The Rector's Daughter

by Jean Fullerton

  Josiah stepped back. ‘I’ve told you before, Mrs Palmer, I’m not—’

  ‘Interested,’ she finished, then advanced on him.

  Josiah stepped back again and found himself blocked by the desk.

  Pressing herself into him her hand slid down the front flap of his trousers and she grasped him. Josiah’s body responded automatically, and a delighted expression shot across her face.

  ‘Just as I hoped,’ she said, running the tip of her tongue across her lips as she caressed his erection.

  He tried to pull her hand away but she held on.

  ‘Come now,’ she said, pressing herself against him and straddling his thigh. ‘If you’re holding back because you’re in love with Miss Hatton then don’t trouble yourself. It’s not your heart I’m after, it’s your cock. Something – let’s be honest – you’ll never be giving her the use of.’

  Josiah frowned. ‘I’d thank you not to speak of Miss Hatton in such a base manner.’

  ‘Poor boy,’ she said, giving him an exaggerated look of tenderness. ‘Being hopelessly in love with a woman so far beyond you. It’s so romantic and yet so tragic.’ She laughed again. ‘You, a grubbing miner, marrying a well-bred rector’s daughter. It’s all too amusing for words.’

  Battling to ignore her hand and steady his nerve, Josiah gave her a cheerless smile. ‘Alas, Mrs Palmer, you have guessed my secret. But I beg you not to mention my feelings to Miss Hatton. I couldn’t bear to have her pity me.’

  Mrs Palmer’s raised one plucked eyebrow. ‘You play the gallant, Mr Martyn, in protecting Miss Hatton’s name and I’m prepared to do as you ask but only if you do something for me in return.’

  There was no need for Josiah to ask what that might be.

  Letting go of his penis she ran her hand up his arm and across his shoulder.

  ‘I’m tempted to lock the office door and discover what you’ve got in your breeches right now. Very tempted,’ she continued, as she traced her finger around his mouth before her eyes met his again. ‘But a young man in the full vigour of health, strength and undoubted stamina warrants a slow appreciation, without interruptions, over several hours over a good number of nights.’

  Josiah suppressed a shudder as he stared down into Mrs Palmer’s overly powdered face.

  ‘So instead, Mr Martyn?’ She stroked her hand along his jawline. ‘I’ll give you until next Friday to present yourself at my house.’ Her hand returned to the front flap of his trousers and she grasped his penis again. ‘Upright and ready.’

  Bile rose in the back of Josiah’s throat but, thankfully, after a couple of seconds of further fondling she let him go.

  She sighed and, stepping back, adjusted her bonnet. ‘I think I feel well enough to join the reverend again.’

  She glanced at the door.

  Glaring at her hatefully and with his mouth pulled into a hard line, Josiah strode forward and tore it open.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Martyn, for a very pleasurable few moments,’ she said.

  ‘The pleasure was all yours, I assure you,’ he replied, through gritted teeth.

  She smiled blandly.

  ‘One week, remember.’ She smiled. ‘After all, who knows what Mr Hatton or Captain Paget would do, were they to discover that you, a lowly, uncouth miner, was lusting after Miss Hatton, their dearly beloved daughter and fiancé respectively.’

  Chapter twenty-two

  As Charlotte ticked off the last jars of strawberry preserve from her list, the tall clock in the hall chimed out three and her stomach did a quick somersault.

  One hour, just one hour before she saw Josiah and she thought she would die for want of it.

  With their planned departure only just over two weeks away, the walk home together would be the last sure time they would be able to finalise the arrangements before they departed. And it couldn’t come a day too soon – and not just because she was counting the hours until she became Mrs Martyn. Her carefully washed and stored monthly pads she’d laid by over a month ago were still at the back of her drawer, unused.

  Sarah, who had been drying the jars in the larder ready for bottling the last of the autumn fruits, appeared carrying half a dozen squat jars. Wearing a married woman’s mop-cap and, with her growing stomach, she looked every bit the respectable wife of a skilled tradesman.

  ‘They are all done, miss,’ she said, stacking them on the workbench.

  ‘We can prepare the fruit tomorrow,’ Charlotte said, pointing to the crate of apples at the back of the narrow room.

  ‘Very good, miss. Are you visiting Mrs Gilbert today?’

  ‘I am,’ Charlotte replied as a fizz of excitement ran through her. ‘I want to see how the twins are getting on. So, how are you finding married life?’

  A slight colour appeared on Sarah’s cheeks. ‘Very much to my liking thank you, miss.’

  ‘And have you got the house in order yet?’ Charlotte asked, trying to imagine doing the same herself once Josiah had secured a new engineering position. With a letter of recommendation from Isambard and two years’ experience working on the Thames tunnel he’d assured her he’d find himself a senior engineer’s post within a month.

  ‘I’ve more or less got things straight now,’ said Sarah. ‘And thank you again for the china you let us have.’

  ‘It was my pleasure,’ said Charlotte, taking off her apron and hooking it next to the stove. ‘I’m really happy for you that you’ve found a man who will care for you.’

  ‘So am I, miss. Ezra is kind and loving.’ Sarah’s eyes held hers in an unwavering gaze. ‘Just like his brother.’

  Charlotte’s heart thumped in her chest as she and her maid stared at each other.

  ‘In fact,’ continued Sarah, giving her a meaningful look, ‘I’d go as far to say how he would make just as good a ’usband as my Ezra for some fortunate young woman, whoever she was.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s true,’ said Charlotte.

  The clock in the hall struck half past three.

  ‘Don’t worry, miss, I’ll finish off here,’ Sarah said, taking the larder stock book from her. ‘You don’t want to be late for Mrs Gilbert.’

  Giving her a grateful smile, Charlotte untied her apron and had just hooked it on the pantry door when someone started hammering on the back door.

  ***

  Scanning his eyes across the burial ground, Josiah watched the steam of carts and wagons making their way home along the Neptune Street in the balmy summer afternoon. In the distance the roofs of the smart terraces that lined Jamaica Road on the other side of Mill Pond Bridge were already being obscured by the fog rising from the river beyond.

  Shielding his eyes against the late summer sun, Josiah scanned the path again and spotted Charlotte hurrying towards him. He waited until she reached the Old Mill and then stepped out from behind the stone entrance gates.

  She saw him and her pace quickened. With her eyes shining, cheeks flushed and with her hair curled around the rim of her bonnet, as always ready to escape, he marvelled again at her loveliness and wondered yet again what he’d done so right to win the love of such a woman.

  ‘Josiah!’ she said breathlessly as she ran into his arms.

  Guiding her away from view and behind one of the square family vaults, he enveloped her in his embrace. The peaty smell of damp earth rose up as their feet disturbed the autumn leaves underfoot.

  ‘Josiah, I—’ He closed his mouth over hers, savouring the sweetness of her lips.

  Moulding herself into him, Charlotte slid her hands under his coat and up his back. She returned his kiss, her cold nose pressing into his cheek.

  After a long moment he reluctantly released her lips.

  ‘Listen, Charlotte,’ he said. ‘We’re going to have to change our plans and elope next Wednesday instead of the following one.’

  She looked puzzled. ‘Why?’

  He told her about his encounter with Mrs Palmer the day before.

  ‘So you see,’ he concluded, ‘unless I present
myself to her before next Friday, she will tell your father about my feelings for you.’

  Charlotte looked horrified. ‘If she does, goodness only know what my father will do.’

  ‘Mrs Palmer suggested he might send you away to somewhere,’ said Josiah.

  ‘No doubt she’d suggest it to him.’ Charlotte’s mouth pulled into a hard line.

  ‘More than likely,’ said Josiah, thinking how richly Mrs Palmer and Charlotte’s father deserved each other.

  ‘So, we have to go next week,’ said Charlotte.

  ‘There’s no other way,’ said Josiah. ‘The sooner we wed the better.’

  ‘It certainly is, Josiah.’ Smoothing her hand down the front of her lawn cotton dress, Charlotte gave him a wry smile. ‘Tell me what to do.’

  ‘You must leave the rectory at four in the morning next Wednesday and I’ll be waiting across the street in the school porch. The York flying coach leaves the Blue Boar in Holborn at six-thirty but if you’re discovered missing that will be the first place your father will look, so we are taking a wherry from Kings’ Stairs across to the city. I know a couple of the lightermen who’ll turn a blind eye. We’ll catch a hansom to the Queen’s Head at Islington and pick up the York coach there at seven-thirty.’

  Charlotte nodded. ‘I’ve got everything ready to go and I’ve also saved from my allowance to bring.’

  ‘That will come in very useful,’ he said. ‘I have enough to keep us in respectable lodgings until we find a place to rent, but your money will help a great deal.’

  The night coach to Tunbridge Wells, its lamps ablaze in the gloom, thundered by and Charlotte glanced around. ‘I ought to go. Will I see you on Sunday?’

  Josiah shook his head and a dagger-like pain shot through across the back of his left eye.

  His hand went up to his forehead.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Charlotte asked, looking anxiously up at him.

  ‘Nothing. There was a lot of gas in the tunnel for the past few days,’ he replied, suppressing the urge to cough. ‘It’s just given me a bit of a headache. I’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ she asked, looking unconvinced.

  He gave her a reassuring smile ‘Certain, but that’s why I won’t be at church on Sunday. We’ve had three able-bodied men stretchered off to hospital, gasping for breath and with their eyes burning, to join the dozen already there because of the noxious fumes seeping up from the mud. If I don’t get the pumps circulating more air I’m afraid that the next time gas escapes into the tunnel it could be fatal. But don’t worry, I’ll be fine.’

  ‘If you’re sure.’

  He nodded.

  Charlotte’s gaze searched his face for a moment then she hugged him tight and smiled.

  ‘Just six days!’

  He smiled back. ‘I know.’

  Gathering her closer to him, Josiah gazed down at her for a second then lowered his mouth onto hers again. Charlotte matched his kiss, sending a bolt of need through him.

  ‘I’ll be counting the hours,’ he said huskily. ‘But, remember, we won’t be safe until we cross the border, so we must be careful.’

  ‘I know.’

  They gazed into each other’s eyes for a second, then Charlotte gave him a quick kiss on the lips and stepped out of his arms.

  ‘I love you.’

  She went to go but he caught her hand.

  ‘And I you.’

  She flew into his arms again and kissed him, then broke from him.

  This time he let her go.

  ‘Until Wednesday.’

  ‘I’ll be waiting.’ She hurried back to the main thoroughfare.

  Josiah watched her go.

  Just six days, he thought, as he watched her go. ‘Please, God, guard our secret for just six more short days.

  ***

  ‘If you’d just turn a quarter of a turn, miss, I’ll check the hem at the back,’ said Madame La Harris, though a mouthful of pins.

  Charlotte was in the first-floor fitting room of Parisienne Modes in Cheapside while in the attic above a dozen young women beavered away making exquisite creations for those with the money to buy them.

  Dutifully she shuffled around on the stool she was standing on to face Mrs Palmer.

  The woman was sitting in the bay window and was wearing her mustard-coloured day dress which, in the feeble September sunlight filtering into the room, gave her skin a sallow tint. The light also showed the raised pustules at the corner of her mouth which all her French creams and powders couldn’t disguise.

  Not wanting to be in Mrs Palmer’s company any more than she had to be, Charlotte had tried to avoid her accompanying her to the dress fitting; however, they couldn’t afford to raise suspicion, so she’d forced herself to suffer her presence. That said, it had still been a mighty struggle on the four-mile journey in Mrs Palmer’s carriage not to tell the odious woman exactly what she thought of her.

  Kneeling on the floor behind Charlotte, Mrs Harris worked her way along the hem, pinning and tugged the fabric straight.

  Mrs Palmer gave her a simpering smile. ‘Just think: this time in two months you’ll be Mrs Nicolas Paget.’

  Charlotte forced a smile. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well you might sound a little more enthusiastic,’ said Mrs Palmer. ‘You look positively glum.’

  Reminding herself that hers and Josiah’s very future depended on not raising so much as the smallest suspicion, Charlotte forced a happy smile on her face.

  ‘I’m sorry, it’s just a bit overwhelming to think I’ll soon be marrying the man I love,’ Charlotte replied.

  ‘And who loves you too,’ Mrs Palmer said. She sighed. ‘It’s so romantic,’ she continued, taking a lacy handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbing her eye. ‘Puts me in mind of me and my late husband. Dear Palmy.’

  ‘I think that’s it done,’ said Mrs Harris, struggling to her feet. ‘How does it feel on, Miss Hatton?’

  ‘It looks a bit pinched to me, across the bosom,’ said Mrs Palmer before Charlotte could answer. ‘Have you made it to the correct measurement?’

  The gown was a bit snug across her breasts and the waist too, but it wasn’t because Mrs Harris had miscalculated.

  ‘I’m sure I did,’ said Mrs Harris. Taking the spectacles dangling from a chain at her waist, she jammed them on the end of her nose. ‘But I can check.’

  Going to the table she thumbed through her order book until she found Charlotte’s name. She peered at the page for a moment then, taking the tape measure from around her neck, came over to Charlotte.

  ‘If you don’t mind, miss?’

  Charlotte raised her arms.

  Winding the tape measure around Charlotte, Mrs Harris checked her measurements again.

  ‘Well, miss,’ said Mrs Harris. ‘It looks like you’ve filled out a bit.’

  Mrs Palmer’s critical gaze flickered over her. ‘I did think when I saw you at church last week that you’d put on weight.’

  Charlotte smiled. ‘It must be all Mrs Norris’s cooking.’

  Mrs Harris cleared her throat. ‘Perhaps you’d like to look at your trousseau while you’re here.’

  ‘I’m sure she would,’ said Mrs Palmer jumping in again. ‘I hope you’ve made the negligee enticing to set the groom’s heart racing.’

  Charlotte turned away.

  Mrs Harris scurried out to fetch Charlotte’s other items.

  Rising to her feet, Mrs Palmer glided across the room.

  ‘Charlotte, my dear,’ she said, placing her hand on Charlotte’s arm and setting her flesh crawling. ‘I know it is a mother’s place to prepare her daughter for the duties of marriage but as your dear mother is sadly no longer with us I hope that, in view of our great friendship, you will allow me to help you.’

  An image of her mother’s soft blue eyes and gentle smile materialised in Charlotte’s mind.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Charlotte, swallowing the lump in her throat.

  A syrupy ex
pression spread across Mrs Palmer’s powdered face. ‘And I don’t want you to be afraid of the marriage bed.’

  ‘I’m not,’ she replied, taking back her hand.

  The door opened, and Mrs Harris came back in the room with gossamer fabric draped across her arm.

  ‘Well, well, Miss Hatton, if I say it myself, you look a right picture in that gown,’ she said. ‘In fact, I can’t remember when one of my dresses became a bride so well.’

  Turning her head Charlotte looked at herself in the long mirror on the gilded stand in the middle of the room.

  The pale-oyster-pink spun silk twill brought out the blush of her cheek, while the simple neckline with a hint of lace emphasised her neck and face. With her hair curling over her right shoulder like a thick rope and her mother’s simple crucifix at her throat, she did look the very picture of a blushing bride. It was a pity she wouldn’t get a chance to wear it.

  Chapter twenty-three

  Josiah wiped the dirty water out of his eyes and swung the fly wheel on the ventilation pump which he’d just spent an hour tinkering with. It chugged over a couple of times and then the wheel that should have been working the bellows slowed to a halt again.

  Josiah cursed roundly and at some length and somehow resisted the urge to smash the spanner he was gripping onto the useless piece of equipment. Drops of pungent water dripped onto his forehead and Josiah flicked it off. He gave a grim smile. There would be some advantages to working on railways. He wouldn’t have to spend his entire working day sloshing though stinking water and trying to avoid suffocation because the shareholders always insisted on the cheapest possible equipment and the pumps were constantly breaking down.

  It meant, as it always did, that the burden of the work fell back on George’s shoulders and from there onto his. He had been in the shaft since dawn on Saturday morning and it was now probably somewhere near to eight in the evening on Tuesday now.

  He and George had arrived for shift on Saturday to find, despite all the work they’d done in the past six weeks to steady it, the blasted shield was threatening to disappear into the mud. After working solidly for ten hours they’d managed to stop the massive lump of steel’s descent, but as it was still balancing precariously in the centre of the borehole they daren’t leave. He and the chief engineer slept in three-hour-shifts, but Josiah felt less than rested. Still, no matter, by this time tomorrow he’d be out of this hell and he and Charlotte would be on their way to Gretna.