* * *
On the way back to the rectory, Dominic remembered he had intended to ask about Bessie’s situation. Yet, fascinated by Lady Castleton’s charm and grace he forgot the unfortunate nursemaid.
He hoped the earl had issued orders for her release. If not, although the nurse was an innocent victim of a child’s lie, she might languish in jail for months before she appeared before the magistrate at the next assizes.
Dominic’s jaw tightened. His good-natured father did not like Pennington, and according to gossip, Pennington was unpopular amongst his fellow peers and his tenant farmers. However, in spite of the earl’s unpopularity, Clarencieux Abbey was the talk of the neighbourhood and beyond. People came from miles around to gaze at and comment on the building. Young ladies prone to reading works of fiction, shuddered at the sight of it. He presumed they recalled Mrs Radcliffe’s novel, The Mysteries of Udolfo, set in such a building with gargoyles and massive stone walls.
Dominic hoped Lady Castleton did not share their taste for the book. If she did, her imagination might be exacerbated by having a bedroom in a gothic mansion, and the horror described in that novel, besides Clara Reeves’s book The Old English Baron. Reading such dreadful tales might cause her to have many sleepless nights.
His mare’s ears pricked up. Deep in thought, he allowed her to amble towards the rectory. When they neared it, she broke into a trot. Dominic took command of her. Within little more than five minutes, he dismounted outside the stable and handed the reins to his groom. He strode across the small yard, and through the ivy-wreathed gateway, which led to a path around the side of the building.
“Ah,” breathed Gwenifer, who opened a side door of the building before he could knock, “I thought I heard the clatter of hooves on cobblestones.”
“You have sharp ears,” he commented, appreciative of the sweet perfume of lavender planted on either side of the door, which she opened wider for him to step inside.
“Not particularly sharp ones, Dominic. I was sitting in my boudoir by the open window so I could not fail to hear the sound.”
He removed his hat and gloves and handed them together with his riding crop to a maidservant.
When he first became rector of the parish he intended to employ footmen. However, Gwenifer pointed out it might appear pretentious for a mere clergyman to employ more servants than some of the local gentry. Nevertheless, he employed a cook, maids, a groom, a stable boy, a coachman and a manservant, who also served as his valet whenever necessary.
“What happened, Dominic? Why did you send for a change of clothes? The earl’s servant told me you jumped into the lake to save Lord Castleton. Is it true?”
“Yes.” He held up his hand. “I don’t wish to speak of it.”
“Please do, for you are a hero!” Gwenifer protested.
Dominic laughed. “No such thing.”
“You are too modest. Oh! Don’t frown at me,” she scolded. “I shall say no more concerning the subject, even so, you cannot prevent me being proud of you.”
“Gwenifer!”
She shrugged. “If you insist, I shall say no more about it. Besides, I am glad you have returned home. Mrs Cooper and her daughter are here to see you. They insisted on waiting for you. Both of them seemed overset, so I sent them to the kitchen, and gave instructions for cook to give them some barley water. I hope you approve.”
He kissed her cheek. “Of course I do. You are the mistress of my house for so long as you care to live with me.”
“Thank you, no lady could ask for a better brother, but I am only in charge until you marry. You must not think I would stay here and, so to speak, tread on your wife’s toes.”
Dominic sighed. If he tied the knot, he wanted his marriage to be based on the same mutual love and respect his parents shared. Unbidden, a picture of Pennington’s daughter-in-law sneaked into his mind. “By the way, Gwenifer, have you called on Lady Castleton? I think you would like her.”
“No.” His sister eyed him with a speculative glint in her green eyes so like his own in shape and colour. “I will visit her if you particularly wish me to.”
“Not particularly, I merely thought it would be kind of you. Lady Castleton is a young widow, who has a small son.” Aware of increased colour warming his cheeks, he turned aside and pretended to scrutinise a watercolour of the church.
“I know. After the earl brought them to the abbey, the lady was the talk of the county, at least, this part of it. The rush to make her acquaintance was so vulgar that I did not join it.” Mischievous light appeared in Gwenifer’s eyes “Now the furore has died down, I would be happy to visit her at your request.”
Dominic pretended to clear his throat before he spoke. “If you wish to, Gwenifer. Now, please send a maidservant to summon Mrs Cooper and Bessie to the library.”
Before his sister could cross-question him about Lady Castleton, he left the room.
While he waited for the mother and daughter, he tapped his fingers on his desk. Be honest, you like Lady Castleton. No, you more than like her.
The door opened. A maidservant bobbed a curtsy. “Mrs and Miss Cooper to see you, sir.”
Dominic stood. “Come in. Please sit yourselves down in front of my desk.” He wrinkled his nose. There had been no need for them to be announced. The smell of stale sweat from their gowns sufficed.
Seated again, he looked thoughtfully at them. Of course, he knew each member of his congregation but, until now, he had not taken particular notice of Bessie Cooper, a plump young woman with thick black hair.
“I am pleased to see you at liberty, Miss Cooper.” He sat down. “Please tell me how I can help you and Mrs Cooper.”
Bessie looked at her mother, who nodded at her. “The earl wrote to me, sir.”
“You can read?”
“Yes, sir, my parents paid for me to learn the three R’s at the dame school in the village.”
“Do you want to tell me what the earl wrote?”
Bessie nodded. “His lordship ordered me to go back to the abbey.” Clearly ill at ease, she fidgeted on her chair. “Mind you, sir, he only wants me to because Lord Arthur has been ill and is asking for me.”
“Disgraceful, I call it, Mister Markham.” Mrs Cooper sniffed, presumably to express her disgust. “Not even an apology for Bessie’s arrest.
Dominic did not find that hard to believe. Pennington was much too high in the instep to express regret for wrongful arrest to a servant. He waited for the women to speak.
“Disgraceful,” Mrs Cooper repeated. She nodded her head, emphasising the word. “The thing is, if Bessie doesn’t return to the abbey she won’t have a reference. I’m sure you know, sir, that without one she won’t be able to find another position.”
“Ma’s right, Mister Markham.” Bessie shuddered. “Maybe I shouldn’t say that I don’t think the earl’s right in the head.” She hesitated before she spoke again. “Only someone who is hare-brained would encourage Lord Arthur to think he can do no wrong. It’s wicked. The earl’s ruining the child.” She leaned forward. “What’s more, Lord Castleton’s mother’s the sweetest lady imaginable. Unlike her pa-in-law she’s never too proud to be polite to us servants. I’m sorry for her.”
Dominic frowned. “Why do you pity her ladyship?” he asked, more loudly than he had intended.
“Whenever she punishes Lord Arthur for being naughty, the earl objects. Now, please tell me what to do, sir. I’ve too many younger brothers and sisters for ma and pa to keep me at home.”
An image of Bessie’s younger brothers and sisters, with faces scrubbed until cheeks, rosy as apples, lined up in a pew on Sundays, formed in Dominic’s mind. Probably, the Coopers could not afford to clothe and feed Bessie as well as the rest of their large brood. “Miss Cooper, I think you and your mother already know you should return to Clarencieux to take care of Lord Castleton.”
“Yes, we do.” Mrs Cooper clasped her hands in front of her ample bosom. “Despite his lordship’s wishes, my daughter
doesn’t want to go back there, so I did think you might give Bessie a reference, you being the rector and all.”
“I am sorry, Mrs Cooper, I could not because Bessie has not worked for me. However, if she decides not to return to work for the earl I can ask Lady Castleton to provide one.”
Mother and daughter exchanged glances. “Well, sir, begging your pardon,” Mrs Cooper began, “we hoped you could recommend Bessie to a lady in need of a nursemaid.”
“I am sorry; I don’t know of one. Perhaps my sister does. I shall ask her.” He stood to indicate they should leave. “Tomorrow, I shall call on Lady Castleton on Bessie’s behalf.”
Mother and daughter stood. “Thank you, Mister Markham,” Bessie said, “you’re kind.”
Mrs Cooper nodded. “Yes, sir, you are. If my Bessie hadn’t been freed, I know you would have done everything you could to help her.”
Before they could say more, Dominic pulled the bell rope to summon a maidservant to show the pair out.
Alone, he opened the window to admit fresh air and breathed in the fragrance of honeysuckle, lavender and roses. He smiled. It would be a pleasure to call on Lady Castleton again.
Chapter Six
Dominic looked across the breakfast table at Gwenifer, who handed him a cup of steaming coffee. “Thank you.” He put it down next to his plate. “Do you know of a lady who needs a nurse for her children?”
Gwenifer tucked a glossy black curl into place beneath her lace cap tied under her chin with silk ribbons. “Ah, that is why Mrs Cooper and her daughter came to see you. I don’t blame Bessie Cooper for not wishing to continue her employment in the Earl of Pennington’s household.”
“How did you find out?” Dominic asked, irritated because he prided himself on his discretion.
“Oh, gossip with reference to her arrest and release travelled fast.” She spread butter on her toast. “Coddled eggs? I ordered them because I know you like them.”
“Thank you.” He served himself. “You write and receive letters from many friends, surely one of them needs a nursemaid or knows of someone who does.”
“I shall enquire. If there is a situation available, but Bessie will need a reference.
“Dominic, that is enough about Bessie Cooper. Have you decided whether or not you wish to redecorate the drawing room?”
He looked across the table spread with a linen cloth on which set with an array of silver and fine porcelain given to him by his mother. What would Lady Castleton think of the old fashioned furniture and shabby carpet, left behind by the previous incumbent?
“I sent for some pattern books.” Gwenifer confessed. “There are two wallpapers I particularly like for the drawing room, one with a beautiful Indian pattern, another with a Chinese design, both of which are fashionable.”
He shook his head. “Those will not do for a rectory. Can you imagine my parishioner’s reaction to elephants and turbans, not to mention pagan temples, or pagodas and Chinese figures? Can you visualise my saintly bishop’s dismay if word of them reached him?” He spread his hands wide in mock despair. “I might be defrocked.”
Gwenifer rested her elbows on the table, and cupped her chin in her hands. “I doubt it would come to that.”
He laughed. “So do I.”
“Perhaps white and gold striped wallpaper, white paint, gold satin curtains, new furniture and pier glasses to reflect alabaster ornaments. It would be the height of good taste and elegance,” Gwenifer suggested.
In spite of his sister’s enthusiasm, which pleased him, Dominic considered pier glasses and alabaster ornaments would be too ornate for a rectory.
Although Gwenifer no longer dressed in either black for full mourning, or the subdued colours of half mourning, he knew she still grieved over her husband’s death. He also understood it was exacerbated because she did not have a child. The more she had to occupy herself, the better it would be. “Yesterday, I meant it when I said you are mistress of my house. You may redecorate the drawing room in any style you please, provided it will neither offend anyone in the parish nor arouse jealousy. A clergyman must tread a careful path.”
“Make sure you don’t trip over your sanctified feet when you walk along it.” Gwenifer’s laughter bubbled out of her.
“Sanctified?” he asked, somewhat aggravated. “Do you think I am pompous and stuffy?”
“Only a little.” She laughed at him. “I forbid you to frown over the suggestion of pier glasses. Don’t worry, everything shall be suitable for a country rectory.”
Dominic smiled in response to her enthusiasm. One day, he hoped she would put her grief aside, re-marry and furnish her own home. If their parents approved of her choice of husband, he was sure Papa would provide a generous dowry. For the time being, it was fortunate he could afford to improve the rectory.
He looked around the breakfast parlour at the old-fashioned, dark wood panelling, an equally dark parquet floor and shabby, forest green velvet curtains. He could not imagine elegant Lady Castleton, to whom his thoughts strayed too often, in the dreary room. A surge of intense sexual desire caught him by surprise. He ignored it, and turned his attention to his sister. “You are right, Gwenifer, the drawing room does need to be refurbished, so does this room, in fact –”
“All the rooms in the house need to be overhauled,” his sister interrupted.
“Yes, you may have a free hand if you agree not to redecorate in the gothic style.” To amuse her, he pretended to shudder. “Perhaps you would prefer to make arrangements for redecoration to be done while we are at one of my other parishes. The curate may supervise, it will give him something other than damnation and hell to mull over. No matter how often I remind him we should make a joyous sound unto the Lord, Henderson is determined to be dismal.”
“I would not trust him to oversee the work,” Gwenifer remarked, obviously amused by the idea. “Oh, Henderson’s heart is good enough, he visits the poor and the sick and is … er … concerned for children. Sadly, he is unpopular and lacks the wit to win the parishioners’’ favour”
Dominic sighed. “I know. By the time he finishes sermonising, the unfortunate poor are convinced it is God’s wish for them to accept the circumstances into which they are born, and not to strive to improve themselves. I pity the sick whom Henderson visits. His prophecies that, if they don’t reform, they will go to hell after they die, leaves them in a worse state than when he arrived. What’s more, the children run when they see him for fear he will inquire about the state of their souls. I found young William, the blacksmith’s son, blubbering under an apple tree in the orchard. Henderson had told him the devil would drag William into an everlasting furnace, the punishment for scrumping apples.”
Gwenifer burst into a series of unseemly giggles. “I fear you will go to hell for committing the same misdemeanour when you were a schoolboy,” she managed to say, when she could speak again. “Yet it is too bad of Henderson. He should make friends with the children, instead of frightening them so much that their mothers complain they have nightmares.”
“Just so. I don’t mind the village boys helping themselves to a few apples or pears, but, as we know, theft is a serious matter. It even leads children to the gallows, something I cannot condone, for our Lord said: Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for such is the kingdom of heaven. Education would better serve them. Sometimes, I think if I were a politician instead of a clergyman I would do more good.”
“One day you might be a bishop entitled to sit in the House of Lords where you could make your voice heard.”
“I doubt it, Dominic shrugged. “Nonetheless, I confess I am interested in reform.”
“Ah, you are thinking of Robert and what your future might hold.” Gwenifer spoke with the swift intelligence and intuition he appreciated.
He nodded, unable to speak of Robert whom he once admired.
Her eyes glazed with unshed tears, his sister reached across the table to pat his hand. “If you don’t become a bishop, and
take a seat in the Upper House, it seems you might take one as a peer of the realm. In either case you could speak out in favour of many much needed changes to the law.” She sighed. “Believe me when I say the thought of young children swinging from the gallows at the crossroads shocks me.” She shivered. “I don’t care to think of it. Let us speak of other more cheerful matters. Unless there is anything I may do for you, after I consult with Cook about today’s menus, I shall visit Lady Castleton.”
“Good, I think you will like her. If you have no objection, we shall go together. I will ask her ladyship to write a reference for Bessie.
* * *
“Mister Markham and Lady Gwenifer,” Jarvis announced as they entered the drawing room.
Dominic bowed. “Lady Castleton, may I introduce my sister, Lady Gwenifer?”
“You may.” Harriet put aside her needlework, a small shirt, then stood.
“Gwenifer, I know you are pleased to meet Lady Castleton,” Dominic remarked, while the ladies assessed each other.
“Good day, both of you are welcome.” Harriet indicated chairs and a sofa arranged at right angles to a pair of the lancet windows set deep in the stone wall. “Jarvis, some wine and refreshments for my guests.”
“At once, my lady.”
Before Dominic could broach the subject of a reference for Bessie, the earl joined them.
Dominic bowed. He murmured a few courteous words in response to Pennington’s greeting, and wished the earl were elsewhere.
At the age of sixty-five or more, Pennington, a dandy, rivalled gentlemen young enough to be his grandsons dressed in the height of fashion. His olive green broadcloth morning coat fitted him so well that, presumably, he struggled to move his arms. Without his valet’s help, he would find it difficult to pull up his pantaloons, which were moulded to his legs. His starched cravat, in the style called the Mathematical, probably took a long time to arrange. Not only women were vain! Dominic choked back a chuckle. Pennington’s starched shirt points were so high that if he attempted to turn his head to the right or left, he would fail.
Tuesday's Child (Heroines Born on Each Day of the Week Book 3) Page 5
