The Parson's Pleasure Read online

  At this, Lydia and her mother laughed affectionately. “Nonsense, my dear sister! The moat is purely decorative. It does not even completely encircle the castle. The whole spirit of the improvement is one of the Gothic period. The addition of the great hall will show this, I believe. The effect will be reminiscent of one's noblest ancestors."

  Lady Sally looked at her and exclaimed in shocked tones, “The Goths! Surely not, Sophia! “

  Claire had to turn away to smother a smile. Lydia looked confused. And Sophia, momentarily disconcerted, recovered with an air of briskness.

  “Don't be silly, Sally. Of course, I do not mean the Goths. I was speaking of our ancestors to whom we owe the building of our great cathedrals."

  Claire's expression told her mother that what Sophia Willoughby knew about any of those people could be stated in one sentence. Of the nobility of the earl's ancestors, too, she had doubts, since the title had originated only in the past century. That small problem, however, had been addressed. Lord Sitch, who was on the fringe of the Carlton House set, was to be honoured by his “dear friend” the Prince Regent with a new family name—Sitchville—which, it was hoped, would give the impression that his ancestors came over with the Conqueror.

  “The moat,” Sophia continued, “will be seen from all the public rooms along the front of the house. To cross it, one must use an adorable little drawbridge, which does not rise, however. I am merely repeating what dear Lady Sitch—or I should say ‘Sitchville'—was kind enough to describe to me,” Sophia concluded, reading disbelief on her listeners’ faces.

  “I am certain you are right, Sophia,” Lady Sally assured her, taking pity. “It is just that I am sadly out of fashion, it seems. I fail to see the need for such changes. I confess I was rather attached to the old manor house. It held many pleasant memories for me. I can recall attending balls there since I was a girl. Indeed, it was there I met your father, Claire."

  “We must not stand in the way of progress, Sally,” said her sister-in-law with a condescending smile, for she did consider her in-laws to be dismally old-fashioned in their views.

  “No, indeed, that would never do,” added Lady Sally in her most pleasant, if insincere, voice. “My chief interests in the entire project, I confess, will be the kitchens, the servants’ quarters, and the conveniences, which I expect will be truly magnificent and up-to-date, and, therefore, most instructive. In that respect, I think Lord Sitch will have done something to benefit all of us who live retired in the country. We have no other opportunity to learn about the improvements modern science has achieved, but Lord Sitch's frequent trips to London will have educated him in these matters."

  In this, Mrs. Willoughby could not acquiesce quickly enough, as she always did when the Sitchvilles were praised. And her respect for them was genuine, since in addition to their position in society, which she naturally respected, they appeared to believe in and uphold all the most recent social values. Lady Sitchville and she were true soul-mates, she was certain, and only the disparity in their fortunes kept them from being the closest of friends.

  Presently the Willoughby ladies rose to go, and, with the air of speeding the parting guests, Lady Sally preceded them to the door. To Claire's consternation, her aunt held back to have a private word with her. She took a piece of paper out of her reticule, and with modestly lowered eyes and a real blush on her cheeks, held it out to Claire.

  “Niece, I know you will forgive me for touching on this most personal subject,” she said hesitantly, obviously in acute embarrassment, “for you know that my concern for you is constant and of the most affectionate kind. This is a little secret that I think might be of benefit to you. It was confided to me many years ago by someone in whom I have the utmost confidence. I have been most assiduous in encouraging Lydia with her applications, with you see what result, though this must be between us.” She raised her eyes briefly to Claire's bemused face, touched the hand that now held the paper, and said, “Do not thank me, my dear. There will be no need to mention it again.” With this, she nearly fled from the room.

  With a sense of dread, Claire opened the paper and read. Her worst suspicions were confirmed when she saw what was enclosed.

  “The following preparation, very softly rubbed upon the bosom for five or ten minutes, two or three times a day, will promote its growth.

  Tincture of Myrrh 1/2 oz.

  Pimpernel Water 4 oz.

  Elder-Flower Water4 oz.

  Musk 1 gr.

  Rectified Spirit of Wine 6 oz."

  Intense colour infused Claire's face, but not from embarrassment. When Lady Sally returned to the parlour, she was surprised to find her daughter, pacing the floor at an alarmingly unladylike pace. Her hands were pressed to her cheeks, and she was making a noise rather like a steam whistle.

  “My love, what is the matter?” Lady Sally cried.

  Claire thrust the paper at her and continued her pacing. “Really, Mother,” she replied at last, “she has gone too far this time. I have had quite enough of her ... concern." Claire spoke this last word with scorn.

  Lady Sally quickly scanned the sheet of paper, then collapsed into an armchair in giggles. When she was able to control herself to a reasonable degree, she confronted her daughter's dagger-like glare.

  “My poor, precious dear,” she said lovingly. “You must not allow her to get to you this way. The truly ridiculous thing about it is that she does mean to be of help to you. She honestly thinks these matters are of as much concern to you as they are to herself, and by all reckoning they must be thought to consume her!"

  “But it is all so insulting! Chalk for my face. Lemon juice and vinegar for my hands. Deer fat on my limbs. Now this! Why doesn't she just tell me I look like a cow and have done with it?"

  “Because you don't look like a cow, you silly girl. She doesn't realize that you find this insulting, because she knows you to be a very attractive young woman. She just enjoys talking about these things to the exclusion of anything else. Also, as we both are unfortunately aware, every ladies’ magazine for the past many years has been full of just such nonsense, and short, plump figures such as Lydia's are just the thing. The Willoughby women don't have much to boast about, so let them have this one small matter for pride. If you ask me, though, I would have to say that I don't think men care tuppence for half the things the magazines say they do. And imagine some young man's surprise on his wedding night to find that half of what he thought was his fiancée is only so much padding!"

  Claire had to laugh. “Excellent! I must point that out to Aunt Sophia."

  “You wicked girl! You will do nothing of the kind,” shrieked Lady Sally. “She would be horrified to think I spoke to you of such a thing. You must never give me away or we shall have no peace around here.” Then, seeing that she had restored her daughter to her customary good humour, she went off to confer with the cook about menus, leaving Claire to her thoughts.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Not all of her thoughts were happy, however, for Claire could not help but be disturbed about her future. Perhaps it was silly to despair of ever meeting an acceptable gentleman to marry when one was only twenty-two, but the neighbourhood was too small to present newcomers except on the rarest of occasions. Besides, Claire thought, if she had not been happy with any of the numerous male acquaintances she had made in London, how could she expect to be pleased with someone she might meet at a local assembly or ball, few as there were? Nor was she unmindful of her position in society, which, coming from good family and large fortune, limited her to persons of equal rank. Fully aware of the unusual and, to her, ideal nature of her parents’ marriage, she could not be content to accept less.

  Her aunt's marriage, for example, was of a sort which was unacceptable to her. Much as she was fond of her uncle, Claire could perceive that nothing would be worse than to be married to such an irresponsible gentleman.

  No, marriage was not for her. So what was it to be, then? She had frequently thought that if she were a
man, she would love to have made the Grand Tour. She could perhaps have found employ in the Orient in one of the trading companies. But, of course, employment would not have been necessary, because as a man she would have been her father's heir. As it was, her family's estate was entailed upon the nearest male relative, in this instance a distant cousin, so someday in the future it was understood that Claire would have to remove herself from her home. It was a sad thought, but she knew that she was much more fortunate than others who had no fortune to secure their futures.

  Claire had been formulating a vague plan in her mind ever since she had returned from London. It had begun with a wish that she might find a future for herself that would not depend upon another person. Though ill-defined, her wish had now become an idea with merely the details to be worked out, but she felt she had a good deal of time to worry about them. She intended, upon her father's death, to remove to Bath with her mother, if she were still living—and most likely she would be, given the more than twenty years difference in age between Lady Sally and her husband—and to let a small house in an agreeable part of town.

  In spite of the disappointment Claire had experienced in London, she knew that a city would have a great number of pleasures to offer, to compensate them in part for the loss of her father's company. With her fortune entrusted to a well-chosen firm of solicitors, she and her mother should be able to live quite comfortably. She doubted they would go out much in society, but there would be the libraries, the baths and the theatre to amuse them. Claire smiled to think that they would be labeled eccentrics, but suspected that neither she nor her mother would care. It was an unusual plan, but as far as she could tell, she and her family were unusual.

  Claire had never confided this plan to her parents and had no intention of broaching the subject until they expressed a concern for her future. They would be happy to see her comfortably settled, but they were not really eager to lose her and were not anxious for her to leave home soon. She knew that the time would come when they would realize that she was getting a little old for marriage and would begin to ask questions. Until then, she would keep her own counsel and enjoy life with them as it was.

  She had a serious turn of mind in some areas in which young ladies were not supposed to have an interest. Other matters that were considered proper ones for ladies merely tickled her sense of the ridiculous. She had a thorough understanding of the moralizing mood of the day without being taken in by its hypocrisy. Claire thought at times that she should try her hand at becoming a novelist, for in spite of her serious nature, she was not above enjoying a good novel. Her favourite author was Jane Austen, but she had vastly enjoyed the Gothic tales of Mrs. Radcliffe, from her mother's generation, and the recent Frankenstein, by the poet Shelly's wife, Mary. Reading these, she had often thought of trying her hand at writing, for she thought that she could make a heroine swoon quite as well as Mrs. Kitty Cuthbertson.

  Her Aunt Sophia was addicted to the works of the Evangelicals, both the penny tracts and the “improving” novels. She thought them instructional to girls, for they taught proper subordination to authority and checked inquisitive tendencies in young minds

  Just that week, Mrs. Willoughby had tried to press upon Claire a novel in which the heroine refused her love's quite honourable offer of marriage and eternal happiness because her parents did not approve of the match. What annoyed Claire the most about the tale was the author's suggestion that this daughterly virtue yielded the young heroine a more satisfying happiness than she would have derived from marriage to the man of her dreams.

  Others of her aunt's favourites held up for praise were stories of young ladies who appeared to have no other occupation than prayer and constant attendance upon a dying parent. Such conduct, Claire trusted, would drive her own parents mad.

  The most unpalatable of these stories were those which portrayed the grim harvest of young ladies who gave in to the temptations of sin. They were invariably disowned by their families and left out in the elements to die, even though in Claire's limited experience quite the opposite occurred. There was scandal attached to these things, of course, but the families of the young ladies usually took an active role in settling their wayward offspring as comfortably as possible, arranging marriages if they could.

  Sophia would have been shocked to know that Claire was reasonably well-informed on these matters, for she carefully shielded Lydia from all the more sordid facts of life, even when presented in their most objective form. She was careful, however, to instruct her as to their horrors, all the while cloaking them in such a mystery that they became the object of much mistaken conjecture and avid curiosity. Lady Sally took a far more practical view of her daughter's education, and from an early date had spoken quite openly to her about the undeniable aspects of human nature. As a result Claire was able to face life more calmly than poor Lydia, since her fear of the unknown was lessened.

  As her thoughts turned to Lydia, Claire heard a soft creaking of the floorboards outside the drawing room which usually signaled the presence of her cousin's other parent. And indeed, when the door was cracked open, Robert Willoughby's face peeked around the corner. On seeing Claire, he whispered conspiratorially, “Has your aunt left?” When Claire gave him the all-clear he straightened and entered more boldly.

  He lowered himself as slowly into a chair as his portliness would allow and looked at his niece with a self-satisfied expression. This Claire interpreted as his pleasure at once again having successfully evaded his wife on the way in. From behind a rather heavy mop of hair and side whiskers, his face beamed out with a red glow which she attributed partly to a lifetime of frequent over-drink and partly to a long walk on an unseasonably warm day. There was a glint in his eye, much the same as that in a puppy who has slipped its leash to prance just out of reach.

  “What have you been up to, Uncle Bobby?” Claire asked affectionately.

  “Up to?” blurted Robert with a guilty start. “Why, nothing, nothing. Sorry to have missed her, that's all."

  Claire decided not to respond to this patent lie, but raised her eyes heavenwards as if to remind him of another listener.

  “Now don't go lookin’ like your aunt, girl. It don't become you,” he scolded. Then realizing that he had again said something he shouldn't have, he continued rapidly, “Been up to see Sitch's new colt, Sarravano. Now that's a fine one. Got a new man as trainer, too. Says he's going to enter him in the Derby, and what's more, he claims he'll win it! I call that poor!"

  “Whatever do you mean, Uncle?” Claire asked, amused.

  “It's unfair!” he exclaimed. “What does a rich man like Sitch need with a Derby winner? He's got more than he deserves or needs already, if you ask me. Why, the man's got so many horses the place looks like Tattersall's!"

  “Lord Sitch has every right to own those horses,” Claire stated calmly, painfully aware of her uncle's style of logic. “He buys them with the income from his estates which, since he appears to be good at husbandry, he has earned by his own hard work."

  “Well, don't you see? That's just the point!” he blustered. “What's he need to work for when he has all that soft? I call it greedy! “

  Claire tried to control her exasperation as she attempted to explain to her uncle that Lord Sitchville's wealth was in part the result of his efforts, but she realized that it was a connection which Uncle Bobby was unable to make. At times it worried her that his twisted reasoning bordered on the amoral, though part of his charm was his illogic. It occurred to her to wonder whether it wasn't all an act on his part, prompted by laziness. As he was generally thought to be irresponsible and something of a character, no one ever expected anything of him and he was free to spend all his time pleasing himself. Of course, Mrs. Willoughby tried to improve him, but Uncle Bobby continued to be a rogue, changing only in the degree to which he voiced his nonsensical outlook.

  “I had a good chat with that trainer of his,” he said, returning to the subject on his mind. “Not a bad fellow. Name's Tu
cker. Knows a thing or two about horses, too. He says that Sarravano will finish way ahead of his field. I asked him about Sir George Frederick's colt, Magnifico, and he says that one's Sarravano's only rival. Could be a close race, I said, but Tucker says no, Sitch's colt's the best. Anyway,” he added, “Tucker's probably right. Seems he's been employed as trainer in a number of the finest stables."

  “If that is so,” questioned Claire, unconsciously trying to dampen his enthusiasm since she well knew his gullibility, “then why has he chosen to come this far into the country to Lord Sitch's—Lord Sitchville's service?” With an effort, she used the new name.

  But Robert brushed her query aside impatiently. “Why shouldn't he? He knows a good thing when he sees one. Sitch's paying him a pretty penny, let me tell you! A man with his experience don't come cheap. Yessir, he could tell you a thing or two about horses, my girl, and about the Derby, so don't look so suspicious."

  Something about this speech made Claire think that it was almost word for word what the trainer had told her uncle about himself, but she refrained from commenting. She knew that her Aunt Sophia would not encourage Robert to spend his time around Lord Sitchville's stables, developing a friendship with this Tucker. His interest in horses had already been responsible in large part for their misfortune, and he was easily taken in by boasters when they touched upon his favourite subject.

  Claire was suddenly reminded of her earlier conversation with her aunt, and she could not resist the opportunity to tease her uncle. She turned to him with a twinkle in her eye.

  “You will be interested to know, Uncle Bobby, that there is to be a new rector at Garby. Aunt Sophia was just telling us that she is certain you will be anxious to pay him a call as soon as possible."

  Robert glared at her so much like a pouting schoolboy, despite his bushy eyebrows, that Claire had to laugh out loud.

  “You may laugh, my girl, but I do not see the humour in it! How would you like it, eh? When I think of the number of times she made me call on that old windbag Twickenham, my blood boils. And what good did it do, I ask you? Just so he could prose on and on about the Scriptures—as if I didn't have enough of that from your aunt. A man can't get any peace in his own home these days!"