Held Down

by Pamela Prim

  Story 15

  CHAPTER 1:

  The vicarage lay hushed and quiet all around her and Clarissa paused, her ears tuned for the quiet footfall that would signal her pale and stern father was approaching.

  But of course he wouldn’t be approaching, not now or ever again. He’d died and he’d left her both penniless and orphaned, and entirely without prospects as well.

  The vicarage would have to be turned over soon, and Clarissa was terrified. She’d spent her entire life in the gloomy parish, perched neatly between the coal mines and the rolling, but entirely barren hills. She too had been perched neatly between two things. Her position as the vicar’s daughter meant she could not befriend those in town as they were beneath her socially, and it also meant she was too lowly for those who lived beyond the last stark hill in their tall mansions set neatly on long rolling lawns.

  She was neither laborer nor one who had a life of ease. She fit in nowhere and her father’s sudden death had taken her wholly by surprise and jolted her out of the safe, if dreary, day-today of her existence.

  She’d spent the last two weeks trying to find a position somewhere nearby. At first she’d tried for a governess position. She was well-educated after all. But nobody knew anyone in need of a governess. She’d inquired at the houses of the lord who loved beyond the hills and in the houses of the overseers of the mines as well because she had known that they alone would or could afford a governess.

  When that had failed she’d tried for a house position. She knew how to keep house; certainly, she’d been responsible for the entire vicarage since her mother had died six years before.

  Only nobody had need of her for that either.

  Clarissa, who was known to be sassy and pert, unwelcome qualities in any woman, knew that it was likely not her qualifications that kept her from a position but that reputation. She wished, fervently, that she could simply go back in time and be far more sedate and polite but that too was impossible.

  She’d been desperate and crushed, and things had gotten even worse when she had received a note from the Lord, whose wealth depended on those mines, stating that a new vicar and his family would be coming to take up residence within a fortnight.

  Out of a sense of duty to the new arrivals she’d set out to clean the place thoroughly in order to allow them to have it in good condition. She also hoped the hard work would help her to keep herself occupied as she tried to think of what to do next.

  After she was done cleaning and had taken inventory of everything that did not stay with the vicarage she sold every bit of furniture that her father and mother had accumulated, even the stove although its loss left her shivering with cold during the chilly nights and forced her to cook on the open hearth. She counted every penny and scraped together all the money left from the last month of her father’s wages and then she’d sold every bit of butter she could churn and cheese she could form before she finally sold the cow as well.

  The money was not enough, and she knew that because while her father had been a brilliant orator he’d been utterly unable to manage a single bookkeeping or housekeeping task. He would order more candles than anyone could use and forget they needed groceries. He’d neglect to pay the butcher and order a new altar cloth from a woman known for her shoddy stitches.

  Clarissa had done all of that after it became apparent he would spend them into a misery of too many napkins and no bread, and so she knew exactly how far the money would stretch.

  Not very far at all.

  She had a letter of recommendation from the lord, and from a kindly parishioner. She had the scant amount of money and two valises filled with her plain and somber clothing.

  And absolutely nowhere to go.

  She’d considered going to London to try to find a position, and she was certain that that was her only hope. There nobody would know she was known for being sassy and proud. She could change her ways, mute her natural pertness, and find a position that would give her a roof over her head and food, and wages. She could think of a better plan later, after those things were taken care of and she was no longer so harried or frightened.

  There was a loud and imperious rap at the front door. Clarissa clutched her collar together at her slender throat, her whole body shaking. The new vicar then, come earlier than planned.

  Her heart knocking in her chest she went to the door and opened it to see the postman standing there, his cap pulled down to protect his face from the rain spitting from the sullen sky.

  She swallowed hard. “Yes?”

  Her voice echoed through the mostly-emptied rooms, making her shiver.

  He thrust a letter at her, “Here, this be yours. Came early yesterday but the rain kept me from making my rounds.”

  She nodded. “Thank you. Very much.”

  Her hands shook as she took the missive. It was encased in a crisp and thick envelope. Very good quality. The writing was crisp and concise, and the ink black and heavy. She closed the door and stared down at it. She knew nobody in the corner of the country it had come from and she frowned as she broke the red wax seal in the back of the envelope and pulled out a single and equally thick and fine sheet of paper.

  Dear Miss Clarissa Banks,

  I am your father’s family solicitor. Your father, as you know, was the second son of Mr. Paul Banks and it was his eldest son Roger who inherited the home and grounds when Mister Banks passed away many years ago.

  Your father has steadfastly refused to return to the home, citing his duty to his parishioners as just cause, and the home has been maintained by an overseer by the name of Reynolds in the absence of family. Reynolds does not live on the property as his business affairs take him away frequently but he is capable and has ensured that the place has been well-kept in the family’s absence. The caretaker hired by Reynolds is due to depart at the end of this month however, so a new one must be appointed, or you will need to care for the necessary things yourself until one can be found.

  I have been notified of your father’s passing, as your father had instructed me to do in case of his demise, and so am writing you to make clear that you are now the sole owner and heir of the estate, which is small in grounds but the house itself is large.

  There is little in the way of money but there is livestock and gardens, all taken care of in the interim, and one could live there comfortably for quite some time.

  The keys are to be handed over upon your arrival at the house. You will be met by the overseer Reynolds at the train station. He is currently journeying through the country on business affairs of his own but should arrive back in time to meet you.

  The train runs from the town not far from your father’s parish to the town set just below the house and grounds. I assume Reynolds will see to your transportation from that station to the house but you must make your own arrangements to board and arrive.

  I am enclosing a small amount of money within to assure you of the fare.

  Sincerely,

  L. Banister

  Clarissa’s breath caught. Surely she was dreaming!

  She’d known, of course, that her father came from a genteel, if slightly impoverished family, and that as was usual his older brother had inherited everything while her father had to make his own way in the world.

  She’d also known that he had come from the rolling green hills and the wild, rugged coasts far to the other side of the country, as had her mother—who’s been a governess before she’d married.

  This letter was the answer to her prayers. The money she had managed to acquire would see her through for a short while, and if there was any money with the estate, small sum or no, she could survive. She was used to thrift, after all, and hard work.

  She most certainly could not afford a caretaker for the place but if there were, as the letter said, gardens and livestock that had been properly cared for she could manage to keep them up on her own.

  The caretaker was leaving at the end of the month. That was in just a few days time. She had to l
eave the vicarage tomorrow, and there was a train tomorrow as well. The journey would take several days but she should be able to arrive just as the caretaker left, barring delays.

  She was already packed as the new residents were arriving and she had meant to go down to the village today to purchase her train ticket, and she had been putting that off in the hopes of earning just slightly more prior to her departure. The fare enclosed was a boon. She fingered the notes with a frown, there would be enough for the fare and she could use her own money for something else she would need later.

  Now that she knew she had a place she had so much to do! There were grape seedlings she had meant to leave, and small and tender plantings she had nursed into life that she would like to take now that she knew she would have a place to plant them.

  The books of her father’s that she had meant to leave must go too, but adding those things would mean taking along the heavy trunk she had also meant to leave behind.

  She hurriedly grabbed her reticule and headed for the door. She had to get to the village’s small train stop to buy a ticket to her new destination. That train was always heavily crowded and if she didn’t get there in time today to purchase a ticket she might not have a seat available to her.

  As she opened the door she was assaulted by the sight of the smoke-ringed village and the filthy coal being brought up from the mines. And it hit her.

  She was free!

  She was free of all of it. The mines, the need to curb her pert tongue, the rules and strict life her father had imposed upon her and that she had chafed under so terribly. From then on out she would keep her own house and do whatever she wanted with nobody to tell her otherwise!

  Smiling and happy she raced toward the village and the train station.

  CHAPTER 2

  The valises and the laden trunk were by the door. The new vicar’s wife came through the house sniffing and sneering at the humble stone walls and the flagstone floor. She looked down her nose at Clarissa and asked, “No stove?”

  Clarissa shook her head. “We had to purchase the stove when we arrived and I informed the lord that I would sell it as I was under the impression you, too, would provide your own.”

  The vicar, a pale and leaden man, spoke in a reedy voice. “That’s untenable. The lord should have demanded you leave it.”

  Clarissa grit her teeth. She and her mother had done without many small luxuries to afford that stove when they arrived—scented milled soaps and the fabric for a new dress each. Not to mention they’d drunk their own tea weak and very watery for months so her father could have a full measure of tea in his own cup. Also to be able to afford that stove. She snapped, “The lord had no say. He didn’t purchase the stove. Perhaps he would be willing to aid you in acquiring a new one.”

  She headed for the door, determined to stay not a moment longer. She’d enlisted the assistance of a stout and simple young man from the village to carry her luggage down to the village and he stood by the door, his placid face registering nothing.

  “We shall be going now,” Clarissa announced. “If you can shoulder the trunk I can manage the valises.”

  He nodded and picked up the very heavy trunk quite easily, his broad muscles rippling below his shirt and thin jacket. A sudden bolt of desire shot through Clarissa. She had no idea what that sudden flush of heat was, and chalked it up to the anger boiling through her at the new resident’s high-handed attitudes and dismissal of her hard work to make the place spic-n-span for them.

  “Now see here,” the wife said sharply. “You’ve not shown up the gardens or the pantry nor the…”

  “I have a train to catch.” Clarissa snapped back. “In case you have not noticed, every single thing in here from walls to floor and beyond, have been scrubbed to the bones in an effort to make you feel welcome. I have left you a good store of last year’s jams and jellies in the pantry, and I could have sold them instead. I put fresh stuffing into the mattresses and neatened the yards for you as well. You have no appreciation and while I would like to stand here and let you continue to abuse me, I have other things to do.”

  She walked out. Her back was straight and her smile huge. By God they could call her impudent all they liked! They could go to Hell for all she cared!

  She was free and her train would be pulling into the station shortly. She lengthened her steps and hurried toward the village, the brawny simpleton moving easily alongside her.

  The train station came into view and she tendered over her luggage and went to sit on the long bench outside. The passengers who were waiting had come off other trains and one of them caught her eye. He was delicious-looking. He was tall and straight, slightly older—about thirty. His hair, a crisp brown with ruddy highlights, was lustrous and thick, and his shoulders wide and strong below the broadcloth coat.

  He gave her a careful scan. Her face flamed and she looked away. He sat beside her and asked, “Where are you traveling?”

  “Much the same place everyone else is I expect.”

  “Saucy, aren’t you?”

  The words came out on a laugh. She gave him her sternest look then burst out with, “It’s neither here nor there, not to you, now is it?”

  The train approached the station with a screech and a whistle. Clarissa stood, suddenly nervous. She’d never been out of the small and unpleasant place before and now that she was leaving she was seized with a terrible fear.

  That fear left her shaken and confused. She held her reticule tightly and took a long breath before dashing into the train to try to find a seat. She sat quickly, trying to scrunch herself into the side of the seat as an astoundingly large woman suddenly plopped down beside her, her bags and cases banging into Clarissa’s sharp elbows and knees.

  Desperate Clarissa managed to get past the woman and her belongings but in her haste she dropped her reticule. Just as she was casting about for it the conductor said, “I need your ticket Miss.”

  “My reticule! I…I’ve lost it! It was…” All of her money was in there. So was her ticket! Horrified and frightened Clarissa cast about. She said, “It must be under her.”

  The stranger stepped forward. He said, “She’s in my private compartment. I will see to her ticket at the next stop if we do not locate it before then. Please have her luggage delivered to the compartment in the meantime”

  The conductor tipped his hat and said, “Of course Sir. I’ll see if I can find the reticule as well. What does it look like Miss?”

  “It’s small and gray. There’s a blue ribbon near the top, threaded through the closings.”

  Her heart slammed so rapidly against her ribs she was sure she was going to faint. The man who’d spoken for her guided her down the crowded aisles past the cheapest seats, for which she had bought a ticket, and she wanted to protest but if she did she would have to leave the train and she had no money to board later. Or anywhere to stay while she waited as she had so seriously burned her bridges with the new vicar and his horrid wife.

  They entered the compartment. He shut the door and gave her a stern look. “You should be more careful.”

  Her face burned. “I am grateful for your help but I assure you it wasn’t my fault. That woman almost smothered me!”

  His lips curved upward. “I could see that from afar.”

  The train began to huff out black steam. Clarissa looked around the compartment. It was small, and the curtains over the windows were closed tightly. Even though it was dim in there she could see the narrow berth of bed and the small built-in table and the neat chair pulled up below it.

  His luggage, handsomely matched pieces, sat near the bed and she blushed as she realized that she was alone with him in his bedchamber, something no proper young woman should be.

  The train lurched forward and she thrown toward him. Their bodies collided. His arms came up and went around her. Her breath came out in a hard gasp.

  He said, “What is your name?”

  “Clarissa Banks.”

  His body was lean and e
legant, very taut. Her breath caught in her throat. He said, “Miss Banks, you deserve a lesson in how to behave.”

  Before she could even think he had flipped her neatly across the bed, yanked her skirts up, and delivered a hard slap to her exposed bottom! An indignant squeal came from her mouth and she managed to right herself. She spun around and said, “How dare you?”

  Her face was heated. Her bottom even more so. Her entire body was awash in that heat that had hit her earlier when the village boy had so easily lifted her trunk.

  He said, “How dare you speak so rudely? How dare you misplace your ticket, and your entire reticule?”

  She went down on her belly yet again. Her skirts swung upward and his hand cracked across her bottom again. That time he cupped his palm so that the pain hit directly in the center of the smack. Her cry was one of outrage and desire.