A young boy took the bait. “However what?”
“If you’d care to change up those wagers a bit, agreeing that should I prove successful, any money wagered on me will be given to your parish poor box, then I think I could overlook the betting.”
“Sounds like a vicar to me,” someone said, the words filled with laughter. The gathering followed suit, tossing out a few teasing comments and grins of clear amusement.
While the crowd arranged their various wagers, Harold set himself to plotting his path. An unfamiliar wall brought some risk. Cautious planning helped to mitigate it.
Everything seemed to be sorted out amongst the observers. They were watching him now.
“I believe I have identified a workable path,” he said. He pulled off his hat and set it on an obliging rock. His gloves came off next, followed by his jacket and waistcoat.
He looked over at the men. “None of you will be offended if I take my shoes and stockings off, will you? I am relatively certain I’d never find a place to put my feet if I have to make room for these thick, unyielding hessians.” Not to mention he’d not be able to feel the wall in the same way. For such a precarious climb, he needed all the information he could get, and he did not have with him the dancing slippers he’d modified for climbing.
They all encouraged him to do whatever was needed, their curiosity growing visibly.
After a moment, he stood at the base of the wall in nothing but his shirtsleeves and pantaloons. It was quite possibly the least vicarly he had appeared in public since he was a boy. And yet, he felt more himself than he had in ages.
He set his hands around the outcropping of rock he’d chosen. The toes of his left foot found their spot. He balanced himself on that foot, gripped tight with his hands, and set his right foot in its spot. His legs bent out in either direction, his hips close to the wall.
He straightened his legs and reached up for the next left-hand hold, then the right hand. He moved his feet to spots he’d preselected. Again and again he followed the pattern, keeping himself tucked close to the wall, using his legs to lift himself up.
About three-quarters of the way from the top, his arms began loudly protesting. He found a spot on the wall with an easy grip, a stone large enough for both his hands to grip. He took tight hold of it and moved his legs to a good, comfortable position. He bent his legs once more, letting his arms pull out straight so they could rest a moment.
He shook out one arm at a time, all the while studying his next moves. Hanging there, he was able to determine the remainder of his route. Outside of his waning energy, it wouldn’t be too difficult. He’d made much harder climbs at the abbey.
He pulled in a deep breath, shook out his arms one more time, and resumed his task. He moved quickly and confidently until his hand slapped the top of the wall. With a surge of effort, he pulled himself up.
He sat on top of the wall, conqueror. His breaths came hard, and his arms burned with the effort, but the elation he felt outweighed the punishment. He’d done it. Below him, the men cheered. He held up his hands in triumph, eliciting a renewed excitement below.
“That’s nearly four pounds for the poor box,” John called up to him.
Four pounds. The local vicar could do a fair amount of good with four pounds. Harold had helped, not by adhering to the strictest rules of expected behavior but by giving rein to his oddities. For once, he was glad he had risked being truly himself.
From his position so high up, he took in the vista, the expanse of hills and moorland, the distant village, a church spire barely visible. It is rather like a church. Father’s words often returned to his thoughts in moments of struggle, but they also arrived in his rare moments of success.
I wish you were here, Father. I wish you were here to give me the courage I too often lack.
“Are you planning to live up there, Mr. Jonquil?” John grinned up at him.
Harold shrugged. “This is a view I could quickly grow accustomed to.”
“It ain’t so pleasant when it’s raining.” George’s observation earned him hearty and amused agreement from all around him.
Harold could appreciate that. “It is a little cold.”
“Especially since you’re half naked.”
More laughter and grins. Harold stood once more, examining the wall. Planning a route down would be tricky, especially since he was tired and his fingertips and toes had taken a bit of a beating. Perhaps this wall had steps along the back like the one at the abbey. Sure enough, he spied the weathered remains of a set of stone steps.
He motioned that way. “Did you know there are steps back here?”
That met with the most raucous laughter of all. They had, indeed, all known it.
“They’re the reward for making the climb,” the old man in the group explained. “We don’t count the effort if a man uses the steps to get up, but he’s more than welcome to use them to get back down.”
“I will accept that offer gladly.” Harold carefully made his way along the top of the wall.
The steps were a bit slick but far easier than climbing down would’ve been. He was on the ground in no time and made his way around the wall to the front side where the onlookers awaited. They greeted him with cheers, pats on the back, and words of sincere congratulations. Not a single one chastised or berated him. Not a bit of disapproval touched a single face.
Had this been undertaken amongst a gathering of Society, the response would likely have been quite different.
A few of the boys and younger men were attempting to climb.
Harold approached, watching their efforts. “Might I offer some information?”
A few hopped back onto the ground. Others clung to the wall, even as their gazes turned to him. None had gone very high.
Harold dove into a quick explanation of testing a potential gripping spot, of the necessity of being thoughtful and cautious when making so difficult a climb.
“I’ve been making these sorts of climbs nearly all my life,” he told them. “It’s not as easy as it likely seems. Until you’ve had a great deal of practice and can climb easily, you would be wise to keep very near the ground. Practicing a foot off the ground is just as effective as a meter, but you’re less likely to desperately injure yourself from that distance.”
“We won’t fall,” one of the boys insisted.
“Everyone falls,” he said. “Best not climb too high early on.”
He talked several of them through very brief climbs, only so high that they could jump back down without any danger. He offered suggestions on things they might do differently.
Over the course of that single afternoon, he built a comradery with these boys that he’d struggled to form with the small number of Collingham lads who had come to him now and then for tutoring. He might have made greater progress with his pupils if he’d taken them somewhere to climb.
He might have heard more often from his parishioners who were struggling if he’d spent some time in the inn’s public room singing songs and swapping tales.
He might have better provided for the poor in his area if he’d been willing to take an unexpected approach to gathering funds.
And he would likely have been less uncomfortable interacting with people if more of those interactions involved him sharing things he enjoyed, things he had a talent for.
These good people clearly approved of his efforts that day and a few nights earlier at the public house. But the upper rungs of Society likely wouldn’t. He had parishioners from both segments of the population, and he didn’t wish to alienate either.
Somewhere in the balance of that lay the answers he was looking for.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Fe, fi, fo, fum!” Philip did a ridiculous but enthusiastic impression of a monstrous giant as he lumbered down the portrait hall in belabored pursuit of his nieces.
; Corbin and his family had arrived for an extended stay over the holy season. Little Alice was, as near as Sarah could piece together the connection, Corbin’s wife’s daughter from a previous marriage. He had two sons, but the older was connected to him and his wife in a more complicated way, one Sarah had not yet unraveled. It mattered very little in the interactions of the family. They clearly all loved each other. And no one watching Philip chasing Alice and Caroline around the hall could possibly miss the deep love he had for these children.
Both girls giggled and squealed and ran about in feigned shows of fear.
Caroline spotted Sarah first. “Save us, Sarah! The giant is going to eat our bones!”
Philip rubbed at his belly and licked his lips. “Bones are my favorite,” he said in a deep, growling voice.
“Don’t eat us!” Alice grinned broadly.
“You’ll save us, won’t you, Sarah?” Caroline pressed.
“Do not fear, ladies.” She stepped fully into the hall, hands fisted on her hips, chin at a heroic angle. She pulled an invisible sword from its scabbard. “I shall vanquish the monster.” She assumed the best fencing stance she could, considering she’d had no actual training and did not, in fact, have a sword in her hand.
Philip, who had always been one for a lark, played along brilliantly but in a very unexpected way. He screamed, his pitch nearly as high as the little girls’ had been. “Save me, fair maidens.” He did his best to hide behind his nieces, but being exceptionally tall, his efforts proved hilariously ridiculous.
“I thought the gentlemen were supposed to save the fair maidens,” Caroline said.
In his normal voice once more and with a grin of bemusement, he said, “That is not how it has ever played out in my life.”
Sarah allowed a smile. The Jonquil men never had been intimidated by women of purpose and capability. It was one of the things she loved about them. They understood that they could be strong and able and protective without requiring others to be weak, ineffectual, and subservient. The late earl had often spoken of Mater’s tenacity and intelligence and had done so with an undeniable tenderness and appreciation.
Harold had shown himself cut from the same cloth as his father. He’d never attempted to prove himself superior to her nor treated her with dismissal. That was, sadly, a somewhat rare thing amongst gentlemen. He had also never appeared to feel the least threatened when she’d known more than him about a particular topic or disagreed with his view on a matter. Even now, when she had challenged him to their ridiculous vicaring competition, he’d not lashed out nor treated her unkindly no matter that she’d struck at a particularly vulnerable piece of his puzzle.
He was good. In his company, she felt safe. And when he was truly himself, he felt like home in a way she hadn’t experienced with anyone else.
Caroline held little Alice’s hand and looked from Sarah to Philip and back, clearly unsure what to do. “Do we save the ogre, or do we defeat him?”
Sarah pulled herself from her startling moment of realization and returned to the game playing out in front of her. “Our next course of action depends entirely on whether or not you think he truly means to eat your bones.”
Philip pulled himself up in his hunched monster’s posture and assumed his low, gargly voice once more. “Bones are my favorite.”
Alice jumped up and down and began to giggle again. “Our bones!”
“Quick.” Sarah motioned them over. “Let’s go to your aunt Sorrel’s rooms. She will help us vanquish him.”
She took Caroline’s free hand, and the three of them rushed down the corridor. She had looked in on Sorrel just before passing the portrait hall and knew that lady to not only be awake and alert but also to be feeling a bit discouraged. She would appreciate the visit and jovial antics.
Behind them, Philip continued his lumbering, grumbling pursuit. He really was wonderfully good to the children with whom he interacted. She could not help but be put firmly in mind of his father in these moments. The late Lord Lampton had endeared himself to every child in the neighborhood.
They poured into Sorrel’s sitting room, a bit out of breath but in good spirits. The ladies present watched their arrival with amused curiosity.
“What is this?” Marjie Jonquil asked.
“The monster is coming for us.” Caroline pulled away and climbed onto the footstool in front of the sofa where Sorrel was lying. “The monster is really just Uncle Flip, but he is pretending, so we are pretending we don’t know.”
Sorrel smiled and nodded. “And are you hiding in here?”
Caroline shook her head. “Cousin Sarah says you know how to vanquish the monster.”
“If anyone does, it’s her,” Lady Marion said.
Alice had climbed onto her mother’s lap. Clara Jonquil was very quiet, more so even than Lady Cavratt, which was an accomplishment. Sarah had come to know, a little, at least, Corbin’s and Crispin’s wives. She liked them very much. But as more and more of the daughters-in-law arrived, Sarah felt less a part of the gathering. She had no actual claim on any of them.
Philip came inside in the next moment. Alice and Caroline squealed on cue.
“Bones,” he growled.
Caroline turned an expectant gaze on her aunt.
Sorrel raised herself up on one elbow and leveled a fearsome look at Philip. “Horrid Monster of the Park, I order you to stop trying to eat these girls’ bones.”
Philip lumbered to her. “Maybe I’ll eat your bones instead.” He knelt on the floor in front of her sofa and placed a kiss on her neck.
“Philip,” she scolded.
“Hmm.” He kissed her again, closer to her ear.
Sorrel bit back a smile. “Philip, really.”
Another kiss along her jaw. “I’ve changed my mind. Eating bones is no longer my favorite.”
Caroline looked over at Sarah, brow pulled in confusion. “Is she vanquishing him?”
Sarah could not hold back her laughter. “She most certainly is.”
The other ladies in the room smiled as well. Philip, however, took pity on his wife’s potential embarrassment and ended his attentions, instead turning to face the room. His eyes fell on the little boy sitting on Lady Cavratt’s lap.
He crossed to her and asked if he could hold the child. Having obtained permission, he picked him up and tucked him in close. He looked to Sarah. “Have you met this little one yet? He is named for me, you know. Philip Robert. His bacon-brained father means to call him Robert, completely forgetting the much preferable first given name the boy bears. Never fear, though. I call him Phrobert, which is much better.”
Lady Cavaratt shook her head. “Phrobert is not an improvement, Philip.”
“Henry and William agree with me,” Philip said.
“Henry and William are infants.”
Philip shrugged. “They still agree with me.” He looked to the girls. “Shall we tiptoe up to the nursery to see if your little brothers are awake?”
“If you rouse them from their naps, their nursemaids will strangle you,” Lady Marion warned.
Philip only grinned. “I’ll take my chances.”
Caroline took Alice’s hand once more, and they followed Philip out, Phrobert still in his arms.
“He does love those children,” Clara said. “Reminds me of his brother.”
“All his brothers,” Marjie added. “Mater says their father was the same way.”
“He was,” Sarah said. “I never knew a gentleman with so tender a place in his heart for children. I doubt there was a single child in the neighborhood who didn’t feel cherished by him.”
“Philip would be a wonderful father,” Sorrel said, lying fully flat once more and appearing quite done-in by the miniscule effort she had exuded. “Breaks my heart that it seems destined never to happen.”
Reassurances were offered immediately
and quite vocally. Sorrel accepted them with the slightest easing of her burdened expression. She was worried, not only about the outcome of her pregnancy but also about the heartache of her husband. Having her sister and sisters-in-law around her would help, but after Christmas, they would leave, and loneliness, Sarah knew all too well, amplified one’s worries. She vowed to herself in that moment to call on Sorrel as often as she could.
“Miss Sarvol.”
Sarah turned toward the door, where a maid stood. “Yes?”
“Your brother’s sent word that you’re to return to Sarvol House directly. Messenger said it was urgent.”
“Thank you.” She offered very quick farewells to the ladies before slipping from the room.
Though her return had been deemed urgent, no carriage had been sent for her. She requested one of the Lampton Park butler and waited in the entryway like a petitioner. She so often felt that way: forever the guest, never truly belonging. Returning to the Collingham neighborhood was not supposed to have been this way.
She’d known some very happy times here, had been cared about and connected to so many in this area. But most of them were gone now or had families of their own.
She missed her mother, though not enough to return to her household and assume the role of a child for the rest of her life. She couldn’t imagine leaving Scott anyway. No matter that she hardly saw him any longer; he was here. They were as close as twins, never apart for more than a few days. Undertaking this adventure together had been a dream come true.
But what had happened to that dream? They were both unhappy and running out of hope.
She intertwined her fingers, letting her arms hang in front of her. There had to be an answer, just as Mater had assured her.
Her mind spun throughout the ride back to Sarvol House. These questions were precisely the sort she and Harold had easily discussed before he’d broken her heart. They had talked of their futures, their dreams, their concerns. Neither of them had necessarily had the answers—they had still been so young—but they’d listened to each other. They’d offered hope and support.
The Heart of a Vicar Page 19
