by Ann Barker
Emily smiled. ‘Much though I would hate to see them go, something really must be done, for they are not very safe.’
‘She tells me this, while I am still staying in a house just below the west front,’ he mused. ‘What a delightful prospect.’
‘You mean, they might fall down?’ asked Oliver with relish. ‘How I would like to be there to see it!’
‘Not if you were underneath it,’ his uncle pointed out. ‘I suggest that you confine your interest to the tower that we are about to climb today.’
To Emily’s surprise the boy did so, saying to her eagerly, ‘How many steps are there? Has anyone ever fallen off the top?’
‘You can count them as you go,’ the baronet told him firmly. ‘And you might very well find yourself falling off the top if you don’t give Miss Whittaker a chance to draw breath. Now run along ahead, both of you.’
‘No, wait,’ Emily said quickly. ‘I will show you another way in.’
‘Is it a secret door?’ James asked.
‘Not exactly secret, but not everybody uses it,’ Emily replied. She ushered them in through the door which she customarily used, and which the choir boys also employed. She was impressed to see that both boys took off their caps without being told, and desisted from running about. Clearly Canon Trimmer’s wife had given careful instructions to her children as to how they were to conduct themselves when in church.
Sir Gareth closed the door behind them and, smiling down at Emily, said, ‘With having to take responsibility for these two boys, I have forgotten to mind my own manners. You are looking charming this morning, ma’am, and I quite forgot to say so.’
Such comments seldom came Emily’s way, and she smiled and coloured, her pleasure out of proportion to the mild nature of his compliment. Not knowing how to respond to his words, she simply said, ‘Well … well, come this way,’ as she led them towards a very humble-looking door set in an easily overlooked corner in the south transept.
‘We won’t get locked in, will we?’ Oliver asked, his voice rather hinting that he hoped that this might happen.
‘No,’ replied Emily. ‘This door is not locked.’
‘Never? Is that wise?’ asked Sir Gareth, wrinkling his brow. The boys had already begun to climb after having been told by Emily where to wait part way up.
‘Where would be the danger?’ Emily asked. ‘The choir boys have all been up these stairs, for the choir master takes them up himself, in order to satisfy their curiosity.’
‘But what of those to whom Oliver referred; those who might want to do themselves a mischief?’
‘I don’t think that anyone has flung themselves off the top,’ Emily replied cautiously. ‘It’s rather a long way to climb for such a purpose, and I think that most people who set off with that idea in their minds would generally have thought better of it by the time they reached the top.’
Sir Gareth gave a short laugh. ‘Very well, then, ma’am,’ he said. ‘Let us ascend. Do you want me to precede you, or would you like to go first?’
Emily opted to lead. ‘There are one or two places where there is something to look at, and I will be in a better position to point things out if I go first.’
Ahead, they could hear the echoing of the boys’ voices. ‘Aurelia will be very grateful to you,’ said the baronet from behind as they began the ascent. ‘This should wear them out quite nicely.’
At the first stopping place, they passed along a narrow gallery which gave an unusual view down into the cathedral, and a look at the bishop’s eye from a very different angle. ‘Glorious,’ murmured Sir Gareth. ‘Quite glorious.’
‘Are we nearly there yet?’ James asked.
‘No, I’m afraid not,’ replied Emily. ‘Have you had enough? Do you wish to wait downstairs?’
‘No,’ replied James positively. ‘I was just hoping that there was further to go.’
‘Is is too much to expect you two brats to linger for a mere ten seconds in order to take in the beauty of this window?’ their uncle asked, addressing their retreating backs as they headed for the next flight of stairs.
After this, the staircase became narrower and more difficult to negotiate, but the boys scrambled on ahead, as full of enthusiasm as ever. Emily smiled at the sound of their childish voices, and paused briefly to listen to them, trying to recall when she had first climbed the tower. For a moment she forgot that Sir Gareth was behind her, and was surprised when she felt him touch her lightly on the arm.
‘Are you all right, ma’am?’ he asked her. His voice sounded barely out of breath.
‘What? Oh yes, yes! I beg your pardon. I was just listening to the boys. Shall we continue?’
‘By all means.’
Now, as they resumed the climb, Emily found herself suddenly conscious of the baronet behind her; not so much the noise of his boots on the stairs, or the sound of his breathing, even and steady, but simply his solid presence. She found her heart beating faster in a disconcerting manner that had nothing whatsoever to do with the exercise.
For his part, Sir Gareth dropped back a step, anxious not to crowd her. As he did so, however, he realized that he now had an excellent view of the canon’s daughter as she ascended. He noted with interest the sway of her shapely hips and realized that she had an excellent figure, a fact which the unfashionable nature of her clothes tended to conceal. He also noticed the suppleness of her trim ankles, and was torn between disapproval of his own voyeuristic behaviour, and a rather urgent desire to make sure that she conducted them up the other two towers another day, so that he might admire this appealing vista on another occasion!
After two more brief halts, at the second of which they were able to look up and admire the wooden beams that had supported the roof for over 400 years, they were able to complete the climb. Emily opened the door, and then they were out into the sunshine, the battlements all around them and the roof itself rising in a gentle slope from their feet.
‘May we climb up them?’ Oliver asked his uncle, pointing to the leads.
The baronet glanced at Emily and, when she nodded faintly, he said, ‘Carefully, then; no leaning over the sides.’ He turned to Emily. ‘This is a fine view; well worth the climb.’
‘I always think so,’ she answered. Her face was flushed from her exertion, and some tendrils of her carefully arranged hair had come loose, and Sir Gareth thought that she looked much younger and prettier. ‘When my life seems confined, or limited, I always come up here, and I feel better straight away.’ She turned and pointed into the distance. ‘I’m told that the cathedral can be seen from those hills. They are in Derbyshire, forty miles away.’
‘I must make a point of looking, next time I am in Derbyshire,’ he replied, shading his eyes and looking in the direction to which she had pointed.
‘Do you visit Derbyshire often?’ There was a note of envy in her voice.
‘Yes, quite frequently,’ he told her. ‘I have friends who live there, and I go to visit them whenever I can. I imagine that walking in the hills there, I experience much the same kind of freedom as you find from coming up here.’ He paused briefly, then said, ‘We must make a pact, Miss Whittaker. Next time I go to Derbyshire, I will arrange to climb to the top of a high hill on a certain day at a certain time, and if you climb to the top of this tower on the same day, then we could wave to each other.’
‘That’s absurd,’ she replied, unsure whether or not he was being serious.
‘Yes, it is. Has no one ever talked absurdities to you before?’
‘No, never.’
‘Not even Dr Pustule?’
She giggled guiltily, then stopped herself. ‘Dr Boyle? No, certainly not.’
He opened his mouth to say something else, when Oliver exclaimed, ‘Uncle Gareth, come and look at this!’
Emily looked after them. No, certainly no man had ever spoken nonsense to her, she reflected. She was a canon’s daughter. She was supposed to be sensible and serious. Talking absurdities smacked of flirtation, and no ma
n had ever wanted to flirt with her. All at once an extraordinary idea had come into her mind. Could Sir Gareth have been trying to get up a flirtation with her? The idea was at once so shocking and yet so exciting, that she had to press her hands against her hot cheeks. She was glad that no one was looking at her at that moment. She turned her back on the rest of the company until Oliver claimed her attention by saying, ‘Miss Whittaker! Can we see our house from here?’
When they had had their fill of looking round, the boys said, ‘Can we go first down the stairs again?’
‘Yes, but be careful,’ Emily answered. ‘The steps are more tricky as you go down.’
‘Careful, and small boys?’ murmured the baronet wryly. ‘I don’t think the two go together. Shall I go first this time?’
‘Very well,’ Emily replied. In truth, she always liked to have someone else precede her when going down, especially near the top where the steps were more awkward.
Sir Gareth sighed. ‘A pity,’ he said playfully. ‘I so much enjoyed the view on the way up.’
‘The view?’ Emily asked, confusion mixed with indignation.
‘I could not take my eyes off your boots, ma’am,’ he replied, his eyes twinkling. ‘Why, what else did you think I meant?’
More absurdities! She thought to herself, as they descended; this time she was almost sure that he was trying to flirt with her. Might he try to do so again when they were back downstairs, she wondered? She was not to find out, however, for as they emerged from the door to the tower, they caught sight of Mrs Hughes and her companion, escorted by Lord Stuart.
‘Gracious, wherever have you been?’ asked Mrs Hughes, her eyebrows soaring.
‘Good morning, ma’am,’ replied Oliver with a bow, proving that he remembered his manners. ‘We have been climbing the tower.’
‘Well that would certainly explain how dusty and dishevelled you are,’ replied the beauty gently, with a brief glance at Emily so that she knew she was included in the description. ‘Miss Whittaker, what remarkable footwear.’ Mrs Hughes was becomingly, if frivolously clad in palest pink, and she made Emily feel clumsy and drab.
‘Stout shoes are a necessity when negotiating such difficult stairs,’ replied Sir Gareth, recalling with pleasure the sight of Miss Whittaker’s very feminine ankles. ‘Your slippers, now, would never stand the strain.’
‘No, I am sure you are right,’ replied Mrs Hughes in satisfied tones, delicately pointing her foot so that one cream kid slipper could be seen. She clearly regarded this as a cause for satisfaction. ‘In fact, I have walked halfway round this cathedral and I am not sure that I have not done enough walking already.’
‘I think you must have done, Annis,’ replied the baronet in amused tones. He had noted that Mrs Hughes’s ankles were on the thick side. ‘Shall we repair to my sister’s house and take some refreshment?’ He looked round at the whole company.
‘I think that perhaps I—’ Emily began; but the baronet interrupted her.
‘Miss Whittaker, I insist that you accompany us,’ he said. ‘Aurelia will never believe that I have been right to the top if you do not corroborate my story.’
‘No indeed, for he is a terrible fabricator,’ put in Mrs Hughes. ‘You really cannot believe a word he says.’
‘I protest, Annis,’ replied the baronet. ‘I am the soul of truthfulness.’
‘With gentlemen perhaps,’ agreed Mrs Hughes. ‘But with ladies, you will tell any story in order to gain an advantage.’ She tucked her hand into Sir Gareth’s arm. ‘The tragedy of it is, that we are too easily convinced.’
So that is how flirting is done, Emily thought to herself, as she followed behind, and turned to engage Miss Wayne in conversation. The two boys walked with Lord Stuart, telling him all that they had seen, to which account he listened with commendable attention.
‘This is such a splendid cathedral,’ Miss Wayne remarked. She was a little younger than her employer, with light brown hair, modestly dressed, and brown eyes.
‘Is it your first visit to Lincoln?’ Emily asked her.
‘No, I came once as a child. My father, like yours, was a clergyman.’
‘Are either of your parents still living?’
Miss Wayne shook her head. ‘I am alone in the world,’ she admitted.
‘For how long have you been working for Mrs Hughes?’
‘For a few months only,’ Miss Wayne admitted. ‘I would really prefer to be a governess. That is the work that I was doing before. But I needed employment, and there were no posts for governesses available, so I came to work for Mrs Hughes.’
She did not say that she hoped that the position would only be a temporary one, but her tone only confirmed what Emily had already suspected, namely, that Miss Wayne was not entirely comfortable in her present situation. Seeing the boys talking with Lord Stuart, and remembering a previous conversation with Mrs Trimmer, Emily began to think that here there might be a solution to a problem.
They were soon out in the sunlight, and then, only moments later, they were being welcomed into Mrs Trimmer’s drawing-room with offers of wine or lemonade.
‘You didn’t wave from the top,’ said Mrs Trimmer reproachfully to her sons. ‘And I watched for you especially.’
‘We were at the wrong angle,’ Oliver told his mother. ‘Miss Whittaker said so.’
‘Miss Whittaker would be quite correct in that observation,’ agreed Miss Wayne. ‘Is it possible to see the top of the great tower from your house, Master Trimmer?’
‘No, it is not, ma’am,’ Oliver replied.
‘Then you would not be able to wave to your mama, would you?’ she suggested.
‘It is possible to see the tower from Derbyshire, however,’ put in the baronet, as the boys were taken upstairs by a maid after thanking Emily very politely for the morning’s outing.
‘The day would have to be very clear, I would imagine,’ answered Mrs Trimmer thoughtfully. Sir Gareth and Emily exchanged a smile as they remembered their conversation on top of the tower. Mrs Hughes, noticing this exchange, narrowed her eyes a little, and deftly turned the conversation towards London, knowing that Emily would then be unable to play any part in it.
Mr Trimmer, however, who had far better manners, soon introduced the subject of the local countryside. ‘Lincolnshire is supposed to be flat, but this area seems to be anything but,’ he observed. ‘Tell me, Miss Whittaker, are there any places to which I ought to escort my wife? This part of the world is very new to both of us.’
‘Gainsborough is an interesting town, and very old,’ replied Emily. ‘I believe many people think it worthy of a visit.’
‘I rode through Gainsborough on my way here,’ said Sir Gareth. ‘Would I have come through the Lincolnshire Wolds, ma’am?’
‘Only if you had come from the coast,’ Emily replied.
‘The Wolds?’ echoed Mrs Hughes, not entirely pleased that the canon’s prim daughter had become the centre of attention.
‘It is a name given to the rolling countryside to the east of here,’ Emily replied.
‘We must get up an excursion to visit some of these places, my dear Mrs Trimmer,’ declared Mrs Hughes. ‘For I am as unfamiliar with this part of the world as any of you.’
‘What about tomorrow?’ suggested Lord Stuart. ‘We might as well make the most of this fine weather. Are you free, Trimmer?’
The clergyman agreed that he was. ‘We can take the barouche,’ he suggested.
Aurelia frowned. ‘The barouche might be a little crowded with Mrs Hughes, Miss Whittaker, Miss Wayne, myself and the two boys.’
‘Oliver would probably like to ride,’ suggested Mr Trimmer.
Emily, surprised and pleased at being included, noted Mrs Hughes’s expression of chagrin, but she felt bound to say regretfully, ‘I fear that I cannot join you tomorrow. I am committed to going to the prison.’
The baronet clicked his tongue and shook his head, saying in mock disapproval, ‘Oh Miss Whittaker, Miss Whittaker! When will you
learn from the penalties of law-breaking?’
Mrs Hughes simply looked mystified at this, but Mrs Trimmer laughed. ‘Gareth, don’t be so absurd,’ she said. ‘Emily, if you cannot come tomorrow, then we will arrange the expedition for another day – perhaps the day after tomorrow.’
But Mr Trimmer had an objection to this. ‘I fear that I shall not be able to join you that day,’ he said regretfully. ‘I am engaged to speak with the bishop.’
‘And we do not know what the weather may do later in the week,’ Mrs Hughes pointed out. ‘Naturally, I should be very sorry to leave Miss Whittaker behind, but she has already seen something of the countryside around here, whereas Mr Trimmer has not. She can always come with us another day.’
‘But we should then be without her local knowledge,’ Sir Gareth objected. ‘As for the weather, we do not know what it may do tomorrow, either. Alan, are you engaged three days hence?’
‘No, I am not,’ Mr Trimmer replied.
‘Then let it be for Friday,’ the baronet suggested, in such a positive tone that everyone else agreed at once, although Mrs Hughes looked a little grudging.
It was agreed that Oliver should ride with his father and the gentlemen, thus making more space in the barouche. ‘James will make a fuss, no doubt, but he must learn that seniority carries certain privileges,’ said Mrs Trimmer.
A short time after this, Emily begged leave to be excused. ‘I am expected at home,’ she said. ‘Thank you for the lemonade.’
Sir Gareth and Mr Trimmer both stood as she made her farewells, but to her surprise, the baronet accompanied her to the front door. ‘Thank you for this morning,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘The climb was invigorating, and the views were magnificent.’
‘It was no trouble,’ she replied, nervously conscious of the feeling of his large, capable hand enveloping her small one. ‘I am always looking for excuses to climb the tower.’
‘I shall send word to let you know on Thursday, what time we shall be setting out,’ he responded, lifting her hand and kissing it lightly.
As she walked back to her own house, she cradled the hand as if it were something precious. His touch had sent tingles all along her spine. She reminded herself that Mrs Hughes, who clearly knew him well, had said that he was a flirt whose word was not to be trusted. This description did not match with the man who had chatted so easily with his nephews, and admired the cathedral and the views with such genuine interest. Unfortunately, she could also recall his bland assertion that he had been admiring her boots when she was sure that he had been looking at her ankles! Of course that was very shocking, but ruefully, she had to confess that she was no better, for, as she had followed him down the stairs, she had spent a considerable amount of time admiring his splendid shoulders.
