The housekeeper answered the Sarvol House door, her expression frenzied. She sputtered a bit, stumbling over her words of welcome. “Forgive me. We are in utter chaos here just now.”
Sarah stepped in. “We are aware of the havoc my uncle has wreaked upon you. We are here, we hope, to soothe some of that.”
“Miss Sarvol, he will be so cruel to you. You ought not to have come back.”
Sarah set her hand on the woman’s arm. “I will not allow him to keep hurting people. None of us will.”
Harold nodded to her. “Allow us to see if we can bring a bit of peace back to this home, Mrs. Tanner.”
Her shoulders dropped. “Thank you. He is in the library.”
“While we manage that business,” Philip said, “will you have whoever from the staff can be spared gather up Miss Sarvol’s things? She was unable to take them with her last evening, but we would like for her to have them.”
“Of course, my lord.”
They did, indeed, find Mr. Sarvol in the library. He sat alone at a broad table. His grizzled eyes rose to them as they approached. Harold’s brothers led the way. He didn’t cower, but he did remain a bit behind. Sarah kept to his side. She looked nervous but determined.
Philip sauntered toward him; there was really no other way to describe it. “Sarvol.” His tone was casual, but no one listening could miss the underlying sharpness there.
“Lampton,” Mr. Sarvol grumbled back. His eyes fell on Layton. “How dare you come into this house, Farland. How dare you.”
Layton didn’t so much as flinch. He was built like a tree and stood as solidly as one. “We’re not here to discuss me.”
“We’re hearing a great many whispers around the neighborhood.” Philip inspected his fingernails. “Would you care to shed any light on anything in particular?”
“I—”
Harold took an involuntary step in front of Sarah at the absolute hatred that suddenly entered Mr. Sarvol’s eyes, eyes that were now focused on her.
Sarvol let forth a string of profanity and shockingly vile insults at his niece. It came with no warning, no instigation. They all stood in mute shock.
Philip found his voice first. In tones entirely devoid of the frivolous dandy he often portrayed, he made himself heard over Mr. Sarvol’s vile spewing. “That is quite enough, sir. No matter your age, no matter your frailty, should you let one more offensive phrase fall from your lips, I will call you out.”
Mr. Sarvol’s eyes pulled a bit wide.
“I will stand his second,” Layton said. “I doubt anyone will stand yours.”
Mr. Sarvol pointed a gnarled finger at Sarah. “She—”
“Careful,” Philip said.
“She disobeyed me. Left home without permission. No true lady does that.”
“You are tiptoeing mighty close, sir, casting such aspersions on her character.” Layton inched the tiniest bit toward Sarah, clearly placing himself as a shield. “You did that often enough with Bridget for me to know you’re perfectly willing to insult a lady no matter that you consider yourself a gentleman.”
“Do not dare to speak her name in this house. You stole my daughter from me.”
“Enough,” Philip snapped. “We are here to discuss the matter of your dwindling staff and the misconceptions under which you are operating.”
“My staff is none of your concern.”
“On the contrary.” Philip turned to Sarah. “I am certain you have endured enough of your uncle to last a lifetime. If you would rather not burden yourself with his company, you are welcome to help Mrs. Tanner gather your belongings.”
“Would it be cowardly of me to jump at the escape he is offering?” she asked Harold.
“Not in the least.”
She took a deep breath and, with a quickly dipped curtsy, slipped from the room.
“Brothers.” Philip motioned to the chairs around the table.
They all sat. Mr. Sarvol’s expression turned almost petulant.
“You dismissed your staff for defying your orders and helping Miss Sarvol escape,” Philip said, “but they had nothing to do with her departure.”
“She could not have escaped alone,” Mr. Sarvol said.
“She didn’t,” Philip said. “We helped her, and we did so without a single member of your staff knowing anything about it.”
Mr. Sarvol shook his head. “Couldn’t have. Someone had to have let you in and out. Someone had to have helped you get the door open.”
“No one had to,” Philip said. “We had the vicar with us.”
Mr. Sarvol’s mouth twisted sardonically. “He prayed her door open?”
“I didn’t have to,” Harold said. “I went in through the window.”
“A story above the ground?”
Harold nodded. “I climbed up, then she climbed back down. No door needed opening. No servant needed to help.”
“I don’t believe it.”
Harold rested his elbows on the table and steepled his hands. “Are you calling me, a man of the church, a liar?”
“Vicars do not climb things.”
“Vicar Hohenwart was the first to reach the Kleinglockner summit,” Philip said. “It was an accomplishment hailed far and wide. I would say vicars most certainly do climb things.”
Harold wasn’t aware of that. He wasn’t well versed in mountaineering. The idea of another vicar climbing anything, even if it was a mountain and not a wall, helped further settle his worries about this odd pastime of his.
“You broke into my home?” Mr. Sarvol growled.
“You locked your niece in a room,” Harold said. “I don’t think my behavior is the most shocking.”
“None of your staff was involved in Miss Sarvol’s escape,” Philip said. “Dismissing them without references was entirely unwarranted. I assume that will now be corrected.”
“You have no say in how I run my household.” Mr. Sarvol’s eyes hardened. “They deserved their dismissal.”
“They did not,” Philip countered.
Mr. Sarvol sat with jaw set. He didn’t look at any of them. He likely would not be convinced to change his mind on this point.
The sound of rustling skirts pulled their attention to the doorway. Sarah rushed inside. A franticness showed in her eyes. She looked directly at her uncle. “Where is Scott?”
“I will not be interrogated in my own home.”
She crossed the room toward a far door, speaking as she walked. “Mrs. Tanner said there was shouting this morning, and no one has seen Scott since.” She stepped through the door but returned almost immediately. “His belongings are gone.” She turned to Harold. “Where is he? What could have happened?”
“Likely the same thing that happened to the servants.”
Sarah shook her head. “He would toss his heir out into the cold?”
“I would put almost no act of cruelty past him,” Layton said, rising. He crossed to Sarah. “We’ll find Scott. He likely took shelter with someone.”
Realization lit Sarah’s face. “He will have sought out Mater. I know it. He likely went to the dower house first, which is why we didn’t see him.”
Layton set a gentle hand on her arm. “I’m certain you are correct.” He looked to Harold. “I think Sarah has spent enough time in this horrid house. Will you see to it she returns to Lampton Park safely? There are a few things I’ve been needing to say to my father-in-law for a number of years, but none of them are appropriate for a lady’s ears.”
Harold and Philip both stood. Harold moved to Sarah’s side.
Philip slapped a hand on Layton’s shoulder. “Do you want me to hold the carriage?” he asked.
Layton shook his head. “This will likely take awhile.”
Philip’s shoulders set. His expression turned earnest. “I’ll stay here if you want me to.
”
“I need to do this on my own,” Layton said, a bit of emotion in his voice. “Bridget deserves for him to finally hear what she was never permitted to say.”
Philip nodded. He motioned Harold and Sarah out of the library.
Mrs. Tanner and a couple of maids stood in the entry hall with a trunk and portmanteau, as well as a couple of paintings. “Forgive me for even asking,” she said, “but would you gentlemen help us get these things in the carriage? Both of the footmen and our stable hands were dismissed.”
Harold took up the trunk. Philip tucked the paintings under his arm and took the handle of the portmanteau in his other hand. Sarah reached for the small frame one of the maids held. Harold recognized it: the bouquet he’d given her.
Their eyes met. She blushed adorably. Harold didn’t bother hiding his smile.
The coachman held the horses still as Philip and Harold packed Sarah’s things in the carriage. Poor Mrs. Tanner apologized again and again, embarrassed at the sight of two gentlemen doing the work of a servant.
Harold pulled her a bit to the side. “I don’t know what can be done to appropriately restaff this house, but Lord Lampton and I will do all we can to help. I cannot like the idea of you being so overburdened.”
“The servants who were let go?” she pressed.
“We’ll do what we can for them as well.”
Mrs. Tanner pressed a hand to her heart. “Thank you, Mr. Jonquil. It’s good to know you care about us.”
“I do, indeed.” He only wished he’d done a better job of communicating that to the parish before now. He’d worried so much about being the perfect vicar that he’d neglected that most basic of duties.
They were loaded in the carriage and on their way. Sarah sat forward facing. Harold and Philip sat facing her.
“I worry about the servants Uncle dismissed,” she said. “What will they do without references?”
“I wish I could simply employ them all,” Philip said. “The Lampton estate is profitable but not enough to take on fifteen servants we don’t actually have positions for.”
Harold rubbed at his weary face. “I’ll make inquiries. With luck and a good amount of prayer, we might manage a miracle.”
Sarah’s expression remained drawn. “We tried so hard not to implicate them. It breaks my heart to see them suffer.”
“Do not give up hope, Sarah,” Harold said. “You bested a blacksmith. I would say you are rather an expert in miracles.”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Some of the tension left her posture. She pressed her palms together, touching her fingertips to her lips. It was very nearly a posture of prayer.
Please, he petitioned the heavens. She deserves a miracle.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Harold had undertaken Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve before, but he hadn’t, on that previous occasion, been legitimately worried. He had no doubt many in the congregation had heard about his climb, but he wasn’t at all certain what they thought of him in light of that. Further, he would that morning be instituting the changes he meant to make in his approach to serving this parish. What would they think of that? Would it all simply be more than they were willing to accept? Would he be laughed at? Rejected?
The earliest pieces of the service were nearly rote, the processional, the reading of scriptures from the lectionary. The portion of the mass over which he had the most discretion was the sermon; he knew perfectly well that it was the part his parishioners disliked most.
His legs shook beneath him as he climbed the steps to the pulpit. He set his prayer book in front of him and took a calming breath. He looked out over the congregation, the familiar and beloved faces there. These people were important to him. Did they know that? Had he sufficiently shown them that?
Never in his years as curate or vicar here had he, while standing at the pulpit, allowed his gaze to touch the space where Father had once sat. Though the family did not leave it entirely empty, there was always a bit of a gap. Harold turned his eyes there now.
I’ve tried to make you proud, Father. I’m going to do better. I’m going to be better.
The congregation sat in silent anticipation. Nothing about their postures or expressions spoke of excitement. He had noticed it before but had assumed it was the result of him not being dedicated enough to the exactness required of a vicar, of him falling short of the mark of required perfection. He now realized he’d missed the mark entirely.
He cleared his throat. Swallowed. Pushed out the words. “Let me begin by thanking our choir for the carols they have touched us with tonight.” He could only just see Mr. Felt far to his left. “Thank you.”
He received a shocked nod in return. Sarah had been right about that: he didn’t praise or thank the choir as much as he ought. He intended to do so more.
The congregation didn’t look as confused as Mr. Felt. Harold would guess they weren’t paying enough attention to have even realized he’d veered from the usual approach.
“This is the point in our service when I am charged with determining what is the best message to share with you. I have given that a great deal of thought. Tonight, I feel the best I can do is be brief.”
Surprise filled the chapel. Philip pretended to clean out his ears, as if certain he’d heard wrong.
Harold smiled, something he didn’t think he’d ever done at the pulpit. “I am certain there are many among you who came here tonight expecting to indulge in the usual nap. I apologize that there will not be time to do so and hope you will feel some degree of forgiveness when I assure you I will expound long and monotonous in the morning at our Christmas service.”
Someone in the chapel laughed, light and quiet but genuine. It did Harold’s heart good.
He let his gaze settle on Sarah, seated between Mater and Scott, watching him with what could be described only as approval.
“I will limit my remarks to this.” He looked out on the congregation once more. “Honor the Season by being kinder and more generous, forgiving, and loving to each other. Give of yourself. Do not overlook those in need. Love each other. That is the best gift we can give at Christmastime.”
He took up his prayer book again and turned from the pulpit. One glance at the congregation told him they did not at all believe his sermon was complete. He leaned back, facing them sideways. “That really is all. We’ll proceed to the rites that remain, but I truly am finished with the sermon.”
Whispered conversations erupted immediately. He had no idea if their comments were of happiness or disapproval. Time would eventually tell.
The remainder of the service was predetermined: rites and sacraments and blessings. All proceeded as it usually did, other than the looks of closer examination he received. He simply smiled, nodded, and moved forward.
The usual words of farewell were as baffled as the looks he’d received earlier. Harold took it in stride. Change was always a little jarring. In time, he would know better if this new approach was the best one. His sermons would not all be so short, but he meant to make certain they were what was best for his congregation.
Mater, Sarah, Scott, and Philip were the last to leave the chapel.
“That was the best sermon you’ve ever given, Monkey. I request a repeat performance in the morning.”
“A sermon is not a performance,” Harold said.
Philip tugged foppishly at his cuffs. “Would be if I were undertaking it.”
Mater swatted at him. “Behave. We’re still in the shadow of the church.”
Philip shrugged and made a sound of dismissal.
Harold met Sarah’s eyes. “My brother is a heathen. It’s a shame, really.”
“Well, his wife is a saint,” she said. “I suppose they even each other out.”
Harold shook his head. “Rather, she cancels him out.”
“Behave, Harold,” Ph
ilip said. “You are in the shadow of a church.”
“I cannot go anywhere with you boys.” Mater slipped one arm through Philip’s and the other through Scott’s. She looked back over her shoulder at Harold. “We will see you at the Park when you are done here.”
“Of course.” He turned to Sarah once more as Mater and the two gentlemen walked away. “Though it is likely horrible of me to say so, I am grateful your uncle was not here tonight. I have very little confidence he would not lash out at you and Scott, as well as those dismissed servants who were here.”
“I am equally guilty. I confess to a very loud, very audible sigh of relief.”
“Was Scott equally happy?”
Her shoulders drooped a bit. “I know he is glad to not be subject to Uncle’s vitriol, but Scott is not as light and relieved as I would expect him to be. He is weighed down, and I don’t know how to help him.”
Harold wanted to reach for her hand, to offer that gesture of support, but doing so in a public setting, no matter that most of the worshipers were gone already, could not truly be permitted. He was being a bit more lax in his adherence to the strictest of expectations, but he didn’t intend to do so in ways that embarrassed other people.
“You had best hurry,” he told her. “Mater will wish to return quickly to the Park to make certain all is in readiness, and Philip is no doubt anxious to be with Sorrel. And though he may not show it, I believe Scott is happier with you nearby.”
“I hope so,” she said.
“I know so.”
“It was good to see you at the pulpit today,” she said.
“You’ve seen me there before.”
She shook her head. “I’ve seen Holy Harry. It is good to finally see you.”
* * *
“I have something for Caroline,” Sarah told Layton and Marion the next evening during the Jonquil family Christmas gathering. “But I wished for the two of you to see it first and decide what you feel is best to do.”
The Heart of a Vicar Page 24
