The Parson's Pleasure Page 13

  “Coo there, miss,” he said to her with a leer, speaking in a thieves’ cant she would not recognize. “You're that Miss Willoughby now, an't you? You're a swell mort, you are. As fine a bit o’ blood an’ bone as this here horse. Why don't you come along o’ here one o’ these days and I'll give you a ride on ‘im for a coachwheel I will."

  Lydia was frightened. She had approached the horse fearfully, so her heartbeat was already elevated. And now this strange man was speaking to her with words she did not understand. She did understand the leer, though she could not imagine his reason for singling her out. Her fear increased, and she became paralysed into inaction. She knew she ought to seek out Mr. Bennett, but she was mesmerized by Tucker's ogling stare. Lydia's figure had drawn men's gazes before, but never this degree of disrespect, and the proximity of the horse, the unfamiliar smell of the stables, and the crowd all had their effect.

  Her heart beat even faster. Tucker's face, with the leer that seemed to become more and more ghastly as he spoke, began to waver in front of her eyes. After a series of gasps to get more air than her corset would permit, she fainted dead away.

  Lord Babcock, who had been keeping a secretive eye on Lydia from across the stables, gave a startled yelp and leaped to her side. He knelt and began to chafe her hands as he implored her to come round.

  Alarmed by Lydia's faint, Tucker was babbling in defence of himself, ‘I didn't do nothing to th’ mort—er, the lady—my lord! Cross m'heart, I didn't. The lady just fainted away. I swear it!"

  Babcock responded impatiently, “No one's blaming you, you fool. Run up to the house and get some assistance. Tell them Miss Willoughby's fainted. Better yet, tell them I am bringing her up to the house. We will need some brandy in the drawing room."

  Mr. Bennett had stepped up only moments after Babcock in time to bear Tucker's expostulations. He was of the mind that anyone who protested his innocence so loudly had a reason to fear being blamed, and he stared intently at Tucker. He saw the relieved and cunning smile that crossed the man's face as soon as Babcock dismissed him. And looking up as he started for the house, Tucker noticed the rector's watchful eyes. Assuming a look of polite deference, he departed hastily.

  Claire was at first quite worried about her cousin and wanted to send immediately for her mother, but soon Lydia began to come round. She moaned gently. Then, when Babcock asked her if she was all right, she tried to rise, apologizing to him.

  “Oh, my lord, I am so sorry,” she said weakly, plainly embarrassed. “I cannot think what came over me. I was just looking at your beautiful horse and...” Suddenly she remembered Tucker and she looked around fearfully. The remembrance caused her to fall back onto Babcock's supporting arm.

  “Please do not try to rise, my dear Miss Willoughby,” he begged. ‘I will see what I can do to get you to the house, if you will permit me.” And with that, in spite of her feeble protests, he gently lifted her up in his arms.

  Mr. Bennett spoke quickly. “I will escort Miss Oliver and the others back to the house,” he offered.

  “What? Oh, yes, of course,” recalled Babcock, who was experiencing a delicious feeling of mastery with Lydia in his arms. “Much obliged.” And barely acknowledging Claire as he passed, he headed towards the house with the treasured bundle held closely to his chest.

  The other guests, observing his departure, began to drift back in the direction of the house on their own. Claire watched them go for a moment and then turned to take Mr. Bennett's arm. They found themselves following the others, almost alone in each other's company.

  Mr. Bennett was quite content for it to be so. He was finding it a strain to be constantly protecting himself from spending too much time with Claire and the prospect of this time with her, even for so short a walk, was bliss. He allowed himself to relax and forget about all else for the moment.

  Claire's heart quickened at the prospect of speaking to him alone. They had not had such an occasion since the picnic at the rectory, and she feared the constraint that he had recently shown around her might make the time pass awkwardly. But looking up, she saw his relaxed features, and she knew that for some reason the constraint was gone. She smiled so sweetly at him that it almost took his breath away.

  “Lord Babcock seems to have handled that quite well,” began Mr. Bennett, not knowing, now that he finally had her to himself, quite how to begin. “Quite masterfully, in fact."

  Claire gave a small secretive smile which he found hard to interpret. “Yes, he did,” she agreed.

  After a minute's silence, he began again. “What did you think of Lady Sitchville's tour of the manor?” he asked with the humorous smile she found so hard to resist.

  She laughed lightly, not sure just how candid to be. “Well, let me say that it was quite like Lady Sitchville,” she began.

  “That it was,” he said wryly. “The house speaks for them very well. The air of authority the facade projects is quite threatening, wouldn't you say? It lets one know that the aristocratic defences are up. And the lavishness, right down to the water closets, obscures the black source of the money. Except the servants’ closets, I suppose. I imagine they are still dank earthen holes out back."

  Claire did not comment, but it was clear she was in agreement with him. “I was distressed to hear her refer to the servants in such a demeaning way, especially in front of one of them. I wondered how he felt, but his face gave nothing away."

  “Of course not. He would have been turned out if it had. Don't distress yourself over it. In all probability, he believes Lady Sitchville has every right to speak about him in that way. He was raised for domestic service and it is unlikely that he questions her rights over him. It was rather amusing, though, the way in which Lady Sitchville dismissed the laundry. It is, of course, the Achilles heel of the perfectly moral house,"

  “What do you mean?” asked Claire, genuinely puzzled.

  He smiled down at her. “Why, don't you know? That is the one place where she cannot prevent the male and female servants from seeing one another. The laundry has to be outside, which puts it near the stables, and the laundry maids and the grooms can see each other without much fear of being caught. Have you never noticed that the prettiest serving girls choose to work in the laundry?"

  Claire felt herself blush. The heat rose from somewhere deep inside her all the way to her cheeks. Why was it, she thought, that she was so missish with this man? She had frequently “pooh-poohed” Babcock's sense of delicacy, but any time Mr. Bennett mentioned something that bordered on the intimate she became quite unsettled. Venturing a look at his face, she saw that he was aware of her embarrassment and was amused by it.

  “Well, I see that we are nearing the house,” she said briskly to change the subject, and she stepped up her pace.

  His hand held her back.

  “Wait just a moment, Miss Oliver,” he said, reluctant to let her go. “There cannot be any reason to hurry. I think your cousin is in good hands."

  Claire's heart quickened at the tone in his voice. She turned to face him, sensing his desire to be with her and knowing that it was what she wanted, too. As she gazed up at him, Mr. Bennett read something in her eyes that made him sharply draw in his breath. He seemed about to speak, but checked himself and turned away, releasing her arm. For a moment he said nothing, and Claire could feel the struggle that was going on inside him, even though she did not understand what it was.

  When he did speak, it was on a subject that surprised her.

  “I seem to remember, Miss Oliver, that when we first met I explained to you that I had entered the Church with some reluctance.” He looked back at her as if to see whether she remembered it, as well.

  “Yes, you did,” Claire confirmed. “You said it was your cousin's wish, but that you'd had other ideas.” She was quite puzzled now and wanted him to go on.

  “I do not think that I ever explained what it was that finally persuaded me to give in to his wishes,” he said, once again making her feel a distance between the
m, which she did not understand. “I have wanted you to know that I did not give in simply because I was unable to have my own way.”

  Knowing him as she now did, Claire did not think anything of the kind, so she smiled. He did not see her, having turned his face away.

  He continued, “After running through all the possible livings I could possibly have wanted—and I assure you that there were many besides those I told you about—there was not much else that I could do.” He kept his eyes averted, gazing back towards the manor, but she could tell that he was determined that she understand his explanation.

  “I could never have lived completely as a man of leisure,” he said, “even if my cousin had been willing to support me, which of course he was not. Call it noblesse oblige, if you will, but I do feel the need to do something useful. At any rate, I resisted going into the Church because it seemed such a confounded parasitical life.

  “I had only been exposed to Twickenhams, too, you see,” he continued, “until one day I met someone different. He was a fellow by the name of Charles James Blomfield—I don't know if you have heard of him. Anyway, he was something of a pariah among his clerical associates because he was quite the classical scholar, and he strongly supported Catholic Emancipation. You can imagine how they regarded him.

  “Then, when I returned from that unpleasant experience in America, I heard about another parson by the name of Daniel Wilson, who was at St. John's Chapel in Bedford Row. And it was seeing him that finally made me realize that I could enter the Church without compromising myself, strange as that may sound.

  “That man, by the sheer strength of his personality and his integrity, was able to attract a large number of merchants and lawyers from that particular part of London to his services regularly to hear what he had to say, and to persuade them that there were more important things in their lives than material possessions. That is a difficult group to convince of that, as you can imagine."

  Claire was watching the rector intently but expectantly, as if waiting for him to explain just why he thought it necessary to tell her all this. He took a deep breath before continuing.

  “So you see, it was meeting those two men that convinced me that I could go into the Church without giving up the goals I had set out for myself. I did not, and I do not, foresee that I will be able to accomplish as much as I could if I were in Parliament, for example, but at least I can carry out some course of action. My cousin did not have the sense to see that I would do it this way, fortunately, or he never would have used his influence to get me this preferment. Do you understand what I am saying” he asked her, suddenly turning towards her.

  “Yes,” Claire said, but with reservation in her tone. She knew that he was not asking if she had understood his words only, for he had never doubted her understanding before. There was more to come, and he was just asking her if she had followed him thus far before going on.

  Mr. Bennett looked at her intently. His expression was inscrutable, but she was reminded of the first impression she had had of him, a time that now seemed so long ago. Then she had sensed a care in him, perhaps a disappointment or a reason for discontent. Now that feeling was intensified, and she knew that he was bitterly unhappy, perhaps felt hopeless, though his control was undiminished. And her heartbeat quickened as she realized that whatever he had yet to say had something to do with her and was the reason he was telling her this.

  Mr. Bennett did have more to say, and he knew that there would not likely be another chance to talk to Claire alone, but just as he was about to go on, he saw Lady Sally coming out into the grounds.

  “Your mother is coming to take you home, I think,” he said, taking a deep breath. Then, for a brief moment, he took her hand, looking at her slim fingers lying in his own, and released it. And in a voice totally empty of emotion he said, “I shouldn't wonder if Lord Babcock has not sent her to find you."

  Claire started as if she had been rudely awakened from a dream. His gesture in taking her hand, the gentleness of his touch, had moved her, but his mention of Lord Babcock in connection with herself was as unexpected as a note played out of tune. As her mother approached, she searched his face for some indication of his meaning, but it was as if he had pulled down a screen between them. The only thing she saw there was a trace of unhappiness. It was really only something she sensed more than saw, yet knowing him as she did, she felt certain it was real.

  By this time Lady Sally had reached them, and they both greeted her with schooled smiles.

  “Such a hoop-la, my dears!” were her first words. “Lydia has been brought into the house in faints. But I forget, you were probably with them. Well, I do not wonder at your avoiding the ensuing scenes, but all is well now. The only thing is that Sophia requests our carriage to carry Lydia back home, and your father thinks that we might as well go on ourselves. Babcock is quite anxious to see her off, too; he must fear another episode. You know his own health is so, er, precarious that I think he sympathizes with her sincerely."

  All of this was related with Lady Sally's usual speed, as they walked back to the manor, and in no time they had made their goodbyes to Lord and Lady Sitchville. Claire noted that Mr. Bennett fell back on their way through the hall, so that by the time they reached the vestibule he was no longer with their party. Lord Babcock was on hand to help them into their carriage, but from the rector, there was no farewell at all.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Claire returned home in a most unsettled state of mind. Mr. Bennett's words to her had been prematurely ended, of that she was sure, and yet he had made no attempt to engage her at a future date in order to finish them. It was as if he did not want to distinguish them with too much importance, though her instincts told her that what he had left to say would be of great significance to them both.

  She sought for clues in the things he had already said, but they did not lead her to any conclusions. She already knew him for a highly principled man, a reformer, almost a radical. And, she thought, it was not really necessary for him to make her see that he was determined to be different from the run-of-the-mill clergyman That was obvious in his every act. He did not need to explain to her the state of the English clergy, or even that there were a few good men, like himself, who were prepared to go against the grain and work for the common good. So why had he done it?

  That night Claire slept poorly, unable to shake off her conviction that Mr. Bennett's words had been only a preamble to something more serious. His behaviour over the past week had worried her already, so that she had thought of little else, and now, in spite of her attempts to put it aside, her worry intensified. She wondered if he had not chosen some new course of action—his manner suggested that—and she feared that it might involve his going away. Try as she might, Claire was unable to rest comfortably when this fear kept recurring in her mind.

  In the morning she was calmer, but when she thought of his last words to her, she experienced the same jolt she had felt when he had mentioned Babcock's name when their conversation was interrupted the day before. Mr. Bennett was the one person who had never made references to her supposed relationship with Babcock. It would have been most improper of him to do so, but at the same time Claire had been comforted to have this one friend, so dear to her, who had seemed to have no preconceived notions about her.

  And then he had mentioned Babcock in a way that had chilled her. For the first time there had been a suggestion in his tone, innuendo in his words. For her, though, it had been like a statement of fact—and one that for some reason made her feel as though her fate had been sealed.

  Claire knew that she had to speak to Mr. Bennett privately again; she had to know more of what he'd wished to say to her. The easiest way to accomplish this would be to call on him with her father, with the excuse of coming for more books, and then to suggest a turn around the garden. She knew that she would be able to do it naturally and also that her father would not join them.

  Claire dressed hurriedly and went down to breakfast, hop
ing to catch her father in the breakfast room. But it was evident that he had already eaten and gone out to see his bailiff. She ate very little, alone, waiting for him to return to the house, all the while imagining what it could be that Mr. Bennett would say to her.

  By the end of breakfast, her tension had mounted to a point at which she could wait no longer. She checked first to see if her father was in his study, then walked out in search of him. After checking the stables and outbuildings, she turned back towards the house in time to see him drive up in the curricle with his bailiff.

  “Papa,” she called, as she hurried towards his carriage, “had you any thought of going to the rectory today?"

  “And good morning to you, Claire,” he teased her gently as he climbed stiffly down. Claire smiled at him and gave him a kiss upon the cheek. “Nothing would please me more than to be able to go,” he said, “but it seems that we have a problem with the estate. No, nothing for you to concern yourself with,” he assured her, as she looked worried, “but it is something I should handle myself."

  Claire managed to hide her disappointment, smiling casually at him and Mr. Spradling, the bailiff. “What about later?” she asked. “Is there any chance you would be free after you conclude your business?"

  He considered. “ I'm afraid this will take some time, but I can't be certain. Perhaps I will be finished by late morning. Is there any particular reason that you need to go today?"

  “Not really,” Claire admitted. “But since Lord Sitchville's ball is tomorrow, I won't be able to go then.” This was true and made her all the more eager to go now.

  “Oh, yes, I had forgotten that,” said Lord Oliver. “Well, the best I can promise you is that I will try to hurry with my business and perhaps we will be able to go later."