for a long moment with something that went beyond admiration, and Claire felt herself flush with pleasure. Then, abruptly he turned and, requesting Nurse to explain their intentions to the boy's mother as best she could, he strode quickly out to the carriage to retrieve the blankets that Claire had brought. He returned and gently wrapped them around the child. In a few seconds he had the boy in his arms and was carrying him out to the carriage.

  Claire was lost in admiration of the tenderness he showed the boy. It was as if he had been carrying the most delicate flower. She came to her senses and hastened out to the carriage with Nurse and the boy's mother.

  When they were installed in the back—the woman frightened to find herself riding in a vehicle and the boy visibly pleased—Mr. Bennett handed Claire into the front, not meeting her gaze.

  He was unusually silent for the first part of their trip back, but after some time he commented, “You see now why I was so eager to start some kind of village school. It is partially ignorance that keeps these people in their place, you know. All these lingering beliefs in omens, boggarts, witches, gabble ratchets and what have you—such notions only keep them from questioning their fate and doing something about their condition."

  Claire agreed with him, but for a moment she could not answer. Finally she said, “No one should live like that."

  “There was some evidence of poaching in the cottage,” said the rector. “I suppose that was how they have been able to survive. It is a lucky thing for her that we came along before she was caught, or she would more than likely have been hanged."

  Claire turned pale. “Surely not!” she exclaimed, but there was doubt in her voice. “Lord Sitchville would never do anything so dreadful as to prosecute her."

  “Wouldn't he?” asked the rector sardonically. “My cousin would.” Then, remembering Claire's rumoured connection with Lord Babcock and seeing the horror in her face, he looked away. “Well, perhaps you know Lord Sitchville better than I,” was all he said.

  As they began to drive past the rectory, he again turned towards her and spoke. “I will come home with you and help carry the boy into the house."

  “There is no need,” she assured him. “One of the footmen can do that, and there will be such a bustle to find rooms for him and his mother and to get them both bathed, that you might find yourself in the way."

  He laughed, relieving somewhat the grim look he had borne throughout their ride home. “You are probably right. I imagine there will be quite a commotion, for if the child has so much spunk, he will not give in easily. But I do not like to leave you with all of the work."

  Claire laughed delightedly. “You need have no fear on that account,” she replied. “I have no intention of getting involved with bathing this child. Becky will take good care of that. I will occupy myself with explaining the circumstances to my mother and with finding some employment for the boy's mother."

  “Then I suppose you can handle all that without me,” he acknowledged, “though I do seem to have burdened you with a problem of my own!'

  “Nonsense,” said Claire. “I am doing this because I want to."

  Mr. Bennett pulled up the carriage at the rectory and handed the reins to Claire before getting down. Then he turned to her and took her hand to say goodbye. He was so tall that he hardly needed to raise his head.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Lord Babcock was spending an uncomfortable evening under the watchful eye of his mama. His behaviour at the picnic had not gone unnoticed, nor had the fact that the Olivers had left the rectory without being escorted to their carriage by the young viscount. This was so uncharacteristic of Babcock, heretofore totally predictable, that his mother was anxious.

  Babcock had never shown so much interest in a female before, not even in Claire, and yet it was understood throughout the countryside that he and Claire would someday be wed. Lady Sitchville was not particularly devoted to Claire, but did find her birth and fortune appropriate for a future daughter-in-law. She had always commended the sense of responsibility that had led her son to select a lady of the county, especially since Claire had no brothers on which to depend.

  Such entails were scandalous, thought Lady Sitchville. It would be a shame to see such an old barony pass out of the direct line. Lady Sally should have had a son, she added smugly to herself.

  At dinner, she had been unable to refrain from commenting on her son's behaviour at the rectory.

  “Cecil!” she emitted in her standard bark. “You did not appear well this morning.” Familiar with her son's concern for his own health, she expected this to be sufficient opening for her inquiry.

  For once, Babcock did not want attention called to himself. Startled by his mother's call to attention, he began to stammer a reply, then became irritated. “I was perfectly well, Mama,” he grumbled. “I see no need for you to hover over me so. A touch of the sun perhaps, but soon over. A delightful tour of Garby church, I thought, this morning,” he added, attempting to divert the conversation. “I certainly had not expected such graciousness from the parson."

  Lady Sitchville could not have been more taken aback by her son's speech. Never had she known him to be offended by an inquiry after his health. It was evidence of a stronger emotion than pleasure in his own consequence. She allowed him to change the subject, but vowed to recall him to his obligations should he show signs of wavering. The Sitchville name must not be ass
ociated with gossip of any kind, and though he had yet to speak to Claire, the affair was too expected by all concerned to be abandoned. She was certain that Miss Oliver's shunning of gay society was due to her expectations of Babcock.

  Lord Babcock was labouring under a strong emotion, it was true. It was nothing less than love at first sight. To have an ideal of womanhood so prescribed that only a form was needed to fill it, rendered its discovery perfect and complete. Today Babcock had found his ideal.

  Her face and her figure were perfect, her comportment refined. She walked with scarce a movement of her head; her steps were small and her movements delicate. That this was all due to the tightness of her corset and the confinement of her padding did not disturb Babcock in the least. It was dictated by the rules of fashion, so it was right and it was proper.

  It was not, however, that he had never seen any women who approached his ideal, for London was full of young ladies who dressed similarly and affected conforming behaviour. But Lydia had something special, as he perceived on their first exchange. She was so gratified to be noticed by him, so maidenly modest, so admiring! It was not surprising that Lydia should be modest, considering her mother's constant assertions that she must conceal her natural attributes and her lack of fortune.

  And her admiration for Lord Babcock was, like his for her, based upon form rather than substance. Babcock would never admit to himself that other maidens’ admiration for him could be feigned, but subconsciously he registered that there was something unique about Lydia's.

  He compared her to Claire and found her superior in every respect but one—her fortune. To Babcock, Claire's wealth and respectable lineage had been her two most attractive features, and to do him justice, the wealth had not mattered much. How should it when compared to the estate he would inherit someday? But family was important to him. Fortunately Robert Willoughby, though a scapegrace, was irreproachable when it came to lineage, so there was no need for worry there.