by Sahara Kelly
“Good heavens, no. Of course not.” Tabby kept her voice low as the parishioners filed in for the service. “But shouldn’t you be in the family pew?”
Rosaline shook her head. “It won’t hold us.”
“What?” Tabby blinked.
Letitia giggled. “The wood has rotted in several places. Edmund sat there not long ago and there was a massive crack. It didn’t break, but none of us have risked it since.”
“Oh dear.” Tabby bit her lip. “Yes, I can see that having the Ridlingtons deposited onto the stone floor all at once…well, it wouldn’t do, would it?”
“The organ would probably try to sound a chord of disaster.”
“I thought it already had,” said Letitia in answer to Rosaline’s comment.
“Shhh. Simon is giving us the look.”
The three ladies composed themselves appropriately and the short service passed without further interruptions.
After the last chords of the close-to-dying organ had faded away, along with a lot of terrified pigeons, they made their way outside into the summer sun.
“Come back with us, Tabby. Spend the afternoon. Have dinner.” Rosaline linked her arm through the other woman’s, urging her forward.
“Please do, Tabby. It’s a beautiful day, it’s Sunday so you shouldn’t be working, and we can have tea outside. Plus, we are celebrating our own crops, so dinner will be the freshest of everything.”
“Miss Letitia, Lady Rosaline…” began Tabby.
“No dear,” said Rosaline, drawing to a halt. “That’s enough of the civilities. We are friends now. At least I hope we are. So you will call us by our first names, as we do you. Is that understood?”
A little stunned by Rosaline’s firm declaration, Tabby could do nothing but agree. “Well, yes. Thank you.” She nodded at them both. “Thank you Rosaline and Letitia.”
“Much better. Now do say you’ll come.” Letitia took her other arm, bracketing her with Ridlingtons.
“I am outnumbered,” she smiled. “Yes, I will come. Tea in the garden sounds lovely. I’m managing very well at the Cottage, but I don’t anticipate tea in that garden any time soon, so it will be a rare treat.”
Chapter Four
Simon carefully removed his vestments and hung them from the appropriate hook on the back wall of the vestry. It had been an acceptable morning, and young Andrew, the altar boy, had delivered a collection plate containing a healthy ninepence.
Which was sixpence more than last week.
At this rate, he’d be able to replace the broken organ parts before he turned eighty-seven.
Shaking his head at himself, he locked up the church and retreated to the Rectory, where he spent twenty minutes with Cat (renamed and ignoring this iteration every bit as much as she ignored the first one). She sipped milk from his saucer while he drank his tea from the cup and stared out his study window at the fields. Beyond was the ocean, but the horizon was hidden by the cliffs. His view was just a tad too far inland for him to see that strip of blue that he knew rested shining in today’s sun.
His mind wandered.
What would his life be like if he wasn’t a vicar anymore? Just an ordinary man?
Well, he scolded himself, you are an ordinary man.
Which fact, upon reflection, showed itself to be true. But still, becoming ordained did make a man feel slightly different to his peers. Not better, nor worse…not more and not less. Just different.
He had been honest with himself at the start. He hadn’t been “called”, nor did the Lord talk to him with any kind of frequency. He had wondered if he’d heard something Heavenly on one occasion, just before a cow kicked him savagely in the thigh. But it had only been a farm lad shouting a warning from a nearby tree.
No, he had become a Vicar because it was the one convenient option he had that would permit him to escape from his father. Not unlike his brother Edmund, who had taken off for the sea and what would become a distinguished career in the Navy. Simon didn’t have the heart or the inclination to become a soldier, which didn’t leave too many options.
He would obviously be awarded the Ridlington living, and thus would be near enough to make sure his brother and sisters were well. He would also be far enough away from his father that the man would probably forget he ever had a son called Simon.
And this had proved to be the case. The old Baron had ignored Simon from that point forward. The time at Oxford had been funded mostly from Simon’s mother’s small bequest to her children. The rest of it had come from Simon’s own ingenuity; small jobs here and there, the occasional lucky roll of the dice, and too many days with scarcely a meal. He always made friends easily and that skill also stood him in good stead when it came to dinners, weekends in the country and excellent contacts through his college fellows.
In spite of his modest success, he was well aware that to many he was almost a charity case. And it rankled. Many a time Simon had tried to find it in his heart to be a good Christian, and forgive his parent for his atrocious shortcomings.
But in his moments of total honesty—usually ones which occurred in the local tavern during his time at Oxford, or his training for ordination—he admitted to himself that the man who had sired him was lacking in any kind of affection, paternal concern or other gentle emotion.
It was as if his heart had been turned to stone.
Which was a rather fanciful notion for a soon-to-be Vicar, but the Chillendale ale that year had been an excellent brew.
All these random thoughts returned to Simon’s mind as he sat with his tea, a lapful of snoozing cat, and a view of the English countryside.
He was lucky, he knew. His prayers were regular and heartfelt, full of thanks that he had been blessed with a family where love had not died, but survived under the harsh master of the house.
They were healthy, Edmund was home and wed, and a new addition would arrive later in the year. Yes, they were blessed. He was blessed.
And then the image of Tabby rose up to give him that look. The one that had captured him so many years ago.
And the one that still held a portion of his heart in thrall.
Damn the woman.
It had been a day not unlike this one; the sun had shone bright, warming the ground and dancing off the buttercups in the field.
He and his brother Richard, along with their friend Edward Noble, were out and about. The plan was to gather wild strawberries and perhaps some early cherries, since all the lads had a well-developed sweet tooth and Mrs. Hampstead, the Ridlington cook, was justifiably proud of her pies.
They’d been about to sneak over into the Worsley orchard when Simon had noticed a bright blue dress in the next field. It was Tabby, no doubt, heading to the shore.
Caught by the sight of her, mesmerized by the colors of her dress and the brilliant day, he’d veered off to follow her, telling the lads he’d catch up to them later.
He never did.
But he did catch up with Tabby.
*~~*~~*
Unaware of the Vicar’s memories, Tabby herself was enjoying the sunny afternoon with the ladies of Ridlington Chase.
She’d found like-minded friends, she realized, as she laughed at something Rosaline said. They were genuine, real women who avoided the pretenses worn by so many of their class. No airs and graces for these two, just simple honesty and kindliness. Hecate was visiting friends in the village, she was told, so it was just Rosaline, Letitia and herself.
“So about Simon…”
Letitia’s words jerked her from her abstract thoughts, and she realized that both were regarded her with a pointed stare.
“Uh, yes? What about him?”
Rosaline continuing looking at her, reminding her of the times she’d avoided answering her governess’s question.
“He’s my brother. I know him.” Letitia spoke quietly. “And he’s the most even tempered man you could wish to meet.”
“Except around you.” Rosaline completed the thought.
&
nbsp; “Ah.” Tabby pulled her self-control into place. “It might seem so.”
“No, no.” Letitia protested. “It is so, Tabby. We’d like to know why.”
Cornered, Tabby paused to place her tea cup back on the table, and then adjust her skirts. Both movements were unnecessary, but she’d learned over the years that taking a few scant moments to consider one’s words prior to speaking, might make a significant difference to the outcome.
This was definitely one of those times.
She cleared her throat. “I believe you may be misreading the situation between Simon and myself.” She kept her tone light. “There was indeed a bit of childhood animosity there…I will confess to wanting to play with the boys more often than I should.” She glanced at Letitia. “I seldom saw you or Kitty or Hecate.”
Rosaline glanced at her sister-in-law. “You weren’t one of Tabby’s playmates?”
“I wasn’t anyone’s playmate. None of us were.” Letitia shook her head. “My father was disliked and that dislike grew apace with each and every unpleasant or unfortunate act of his. I can’t remember how he offended your family, Tabby, but I know it was something stupidly nasty.”
Tabby nodded. “I can’t recall it either. I don’t even know if I ever heard. But I do remember my governess telling me I was not to associate with the Ridlington girls.”
“It must have been lonely for you,” said Rosaline with sympathy. “Letitia had her sisters, at least.”
“It wasn’t all that bad,” answered Tabby. “I have cousins and we did go up to town now and again, to visit my mother’s family.” She picked up her teacup and sipped again. “In fact, you might well say it was a quite ordinary upbringing for a young lady of my station. Unlike you and your sisters, Letitia. You were the ones closeted away from life. Cabined, cribbed and confined, as Macbeth might say.”
“That is true,” agreed Letitia.
“It was that bad, then?” Rosaline put her hand on Letitia’s arm. “You were that isolated here for so long?”
A wistful smile crossed Letitia’s face. “In some ways, yes. But as Tabby pointed out, I had Kitty and Hecate. We are all quite different, we all had different mothers, but when there is no one else—well the natural course of things is to bond with those around you.” She shrugged. “We bonded.”
“And I think you’re very lucky.” Tabby saluted her with her teacup.
“Hear hear.” Rosaline followed suit.
Tabby leaned back, happy to listen as the two women discussed the complexity of family relationships, the general lack of anything resembling warmth or affection on the part of the old Baron Ridlington, and some of the things the three Ridlington girls would do to entertain themselves during their somewhat stark and barren upbringing.
It was fascinating, to be sure. And it also proved to Tabby that she had not lost her touch in directing a conversation. No longer was Simon involved in any way.
Her time in Europe, and before that her time in Whitehall, had ingrained in her the necessity of being aware to every word spoken, every nuance implied and every other facet of communication that she could pick up. So much could be learned from a pause, a stutter or an accidentally revealing response.
Rosaline was displaying genuine interest in Letitia’s chatter; leaning forward, nodding now and again and responding to a smile with a smile…a frown with a frown.
Letitia was addressing both of them, her eyes moving from Tabby to her sister-in-law and back again, her cheeks rosy with the pleasure she took in sharing her experiences. Her demeanor betrayed the fact that in all likelihood she’d not spoken of this before. Or at least not at any great length.
There was one name that cropped up now and again, and caught Tabby’s ear. “Letitia, if I may? You speak of James. Is that the Sir James FitzArden I met briefly some time ago?”
“It is indeed, yes.” Letitia’s face lit up. “He’s bought land on the other side of the Chase and is building the most amazing manor, Tabby. I will show you the plans. So very grand, but not in the least bit daunting.”
“I would love to see them. I promise to be impressed but not overwhelmed.” She grinned at Rosaline’s chuckle.
As Letitia hurried away to collect the blueprints, Letitia raised an eyebrow at Rosaline “Do I detect a heightened level of interest?”
Rosaline looked thoughtful. “They get on very well together, ’tis true. I’ve known James forever, it seems, and he is of excellent character. But he is quite a bit older than Letitia. I’ve felt that she regarded him fondly, but perhaps as a cherished uncle?” She frowned a little. “I don’t know. Perhaps I ought to observe that situation more closely.”
“I’m sure you’ve nothing to concern yourself with, Rosaline. I noticed how warmly Letitia speaks of him. That’s all. Given her childhood and the surroundings in which she came of age, it’s probably a very good thing she has an older and steadier man as a friend and companion.”
Letitia’s words were gentle and understanding, and Rosaline nodded in response. “Yes, that’s very true as well. These Ridlingtons,” she sighed. “How they ever survived that bastard who sired them, and did so only to become the good people they are…well, it defies explanation.”
“I cannot argue that. I agree wholeheartedly.”
Rosaline continued. “Take Simon, for instance…”
“Take me where?”
*~~*~~*
He barely repressed his chuckle at the matching jumps and gasps. Rosaline and Tabby looked as guilty as hell, and he couldn’t stop himself from enjoying the moment. “I heard my name. Please continue.”
They exchanged glances, and Simon knew the moment was lost.
“I didn’t expect to see you this afternoon, Simon,” said Rosaline, recovering her composure. “You scared the dickens out of me.”
“I do apologize. It was not my intention. I did have other matters to attend to, but something has arisen.”
“You can’t stay.” Rosaline read his face.
“That’s correct.” He sighed and looked at Tabby. “I’m going to ask a great favor of you, Tabby.”
She looked puzzled at his serious tone. “Of course. What can I do?”
“I had a message from Marigold Farm about fifteen minutes or so. Old Sal is doing very poorly.”
“Oh no.” Tabby clasped her hands in front of her in distress.
“They have asked me to come to them, her family. They believe her time is short.” He took a breath. “And she’s asking for you.”
“Me?” Tabby blinked.
“Yes. She remembers the times you spent together. Always asked after you, they say. And now you’re here…”
Tabby stood. “Of course I’ll come.”
“It will be difficult,” cautioned Simon.
Her chin rose. “I understand.”
Rosaline came to her feet and hurried to the door, opening it and calling for Chidwell, who appeared as if by magic a few moments later. “My Lady?”
“Would you have the gig brought round, please? The Vicar will drive, but we must place it at his disposal for the next day or so.”
“Immediately, Madam.” Chidwell vanished.
“Thank you Rosaline,” said Simon. “That is very much appreciated.”
“I know your living can’t afford the transportation, Simon,” said his sister-in-law. “And you know we’d gift you with something if we could…”
“No, please.” Simon tried to hide his embarrassment. He was never comfortable receiving kindness, only giving it. “I’m grateful for this opportunity. Let’s not speak of anything more at this moment.”
Tabby gathered her reticule and pinned her bonnet securely to her hair. “I’m ready, Simon.”
He nodded and allowed her to precede him into the hall, with Rosaline following.
“Take care,” she said, as Chidwell opened the front door and the gig pulled up to the steps.
“We will.” Simon dropped a quick kiss on her cheek. “Thank you, sister.”
&
nbsp; “Rosaline…” Tabby moved to her side. “It was a lovely tea. Thank Letitia too please? Tell her I look forward to seeing those blueprints at another time.”
“Of course,” Rosaline gave her a quick hug. “Relay our prayers to Old Sal’s family.’
Tabby nodded and mounted the gig, to sit beside Simon.
As grey clouds scudded over the sun, Simon wondered if that was a sign of things to come. His passenger was quiet and composed beside him, and he realized he’d like nothing more than to disturb that composure. He wanted to fracture that facade of calm control and make her yell or laugh or hit him. Something…anything.
But now was not the time, and a gig certainly wasn’t the place.
“Do you have any idea at all why Old Sal wants to see you, Tabby?” He kept his voice level, gentle.
She shook her head. “No. None. I’ve been trying to think of something.” She glanced at him. “I spent quite a bit of time with her when I was little. She would bring some of her vegetables over most days, and we’d sit outside or wander through the gardens.” A little smile crossed Tabby’s face. “I learned about herbs and flowers from her. And she had a grasp of nature…how it all connected. The bees, busy about their work of making the flowers bloom and the trees bear fruit. The birds dropping seeds to start new forests. She opened my eyes to what was around me.”
“Quite a woman.”
“Indeed,” agreed Tabby. “I am so grateful I had that time with her.” She smiled again. “Not that I’ve had to set up my own beehives, but if I should ever do so, I’ll have the basic information I need.”
Simon smiled with her. “Oh, I don’t know. Producing one’s own honey? I think that would be delightful.”
“Actually, it’s the bees that produce the honey…”
He raised an eyebrow. “No. Really?”
“Foolish man.” She gestured forward. “There’s Marigold Farm.”
Delighted that at least she’d shared a little jest with him, Simon clicked up the horse and drove them to their destination.
Chapter Five
