The Major and the Country Miss

by Dorothy Elbury

  ‘Both of which we humans, too, are all too often apt to thrust to one side when it comes to matters of the heart,’ he pointed out. ‘So, perhaps, when all is said and done, the various species are not really so different, after all!’

  ‘That may well be so,’ replied Georgianne, with a little laugh. But then, after a slight pause, she frowned and added, ‘Although, to my mind, the greatest difference between us and the rest of the animal kingdom lies in the fact that they appear to be allowed the luxury of selecting their own mates without outside interference.’

  ‘Well, the male of the species, quite possibly,’ acknowledged Maitland, with a broad grin. ‘But even they are often obliged to do battle to gain that privilege!’

  Georgianne came to a sudden standstill, exclaiming, ‘Good grief, so they are! I had quite forgotten that particular aspect. And, while they are locking horns—or what you will—’ she then riposted pithily, ‘the female of the species is obliged to wait patiently on the sidelines in order to learn her fate!’

  ‘True, but then she always gets the champion and never has to settle for second best,’ he argued, taking her by the elbow and gently urging her forwards. ‘“Faint heart never won fair lady”, as the saying goes, or, if you prefer it, “To the victor the spoils!”’

  Biting back the smile that threatened, Georgianne gave a little sigh. ‘Still,’ she said, ‘I find it hard to believe that male swans would allow other swans to influence their choice of mate.’ She hesitated for a moment, as though gathering courage, then, taking a deep breath, she blurted out, almost defiantly, ‘Nor indeed are they likely to call their partner’s ancestry into question!’

  At her words, and just for a second or two, it was Maitland’s turn to be thrown into confusion, but then, after storing that particular phrase into his memory for deeper consideration at some future point, he felt constrained to point out that, since neither he nor she were ever likely to find themselves in a position to discover the truth of the matter, there was little point in continuing that particular line of discussion. ‘For all we know, animals may well have their own systems of justice,’ he reasoned, before adding, with a quick grin, ‘Think of parliaments of owls and—er—kangaroo courts!’

  When Georgianne did not reply, he cast a quick sideways glance at her and, although her face was turned away from him, he was perturbed to see that her shoulders were shaking. Good God! he thought. Has my insensitive raillery reduced the poor girl to tears? Lifting his free hand, he reached across and swung her round to face him. Her wide grey eyes were, indeed, brimful of tears but, as he very quickly realised from the expression on her face, they were not tears of sadness, but of laughter!

  ‘What an odd sense of humour you do have, Mr Maitland,’ she gasped, her eyes still alight with laughter as she delved into her skirt pocket in search of a handkerchief. ‘Kangaroo courts, indeed! You know perfectly well that that expression has nothing whatsoever to do with what we were discussing!’

  ‘Possibly not,’ he said, with an unrepentant grin and, pulling out his own, much larger and far more suitable, linen handkerchief, he drew her gently towards him and, taking her chin in his hand, proceeded to dab all vestige of the tears from her cheeks. ‘But it did cause you a certain amount of amusement, so I consider myself well served!’

  ‘There now,’ he said jokingly, as he stood back and surveyed her. ‘I pronounce you as good as new. It would hardly do to give your Mr Childs the impression that I am in the habit of reducing young ladies to tears!’

  ‘Oh, you have no need to concern yourself,’ replied Georgianne, making every effort to keep her tone nonchalant, for Maitland’s gentle touch seemed to have had the effect of turning her insides to a mass of quivering jelly. ‘Mr Childs has a fine sense of humour—we have had many a laugh together.’

  At these words, a slight frown creased Maitland’s forehead, and as he held open the gate that led into the rear of the churchyard, he was somewhat perturbed to discover that, for some reason, and even before he had met him, he had already developed a marked dislike for the unsuspecting clergyman.

  Chapter Six

  After a somewhat confusing conversation with the cleric’s rather elderly and slightly deaf housekeeper, Georgianne and Maitland found themselves directed across to the village green where, minus his neckerchief and with his sleeves rolled up, they eventually discovered the Reverend Philip Childs, surrounded by a rowdy group of squabbling urchins.

  ‘’Taint fair, sir!’ one small lad was declaiming. ‘Freddy Pritchard’s side allus gets ter go in first!’

  ‘S’my gear, innit?’ retorted the tallest of the group, smugly tossing the badly scuffed ball into the air. ‘Wouldn’t ’ave a game at all iffen my pa’s boss ’adn’t give the stuff to ’im. Stands ter reason that my side should be first in!’

  ‘If not precisely in the spirit of the game!’ murmured Maitland under his breath.

  Clapping his hands, the young reverend attempted to bring the group to order. ‘Come along now, boys,’ he cajoled them. ‘We are wasting precious time. Do sort yourselves out and let us get on.’

  ‘Perhaps I might be of assistance here, sir,’ said Maitland, stepping forwards and shrugging out of his jacket, which he handed to the astonished Georgianne.

  ‘Right, now stand still, all of you!’ he commanded, in a tone that immediately brought about a hushed and respectful silence. Having got their attention, the ex- major then had little difficulty in dividing the pack into two reasonably equal teams, based mostly upon a combination of height and weight. Ignoring the barely suppressed mutterings of the one or two dissatisfied youths who found themselves on their opposing team of choice, he then gave the players a short, but succinct reminder that the game of cricket was a sport and, as such, should be played in a sporting manner. He then went on to point out that, notwithstanding the fact that some of their friends might be on the opposing team, every man’s allegiance and loyalty must be reserved for his own side. The biggest challenge, he told his, by now, eager listeners, was not simply to beat their opponents, but to beat them fairly and squarely. Then, casting a fulminating glance at the self-proclaimed owner of the bulk of the equipment, he asked him if he had any objection to the other boys making free with his property for the duration of the game. After a wide-eyed and rather nervous shake of the head supplied him with the expected result, he leaned forwards and, gripping the lad’s shoulder, said, ‘Good man! For that, I shall appoint you captain of team “A”, and you, my lad…’ here, he beckoned to another likely looking youth ‘…as captain of the opposing team, may stand ready to call the toss!’

  ‘I cannot imagine who the man may be,’ the Reverend Childs whispered to the now dumbstruck Georgianne, as they watched Maitland withdraw a coin from his pocket and toss it into the air, ‘but I am certainly grateful for his assistance!’

  ‘His name is William Maitland and he is a good friend of Catford’s,’ Georgianne whispered back to him, her admiration for the ex-major increasing by the minute.

  ‘Not the William Maitland?’

  Georgianne gave a brief nod. ‘The very same,’ she replied, in a somewhat abstracted manner, for her eyes were glued to the subject of their conversation, now heavily involved in directing operations on the green in front of them.

  Having taken a lead from the curate’s example, Maitland had divested himself of both waistcoat and cravat, unbuttoned his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, displaying his well-proportioned physique to the utmost effect, the unexpected spectacle of which was causing Georgianne’s heart to behave in the most unruly manner. And, whereas she had viewed the— albeit far less well-endowed—Reverend Childs’s similar state of undress with total equanimity, the startling vision of the super-fit ex-military man striding up and down the green in front of her, the ripple of his muscles barely concealed beneath his closely fitting garments, had the effect of rendering her quite breathless.

  Fortunately for its two equally spellbound spectators, a certain lack of skill
in the finer techniques of the game on the part of its young players, very quickly brought the impromptu match to a close but, even though the final score was an abysmal 17 runs to 14 in the ‘B’ team’s favour, Maitland’s insistence that each team should give the other three rousing cheers for effort soon had every one of the lads clapping each other on the back and commenting on what a jolly good game it had been!

  ‘I doubt that you’ll have any further trouble with them, sir,’ remarked the grinning Maitland, as he joined the waiting pair and retrieved his discarded clothing. ‘They are good-hearted lads and, now that they have learned to play by the rules, all they need is a little dedicated coaching.’

  ‘Dare I presume to suggest that I might press you into volunteering your services in that direction, Mr Maitland?’ enquired Childs hopefully.

  ‘I dare say I might be able to fit in a few sessions,’ replied Maitland, after giving the curate’s request due consideration. ‘Certainly, while I am staying in the vicinity. However, I do have to point out that it is possible my visit will not be of a very long duration. In which respect I was rather hoping that you might be in a position to assist me!’

  After assuring Maitland that he would be more than pleased to help him in whatever way he could, the curate waved away the still excited youths and led his visitors back to the vicarage where, in the relative comfort of his small sitting room, the elderly housekeeper served them tea, during which procedure Maitland outlined the task that his uncle had set him.

  ‘Billingham?’ The reverend shook his head. ‘I’m afraid that it’s not a name that I am familiar with and, to my certain knowledge, there is no young man of that name in the immediate vicinity. However, the best place to begin such a search would surely be in the Parish Registers for the year in question—ours are kept locked in a cupboard in the vestry—if you would care to accompany me?’

  Seeing that the curate had risen to his feet, Georgianne set down her teacup and followed suit, saying, ‘If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I fear that I must leave you to your endeavours. My aunt’s picnic lunch must be long since over and she will be wondering what has become of me.’

  With a sharp sense of disappointment, Maitland, too, leapt to his feet. ‘Oh, must you go?’ he beseeched her. ‘I was hoping that you might care to assist us in our search.’

  ‘In the normal way, there is nothing that I would enjoy more,’ she hastened to assure him. ‘But, I fear I have been absent from my other duties overlong. Another time, perhaps?’

  ‘No, wait!’ interrupted Maitland hastily. ‘You must, at least, allow me to escort you back to the house.’

  ‘Thank you, but that really is not necessary,’ replied Georgianne, smiling up at him. ‘Once through the wicker gate, I am on Gresham land—it is a journey I am well accustomed to making on my own.’

  ‘Yes, indeed!’ Reverend Childs nodded his affirmation. ‘I am happy to say that Miss Venables is a frequent visitor—I assure you that she will come to no harm on the bridle path.’

  Although it did not sit well with him to think of his young companion returning to her home unescorted, Maitland, realising that it would hardly do to make an issue of the matter, was obliged to stand back and watch Georgianne disappear into the spinney.

  ‘Miss Venables visits you often, you say?’ he asked, turning back to the waiting curate.

  ‘Almost every day,’ beamed Childs, as he led Maitland across the churchyard and through a side door into the vestry of the church. ‘She teaches the little ones in the village school and, in addition, since I am not, as yet, blessed with a helpmeet of my own, she has been good enough to offer to accompany me on my visits to the sick.’

  As he followed the curate into the vestry, a little frown creased Maitland’s brow. It would have come as no surprise to him to learn that the Reverend Childs had already picked out his so-called ‘helpmeet’ in the shape of the rather comely Miss Georgianne Venables. Though what the devil her family were about to allow their young relative to visit the man so freely, he could not begin to understand. Just because she had suffered one disappointment all those years ago was hardly any reason to allow the girl to throw herself away on a mere parson, he found himself thinking, as he watched the unsuspecting curate cross the room and unlock a large oak cupboard in the far corner.

  ‘I’m told these records go back over forty-five years,’ said Childs, as he rummaged through the dusty tomes. ‘1795, I believe you said? Yes, here it is— slightly battered, I fear, and it looks as though it might have been stored in a somewhat damp environment at some point in its history. Still, we can but hope!’

  Dragging out the mildew-speckled leather-bound volume, he laid it on a nearby table and, pulling up a chair, indicated that Maitland should follow suit. ‘The records include not only all the births in the parishes of both Willowby and Greenborough, but the marriages and deaths also. However, to be on the safe side, we might just as well cover the lot,’ he suggested, with what might well have been termed a conspiratorial grin and, for a few fleeting moments, as he returned the benevolent gesture, Maitland found himself experiencing a slight pang of regret in regard to his earlier somewhat uncharitable assessment of the young man.

  Well over an hour later, after running his finger down the names on the final page, Reverend Childs closed the book with a disconsolate sigh. ‘Not a Melandra nor a Billingham nor an Étienne to be seen in any situation, I’m sorry to say! Clearly, neither of our two parishes can have been your uncle’s port of call on that sorry night all those years ago. I’m afraid it would appear that your search looks likely to prove a good deal more wearisome than you might otherwise have imagined.’

  ‘You may well be right, sir,’ nodded Maitland, easing back his shoulders in an attempt to relieve the unaccustomed stiffness that poring over the records had brought about. ‘It was too much to hope that I would light upon a result at my very first attempt and I am much obliged to you for sparing me so much of your time.’

  ‘Why, good heavens, man!’ declared the curate. ‘After your sterling efforts earlier, I could hardly do less. And, when the identity of the man who took charge of their match reaches the lads’ ears, I swear that there will be no holding them back! We will find ourselves inundated with volunteers, I have no doubt!’

  ‘I’ll have you know that I don’t altogether approve of all this misplaced adulation,’ groaned Maitland, as he stood up to stretch his cramped limbs. ‘Especially since the whole event seems to have been exaggerated out of all proportion!’

  ‘I’m afraid that you will just have to grin and bear it,’ returned the other, with a sympathetic grin. ‘Folks love a hero and it might just as well be you as the next chap—although it does mean that you are for ever obliged to make sure that you are not found to have feet of clay!’

  ‘Well, I can’t promise you that,’ laughed Maitland. ‘But I shall certainly make every effort to join you again next Saturday. And now, I suppose, I had better get back and see what my cousin has been up to in my absence—the last I saw of him, he was languishing at the feet of the local beauty!’

  At his words, a dark flush stained the young curate’s cheeks and he turned hurriedly away. ‘That would be Miss Highsmith, I imagine,’ he said, in a low voice.

  ‘That’s right,’ nodded Maitland, somewhat surprised at the other man’s sudden change of manner. ‘I dare say you are acquainted with the young lady?’

  ‘Whilst it is true that I number Lady Highsmith and her granddaughter among my parishioners,’ returned Childs flatly, as he bent to return the heavy volume to its former place in the pile, ‘I fear I cannot claim to be actually acquainted with them.’

  So the poor devil’s affections lie in that quarter! thought Maitland, experiencing a curious sense of relief at this discovery, not to mention a considerable warming towards the unfortunate curate.

  ‘I take it that Miss Highsmith does not share her friend’s dedication to charitable works, then?’ he found himself asking, not that he was in any
doubt as to the answer.

  Getting to his feet, the reverend swivelled round and stared at him, a pained expression on his face. ‘I would have you know, sir,’ he replied stiffly, ‘that Miss Highsmith spends a good deal of her time assisting her grandmother in that good lady’s most admirable endeavours up at Highsmith House. And, since I am fortunate enough to have my own little team of willing helpers, I do not feel the need to impose upon her generosity.’

  ‘No, indeed!’ returned Maitland hurriedly, it not having been his intention to cross swords with the young curate who had devoted the greater part of the afternoon to his own quandary. ‘And, I must thank you again for your own sterling efforts—at the very least, it means that I can now cross two parishes off my list.’

  With a promise to do his best to return on the following Saturday, he then bade farewell to the reverend and retraced his steps back through the spinney to Gresham Hall.

  Although Maitland’s somewhat prolonged absence from the gathering had been starting to cause him a certain amount of anxiety, Viscount Catford could not prevent himself from bursting out laughing when Georgianne, upon her own return, acquainted him with the reason for his comrade’s non-attendance.

  ‘No change there, then,’ he grinned, shaking his head. ‘He was just the same in Portugal—for ever organising the local youngsters into some activity or other!’

  ‘Well, Mr Childs was certainly impressed with his capabilities,’ she assured her cousin, as they took a stroll through one of the Hall’s many flower gardens. ‘Both of them were up to their eyes in dusty parish registers when I left. I doubt you will see your Mr Maitland much before dinnertime.’

  ‘That’s quite a task he seems to have taken on,’ remarked Catford thoughtfully. ‘I just wish we could be of more help to him—that Fenton chap he brought with him looks to be about as much use as a parasol in a cloudburst!’