The Rector's Daughter (Part Two of The People of this Parish Saga)

by Nicola Thorne

  Connie, feeling small, inadequate, badly dressed and ugly, shuffled up the receiving line praying for self-effacement, and when she saw the bride smiling brilliantly at her she was so startled that she almost dropped a curtsey. The bridal pair were startlingly beautiful, other-worldly, in special dress which was a sort of uniform that set them apart. Both shook hands with her, Roger also kissed her cheek although she hardly knew him. They then gave the identical treatment to the person following her and, murmuring inaudibly, she passed on down the line – Lally shaking hands, Prosper giving her a kiss on the cheek, Admiral and Lady Hill a stiff handshake, merely a glance.

  Miss Fairchild, on the other hand, revelled in the occasion. She often dreamt of worldly events like this, but seldom attended them. She had chatted to the bride and groom until almost forcibly moved on. But, after all, she had sent them an expensive present of hand-blown glass and thought she deserved a few words in appreciation.

  Miss Fairchild also felt she looked nice. This was important – to feel at one’s best, at one’s ease – and she had gone to some trouble about dresses for herself and Connie. They had not been made by the local dressmaker, but bought at a shop in Bournemouth which catered for the quality. Connie was so thin, her mauve silk did just hang on her a little; maybe a tuck or two before the next big occasion.

  Now, as she cast her eyes round, she wondered where her poor, shy little ward had hidden herself. There were so many people. A waiter pressed a glass of champagne into her hand. Someone waved. It was Sophie. Thank heaven for a familiar face. Sophie was with Laurence and Sarah Jane Yetman, and with them was a tall, quite handsome but surly-looking man who was one of the Sadlers, Miss Fairchild knew; she wasn’t sure which one.

  ‘Bartholomew Sadler, my brother-in-law.’ Laurence introduced them and they shook hands.

  ‘I never forget a face,’ Miss Fairchild said, ‘but are you one of the brothers who farm, or ...’

  ‘I’m the stone-mason, Miss Fairchild.’

  ‘Of course,’ her brow cleared, ‘the odd one out, and I do not mean that unkindly.’

  Bart laughed perfunctorily.

  ‘Have you seen Connie?’ Miss Fairchild turned anxiously to Sophie. ‘She’s slipped away. She’s a little shy, you know. I’m so afraid that she may try and go back to the hotel.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure she wouldn’t. On her own?’

  ‘She’s not really happy among so many people.’

  ‘Carson ...’ Sophie beckoned to her brother-in-law, who stood apparently entertaining a group of unattached young women, all most fashionably dressed and hanging on his words. Carson excused himself to them and joined Sophie, who whispered in his ear.

  ‘Miss Fairchild is worried about Connie. Could you try and find her?’

  ‘Of course.’ Carson stopped a passing waiter and exchanged his empty glass for a full one. ‘When did you last see Connie, Miss Fairchild?’

  ‘Only a few moments ago, as we shook hands with the bride and groom. I stopped to chat with some people I knew and when I looked up Connie had slipped away. A crowd like this terrifies her, you know.’

  ‘Leave it to me,’ Carson said, and adroitly melted into the crowd.

  ‘He is so kind,’ Miss Fairchild breathed, watching him make his way through the throng. ‘Such a genuinely kind young man. One day he and Connie got caught in a rainstorm in the church, and he came all the way back for an umbrella to escort Constance home. He was drenched to the skin.’

  ‘I’m glad you find him kind,’ Sophie said approvingly. ‘I do too. There is a very nice side to Carson that not a lot of people see. We are privileged. Tell me, Miss Fairchild, are you enjoying yourself?’

  ‘Oh, very much.’ Miss Fairchild’s face was flushed. ‘I would not have missed this for the world.’ She gestured about with her hands. ‘The hotel is like a palace, and the people ... It is a real occasion. So different from anything we have at Wenham.’

  Carson meanwhile was walking about the crowded room, peering over the heads of people for a sight of mauve silk. It was a little unbecoming for Connie, who might have looked better in blue or pale green.

  One or two people he knew tried to detain him, but he slipped past them with a nod. He felt almost as uncomfortable here as Connie, out of place at the wedding of Roger and his pretty bride, out of sorts in morning-dress. He was stopped by a hand on his arm and looked up with surprise at a familiar face. At first he couldn’t place it.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d remember me, Carson.’

  ‘Of course I remember you ... Frederick ...’ Carson shook the hand of the clerk who had worked in the room next to his in the Martyn-Heering warehouse. He clearly recognised the face but, in fact, he had almost forgotten his name. ‘How are you keeping?’

  ‘Very well. And you? Not married yourself yet?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Me neither.’ Frederick put his glass to his lips. ‘I never thought Roger would, but he did.’

  ‘Yes, it’s done now.’ Carson was surprised that someone low down the social scale like Frederick knew Roger well enough to use his Christian name. ‘He’s rather grand now, a partner.’

  ‘A partner, yes.’ Frederick nodded. ‘I knew him when he didn’t know a thing about the business, but,’ – Frederick sighed – ‘he’s left me well behind. I wish him luck. I wish Roger lots and lots of luck.’

  Carson decided Frederick was rather drunk. ‘Good to see you again,’ he said. ‘Excuse me. I’m looking for someone.’

  ‘Good to see you too,’ Frederick said, stepping to one side, a confused, unhappy man.

  Carson continued his search in the ballroom for Connie, but his thoughts were on Frederick. It had surprised him to see the junior clerk from the warehouse who sometimes used to bring him a cup of tea. Otherwise they had little to do with each other. Yet, oddly, Carson had always felt that Frederick resented him, seemed to regard him in a way that was detached, and rather suspicious. This encounter now seemed to explain it. Frederick had taught him, and he had taught Roger who was now a partner.

  Maybe Frederick, a man of humble origins, had resented the young men from good families who would climb the company so easily, while he himself, a warehouse clerk, would remain just that all his life, with yearly increments, a small pension and a gold watch at the end.

  Carson wondered if Frederick had resented him enough to have him sacked? Was Frederick the man who had doctored the books? But would he know how and, now, did it matter?

  Here and there was the odd familiar face; but there were few. They were mostly Prosper and Lally’s friends from the smart London set, a host of younger people who were familiars of Roger, and friends of the Hills who were rather county and stuffy. There was a sprinkling of military and naval uniforms, plenty of scarlet, and gold braid.

  There must have been five hundred people in the room, and Carson had almost despaired of finding his quarry when he saw a flash of mauve amid all the pastel colours, and just managed to reach the door as Connie was in the act of sidling out.

  ‘Connie!’ he called above the hubbub and, like a startled fawn, she turned towards him.

  ‘Carson,’ she murmured, hand to mouth. ‘I was just ...’

  ‘Your aunt’s worried about you, Connie,’ he said kindly and, taking her firmly by the arm, he propelled her back into the room. ‘She wondered where you’d got to.’

  ‘It’s so hot.’ She put a hand to her forehead. ‘I decided to take a walk. I ... I don’t really like it here,’ she burst out, eyeing him wildly. ‘I don’t like these people and I wish I’d never come.’

  ‘I’m not enjoying myself much either,’ Carson said, drawing her into an alcove where two seats had just been vacated by an animated couple who now appeared to be joining those who were getting ready for dancing. ‘I feel totally out of place here.’

  ‘Oh, do you really?’ Connie was clearly surprised by his admission. ‘I thought it would be the kind of thing you liked.’

  ‘But why should you thi
nk that?’

  ‘You know...’ Connie faltered. Then a blush spread slowly from her neck and began to suffuse her face.

  ‘Come on, let’s dance,’ Carson cried, seizing her hand as the floor cleared and the small orchestra in the corner began to make the dissonant sounds of tuning up.

  ‘Oh, I can’t dance.’ Connie sounded appalled at the idea. ‘Besides,’ she glanced furtively around, ‘Aunt Vicky might see.’

  ‘But why should Miss Fairchild mind you dancing? I’m sure she’d like to think of you enjoying yourself.’

  ‘Perhaps I should ask her first?’ Connie appeared to hesitate.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Connie,’ Carson said sharply. ‘You’re not a little girl now, are you?’

  ‘No.’ She hung her head.

  ‘You’re a woman of ... how old?’

  ‘Twenty-four,’ she mumbled.

  ‘The same age as me. We were born in the same year, Connie. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?’

  ‘Why?’ she looked puzzled.

  ‘It means we get on. I think we have a lot in common, Connie.’

  ‘Really?’ She took a deep breath and, as he held out his arms for the waltz that had begun, she slipped rather clumsily into them.

  First the newly married couple took the floor, waltzing expertly around the circumference of the ballroom while the guests looked on admiringly. They completed a circle, gazing all the time into each other’s eyes, and then Prosper and Lally and the Hills joined in sedately – three couples gyrating round the floor to give the signal that everyone else could begin.

  Couples flocked onto the floor and, very gingerly, Connie and Carson joined them.

  ‘I’ve only ever danced at the church socials,’ she whispered.

  ‘I have only ever danced at the young farmers’ ball,’ he whispered back and, as if to prove it, trod on her toes.

  Miss Fairchild, happily engaged in animated conversation with the small contingent from Wenham, saw the flash of mauve pass before her eyes like a mirage.

  ‘Goodness me!’ she cried, startled out of her wits. ‘Is that ...?’

  ‘Carson and Connie dancing together. Well, well.’ Sophie, who wore a smart dress of grey chiffon with an ankle-length skirt, seemed equally impressed.

  ‘Well, at least he found her,’ Miss Fairchild said, and at that moment the couple caught her eye and Carson waved back.

  ‘How happy Connie looks.’ Sarah Jane was waiting for her husband to invite her to dance, but he had disappeared to the bar with Bart, where he had met some cronies.

  ‘Connie has a very soft spot for Carson,’ Miss Fairchild confided. ‘He is terribly kind to her.’

  ‘It seems to me as though Carson has a soft spot for Connie too.’ Sarah Jane looked anxiously towards the bar, hoping that Laurence wasn’t having too much of a good time in the company of Bart. However, at that moment they could both be seen wending their way through the crowd, with a waiter behind them with a tray on which were precariously balanced a bottle of champagne and glasses.

  Sophie turned as Bart and Laurence reached them, and immediately caught Bart’s eye.

  ‘Are all your family here?’ she asked with a smile, as they drew instinctively to one side.

  ‘Besides Sarah Jane and Laurence, only me.’

  ‘Your brothers and sisters-in-law weren’t invited?’ Sophie seemed surprised as Bart shook his head, adding: ‘I do a little business with Mr Martyn.’

  ‘Oh do you indeed?’

  ‘Yes, I do. Champagne, Mrs Woodville?’

  ‘Thank you, but I don’t drink,’ she smiled.

  ‘Religious reasons?’ He took a glass of champagne from the waiter and held it to his lips.

  ‘No. I do believe in temperance as it happens, but I have never tasted alcohol. It doesn’t appeal to me.’

  ‘That does surprise me. I understand your father likes a drop.’

  ‘Only with meals.’ Sophie was immediately on the defensive. ‘A little wine at dinner.’

  ‘Pardon, I should have said your father-in-law.’ Bart, who seemed a little under the influence himself, hiccoughed. ‘I meant Sir Guy.’

  Sophie didn’t reply. She found herself at a loss in her judgment of Bart Sadler. One half of her admired him and the other half didn’t like him at all. She was repulsed and attracted; a curious, haunting, inconvenient and altogether puzzling sensation.

  From the corner of her eye she could see Guy clearly enjoying himself with Prosper and some friends. Guy had a very short memory. He was still under notice to quit Pelham’s Oak, and Prosper was pressing him, while Guy found one excuse, then another, and stalled with a list of fictitious would-be purchasers.

  ‘Maybe he thinks “laugh and be merry, for tomorrow we die”,’ Bart said, as if he’d read her thoughts.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘That surprises me.’ Bart took another sip of his drink. ‘I heard Pelham’s Oak was for sale.’

  ‘Nothing is decided,’ she replied stiffly.

  ‘I heard it was definite. But tell me what will happen to you, Mrs Woodville, if the family home is sold?’

  ‘I have been promised that I will be looked after.’

  ‘What are promises?’ Bart scoffed. ‘They haven’t done much about the memorial to your husband, have they? Why, it must be nearly four years since the poor fellow died.’

  ‘It is over three years,’ she said, as if a few months mattered.

  ‘And no memorial? I call that a scandal.’

  ‘Really, Mr Sadler, I find this conversation out of place at a wedding.’

  ‘Mrs Woodville.’ Bart leaned confidingly towards her, ‘I know you want a window, but a window has difficulties. I have an excellent piece of marble that I thought would just do for a memorial for your husband. It is a beautiful piece from the Isle of Purbeck. You remember you once thought you might be interested in stone?’

  ‘I am afraid I couldn’t possibly afford it ...’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. I think we could come to some arrangement. Would you at least like to see it?’ He seemed so excited, so eager to please, she felt astonished.

  ‘It’s very kind ...’ she began, and noticed that Sarah Jane was looking at her strangely.

  ‘It’s about the stone for George,’ Sophie explained. ‘Your brother has very kindly reminded me of my obligation. I have had so much on my mind that I feel I have been unfaithful to poor George, neglectful of his memory.’ She then turned to Bart and gave him a smile of singular sweetness.

  ‘You really are extremely kind, Mr Sadler. I would love to see the stone. I’m most grateful to you for thinking of it.’

  ‘Then you have only to name the day, Mrs Woodville. Let me know as soon as you have decided.’

  He gave her an old-fashioned courtly bow, low from the waist, and straightening up, walked away. Soon he was lost in the crowd.

  ‘What a kind person your brother is,’ Sophie said to Sarah Jane.

  ‘He is kind,’ Sarah Jane agreed dubiously. ‘But he is his own man.'

  ‘Oh? Really?’ Sophie felt alarmed.

  ‘None of us in the family understands him particularly well. Bart is a law unto himself, Sophie.’ Sarah Jane put a hand on her arm and looked into her eyes. ‘You might remember that before you have any dealings with him.’

  ‘What a strange thing to say,’ Sophie said. ‘You make me quite nervous.’

  ‘Don’t be nervous, just be careful.’ Sarah Jane pressed her arm reassuringly. ‘But then I am sure you are a woman well able to look after yourself.’

  It was getting dark, and Carson held the door of the cab open for Miss Fairchild and Connie as they got into it at the embankment entrance to the Savoy.

  ‘Won’t you come back to Brown’s and have some refreshment, Carson?’ Miss Fairchild asked, leaning out.

  ‘Thank you, I think I have had enough for today.’

  ‘That’s true. We have all had enough.’ Miss Fairchild turned and smiled at Connie. �
�And Connie has had a lovely time. She will be tired. Thanks to you, she has enjoyed herself so much. Haven’t you, Connie?’

  ‘Yes,’ Connie said from the depths of the cab.

  ‘You must come and have tea with us again when we all get back to Wenham.’

  ‘I should like that, Miss Fairchild.’

  ‘Make it soon.’ Miss Fairchild gave the cabbie the name of the hotel and then leaned back, her hand fluttering out of the window.

  ‘Oh Connie, what a wonderfully happy day we have had. How friendly everyone has been, and what a really very nice man Carson Woodville is.’ And, although she did not say so, how very fond he seemed of her beloved ward. She had watched them dancing. Who could doubt it?

  And, at that very moment, an idea was born.

  14

  There were days for Sophie when everything seemed possible, and others when it all looked hopeless. Her moods waxed and waned like the tide, at one moment optimistic, the next sad, even fearful.

  She felt that since she had returned from New Guinea she had never really found peace; nor had she succeeded in finding herself. She no longer knew who she was, or her purpose on this earth.

  The God in whom she formerly placed such trust seemed to have rejected her, and she was no longer buoyed up by her Christian faith. She even found it hard to pray.

  In her misery she believed that George, whose faith had been so strong, would have been disappointed in her, and even that in death she had failed him. Three years after returning from New Guinea she had put up no memorial to him; its continuing absence seemed to accuse her. Maybe that was why she had no peace.

  These dismal thoughts were uppermost in her mind as she picked her way among the huge masses of Purbeck stone littering the floor of the quarry around which Bart Sadler was escorting her. Sometimes she reached out for his strong hand to steady her because the ground was so uneven. It was a few weeks after Roger’s wedding, and he was keeping the promise he had made then. He had called for her in his carriage and driven her over, saying very little on the way. He was a steely man; a man of few words. Ahead of them stretched the wide expanse of the Channel, flecked with angry waves that seemed to grow larger under a lowering, threatening sky. A few drops of rain had already spattered the ground, and she pulled her scarf more securely about her.