Julia eased a couple of steps closer, but she could have stomped and not disturbed the deep slumber that produced soft snoring sounds from the space between his arm and pillow. She closed the door quietly on her way out, her earlier suspicions all but confirmed. Surely it was studying long into the night that had put shadows under his eyes. Now she was more determined than ever to have that talk with him.
For the fifth time Mercy steeled herself and hopped into the back of the butcher’s cart. Again Mr. Langford and Thomas were at chores somewhere outside, so she let herself into the house and set to work. She smiled to herself upon hearing them at the back door at noon. Apparently Mr. Langford was of the mind that since she was determined to show up at his cottage, he may as well be on time for meals.
After they had consumed a goodly portion of baked trout—seasoned with lemon slices and pepper—in relative quietness, Thomas told her proudly that he had made a perfect mark on his spelling examination yesterday.
“That’s wonderful, Thomas,” Mercy told the boy. “Would you spell a word for me now?”
He screwed up his face for only a second before replying, “Carriage. C-a-r-r-i-a-g-e.”
“That’s absolutely correct.” She was so thankful for the boy’s presence at these Saturday meals, first, because she had never realized children could be such delightful company, and second, because his joyful outlook almost always spilled over to his adoptive father. Mr. Langford sent her an appreciative look after she had listened to the spelling of three more words but then kindly told the boy that he should give her a chance to finish her meal.
“He’s excited about the spelling bees Mr. Raleigh says they’ll begin having after the Christmas holiday,” Mr. Langford explained. “At first I was at a loss, because I never went to school. A spelling bee?”
Mercy, who had only yesterday had the same thing explained to her by Edgar, smiled. “They must be grand fun, all right.”
“You never went to school either?” Thomas asked.
“I never even saw the inside of the schoolhouse until just recently.”
“How did you learn to read?”
“Mrs. Brent taught me from her Bible. She would print out words for me to learn at home too.”
“Didn’t you have your own Bible? My father has one.”
“Thomas.” Mr. Langford’s mildly stern tone did not quite match the shining of his eyes.
Thomas said “father,” Mercy realized. “Oh, but I don’t mind,” she assured him, and in reply to the boy’s question, she said, “Not until Mrs. Brent passed away and left me hers. But after I knew enough words to put sentences together, I began borrowing books from the lending library.”
Thomas nodded, obviously fascinated that someone could learn to read outside of a school setting. Of his father he inquired, “Who taught you to read?”
“Someone I once shared a … room with,” Mr. Langford replied offhandedly while pushing out his chair. “We’ve still more work to get at, so let’s put this kitchen to order while there is daylight left to burn. That was a fine meal, Miss Sanders.”
Some half hour later, as he escorted her up the lane, he said, “I want to thank you for your advice regarding Thomas.”
“I heard him call you father,” Mercy replied with a smile.
Mr. Langford smiled too. “Your company has been good for him, Miss Sanders.”
Such unexpected praise brought heat to her cheeks and caused her to lower her eyes to stare at the lane ahead. Apparently the delivering of it caused him the same shyness, for he became silent again. Mercy thought of Mrs. Kingston and how pleased she would be to hear next Friday that he had paid her a compliment. But then it seemed she could hear her friend fretting, And you just sat there and allowed the moment to pass?
Mercy swallowed. “The boy longs for a mother, Mr. Langford.”
“We’ve discussed that, Miss Sanders,” he said after an audible sigh that caused her cheeks to grow even warmer. Neither spoke until they had almost reached the gate in front of her father’s cottage. Then he turned to her. “I’m not denying that you would make a fine wife and mother,” he said in a regretful but firm tone. “And I’m flattered that you would want to make a future with Thomas and me. But I would be the worst kind of selfish monster if I married you solely for your housekeeping and mothering.”
Don’t back down, she told herself. “How can it be selfish of you to grant something I’ve requested? Something I’ve made a fool of myself these past five weeks to gain?”
A look of pain crossed his face. “Now, now. You’ve made no fool of yourself. In fact, I admire your determination, if the truth were told.” He turned his head to send a brief glance toward the cottage, where thankfully, neither her father nor brothers loitered about with martyred expressions. Softening his voice, he went on. “You’re still a young woman, Miss Sanders. I’ve noticed the way some of the young men in our congregation stare at you when you sing. If we married, you would grow to hate me for robbing you of the love that will surely come your way if you’ll just be patient.”
She had to will herself to reply to this. Still, her voice obliged her barely above the level of a whisper. “It has already come my way, Mr. Langford.”
Mr. Langford gaped at her for a second before giving a violent shake of the head. “That’s ridiculous! You know nothing of me!”
She opened her mouth to contradict him but found herself at a loss for any words that he would understand. And so for fear of angering him any further, she took her basket from his arm. “I will see you next week, Mr. Langford.”
Again he sighed, before grumbling, “You must be the most stubborn woman in Shropshire, Miss Sanders.”
It was a complaint this time, not a compliment, but Mercy could not help but smile wryly as she stared down at the packed earth of the lane. “The second most stubborn woman, Mr. Langford.”
It was late evening before Julia could take Philip aside for a talk. Even then it took some doing, for in a moment of weakness she had allowed him to invite Ben and Jeremiah to spend the night, as in the old days. After tucking the girls into their beds, she had simply knocked at Philip’s door and requested to see him alone. But it turned out that the library was occupied by Mr. Pitney, who appeared embarrassed to be caught thumbing through the row of the novelettes Miss Rawlins had contributed.
“He reads Miss Rawlins’ books?” Philip whispered as they went back down the family corridor to Julia’s room.
“Sh-h-h!” Julia scolded but could not blame him for his incredulous smile. It did seem quite odd, the thought of such a bashful, awkward, giant of a man reading love stories. “I think he’s fond of her. But you must never tell anyone.”
“I won’t,” he whispered back when they reached her door. Once inside her room, he said, still whispering, “Does she like him?”
“She seems to take very little notice of him. He’s not like the aristocratic heroes of her stories.” But it was time to talk over what had occupied her mind all day, and she motioned toward the dressing table bench. “We have to talk.”
“Jeremiah and Ben … ?” he began.
Julia shook her head on her way to her chair and said, “They can amuse themselves for a little while longer.”
Obediently he sat down on the bench. “We’re not planning on walking the lanes tonight with anyone dressed as a ghost, if you’re worried,” he said in a half-teasing tone.
Julia smiled. “The thought never crossed my mind. But I’m reassured to hear that it hasn’t crossed yours either. It’s the state of your health that has me concerned, son.”
“My health? But I’m fine.”
“You’re losing weight. And you look tired.”
“You’re worried because I fell asleep this morning,” he shrugged. “I had to get up early to make the train. And the long ride—”
“Philip, one day shouldn’t make such a difference in your appearance. You’re losing weight, and you’ve shadows under your eyes.”
“I
have?” He twisted to study himself in the mirror. “I don’t see any.”
Julia couldn’t either, she had to admit to herself when he turned back to face her again. “But I know I saw them this morning.”
“It was probably soot from the train.”
He had always been adept at convincing her that she didn’t have to worry over him, but this time she refused to give ground. “You’ve lost weight, Philip. And I think I know why.”
“You do?” For the fraction of a second, some uncertainty crept into his expression.
“You’re studying too hard again. What good will it do you to win academic honors if your constitution is so feeble that you can’t risk being near the sick when you finally become a doctor? There are people like that, you know.”
“I know.” He looked down at his shoes. “I’m sorry I’ve worried you, Mother. I’ll do better.”
“Just don’t push yourself so hard, dear. That’s all I ask.”
“Yes, of course.”
“And put a little more on your plate at mealtimes.”
“I’ll do that.”
He was accepting her lecture with no argument, and it disturbed her a little. “Philip?”
His blue eyes raised to meet hers again. “Yes, Mother?”
“Is there anything else the matter? You’re being treated well at school, aren’t you?”
“Oh, famously,” he reassured her with a smile.
“That’s good to know,” she said, letting out a relieved breath. As usual, she was looking for symptoms that were not there. But it certainly would not hurt to impress upon him that she was serious about his need to consider his health. It was easy enough for him to be reasonable while he was here, away from the pressures of academia. “I must warn you, Philip, that I still have some grave doubts about your being away at school. I allowed you and Doctor Rhodes to talk me into it, but—”
“I’ll take better care of myself. I promise.” He then rose, walked over to her, and got to his knees in front of her chair. “I do appreciate your providing me with such a good education, Mother. I know what a sacrifice it is.”
Smiling, Julia rested her hand upon his shoulder. “It’s no sacrifice if it helps you achieve your dreams, son.”
He blinked and looked away for a second. “You’re a good mother.”
“And you have blessed my life in more ways than you can imagine.” She could have sat like that exchanging endearments for hours, but she was mindful that a fourteen-year-old boy’s capacity for them was infinitely smaller than a mother’s. So to lighten the moment, she patted his shoulder. “I wonder what your friends are up to?”
“Oh, you know those two rogues,” he replied, getting to his feet. “Probably no good. By the way, Ben is beside himself with excitement over the new school.”
“Will Jeremiah enroll too?”
The boy smiled and shook his head. “Jeremiah has an aversion to books.”
Casually, Julia broached the subject that had been upon her mind all day. “You know … with such a small class and a teacher as well educated as Miss Clark, a student willing to learn would likely do just as well as in the more prestigious schools.”
“Yes? Perhaps I should come back here next year.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Why, no. It would save you money. And I would still study hard.” Quickly he amended, “But not too hard for my health.” While Julia was struck speechless at the ease of his decision, he leaned down to brush a quick kiss against her forehead. “I should see to Jeremiah and Ben now.”
She stared with wonder at the door after it closed behind him. Seven more months at the Josiah Smith Preparatory Academy, and he would live at home until old enough to leave for university! With that hope waiting in the wings, she could endure seven more months.
You can take seven more months, Philip reassured himself on his way to his room. Even though the two months he had already spent at this wretched school had seemed to grind on forever, at least now he would not have to resign himself to three additional years.
It had taken all the restraint he could muster to keep from asking if he could stay home and begin the new school with Ben. Just the idea of not having to board the train to return to Worcester filled him with such longing that his eyes began to sting. He paused at his door to wipe his sleeve across his face. Mother worked hard for that money, he reminded himself. Running the Larkspur was easier now, but he could recall his mother scrubbing walls and floors during the days when Fiona was their only servant. He could not in good conscience ask her to throw that to the wind.
Ben and Jeremiah had begun a game of draughts in his absence. They used some of his chessmen as substitutes for the round game pieces. “You could have gotten the real game from the hall,” he told them, dropping onto the side of his bed to watch.
“Mmm,” Ben murmured, studying the board for his next move. “Too much trouble. What did your mother want?”
“To warn me not to pick up any bad habits from you two.”
Jeremiah looked up from the game with a wounded expression. “What bad habits?”
“He’s joshing, Jeremiah,” Ben reassured him. He directed a smirking smile at Philip, but there was affection in his eyes. “No doubt he’s become the class wit at the academy by now.”
Philip smiled and wished he could tell them the truth. But it would serve no purpose and would make greater the chance of his mother finding out how miserable he was. He already regretted telling Vicar Phelps, but fortunately, the man had kept his word about keeping it secret.
However, he was drawn aside by Vicar Phelps after church the next day and asked if the situation was improving at all at school. Philip could not bring himself to lie to a vicar, especially while standing in front of a church, so he shook his head. “But I’ll be coming home next year.”
“Yes?” Vicar Phelps clapped him on the back. “Well, that’s good news. A strong fellow like you can stand anything for a few more months, right?”
He carried that reassurance all the way back to Worcester. It fortified him enough to take without flinching the jeers and croaking noises sent his way by the upperclassmen he happened to pass. But it helped very little when he pulled back his covers that night and found two dead mice resting upon his pillow.
Chapter 39
“You should see Cyril Towly shoot an arrow,” Elizabeth’s father said Monday over a supper of deviled kidneys and pease pudding. “He shot a bull’s-eye three times at practice after school, Luke told me. And he’s but twelve years old.”
“Another William Tell?” she asked while sprinkling salt onto her potatoes.
“Well, we won’t go so far as to test him with an apple, but I daresay Prescott will have no one to match him.”
Elizabeth smiled indulgently. “And we very much want to win over Prescott, don’t we?”
“It would be nice, yes, but winning isn’t the most important thing, Beth.” He buttered his bread lavishly as he spoke, inflecting a casual note into his voice.
“So you won’t mind at all if it turns out that you have to congratulate that vicar?” she asked innocently, for she could see straight through him.
Her father paused to narrow his eyes at her. “You have a waggish sense of humor, daughter.”
“I have? And from whom did I inherit it, I wonder?”
“Well, why couldn’t you have inherited something like my singing talent instead?”
“I did, Papa,” she reminded him.
“Oh … that’s so.” He affected a heavy sigh, for they were both just a hairsbreadth away from being completely tone deaf. “Sorry, Beth.”
She sent him an affectionate smile across the table. “No matter, Papa. I would rather have the humor than the voice anyway.”
“So would I,” he replied with a wink. “Although you don’t get requests to tell jokes at weddings, do you?”
They settled into a companionable silence for the remainder of the meal. It was only when her father had take
n a second bite of his custard tart that Elizabeth broached the subject that had occupied the back of her mind for days. “I hear that Jonathan is proving himself quite competent in the classroom.”
Her father’s chewing slowed as he regarded her warily, but through closed lips he gave an affirmative reply. “Mm-hm.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath. “May we invite him for supper, Papa?”
A stricken expression filled his hazel eyes, as if he had just been told the tart was laced with hemlock. “Here?”
“Of course, Papa. We could have him over on Saturday, when Laurel’s home.”
“Why, I don’t know.” He scratched his cheek beneath his beard, as was his habit when nervous or agitated “It’s just too soon. He’s going to be here for seven more months.”
“Hasn’t he proved himself enough?”
“To teach school, yes. But not to court my daughter. Don’t forget what he did to you—”
“In Cambridge,” she finished for him. “How could I, when you bring it up often enough?”
His expression darkened at the sharpness of her retort. “That was unnecessary, Beth. I’ve only wanted what’s best for you.”
For several seconds she stared back at him, fingernails digging into her palms. And then a picture came, unbidden, to her mind, of the tears that had clung to her father’s lashes the morning he broke the news of Jonathan’s unfaithfulness. He was hurt by it almost as much as I was, she realized for the first time. She uncurled her hands. “I’m sorry, Papa.”
His chest rose and fell. “You care for him again.”
Lowering her eyes, she replied, “I believe he’s changed, Papa.”
“If only I could be sure.”
Now it was Elizabeth who sighed, but quietly. She had put such hope into her request. It was becoming more and more difficult to see Jonathan in church or in the village and be constrained to exchange only the most formal of pleasantries. “Then we’ll wait a little longer.”
The Courtship of the Vicar's Daughter Page 45
