by Martha Keyes
“Yes, thank you,” she said, taking his arm, “for who knows what type of accident I might have on these Rushbury roads.”
How in the world had she known exactly what he was thinking?
“Well,” he said, “you now hold the power—nay, the responsibility, even—to address the plethora of faults to be found in these lanes, Surveyor Paige. In the future, when new faces arrive in Rushbury, they will have only you to blame for their carriage wheels cracking or their axles breaking. And I,” he said, taking in a full breath so that his chest rose, “shall watch in blissful contentment.”
She sent him a hostile glare. “And how, pray, am I to fulfill that responsibility? What precisely are my powers?”
Samuel tipped his head from side to side. “Well, the surveyor of the highways can levy a rate for the upkeep of the parish roads. He—or in your case, she—is also at liberty to require six working days from the villagers each year for the labor required to maintain the roads at an acceptable level or working order.”
Miss Paige squeezed his arm, a gesture which caused his heart to trip.
“Well, come now! That is wonderful news indeed!” she said. “No one could mind so terribly if they were asked to pay just a bit more to ensure passable roads.”
Samuel smiled at her enthusiasm. “It might seem so, but I am afraid that you will have quite a time of it trying to wring even a farthing from the village. They see nothing wrong with the way things are. They are accustomed to it, you see.” He cringed slightly at the downtrodden look on her face. “I admit that I have known a fair bit of guilt since you accepted the position—I never truly imagined you would. And I only suggested it to—”
“To prove a point to me,” she said with a knowing expression. “Yes, I was very aware of that.”
“I am certain I could find a way for you to be relieved of the position without any fine—particularly given that you are not the typical person to fill the position.”
“Thank you,” she said. “But I am grateful for the opportunity to prove my mettle.”
“And to teach me a lesson in the meantime?” he teased. “I certainly deserve it.”
The way she looked up at him with a twinkle acted like a spur to his heart.
“Well, I shan’t argue that,” she said. She narrowed her eyes in thought. “Perhaps if you and I set out together to persuade them of the benefits?”
He grimaced his doubt.
“Well,” she said, her tone still bright but slightly deflated, “if they won’t pay, they can still assist with the labor, surely.”
Samuel’s grimace transformed to one of clenched teeth, and he shrugged. “You are, of course, welcome to do as you please, Surveyor Paige, but I can tell you that on the last occasion that the village was meant to labor on the roads—when Mr. Wood was still here—none but Burke, Mr. Wood, and I put in an appearance.”
“How terrible!” Miss Paige said, indignant. “And how very unfair. It seems very shortsighted and selfish for such a close-knit community to serve you so.”
Samuel pursed his lips and stopped, turning to Miss Paige, who let her arm drop from his, looking up at him expectantly, though her brow was still wrinkled with displeasure.
“Imagine for a moment, Miss Paige,” he said, “that you are required to work six days a week—at the very least—to simply feed your family and put a roof over their heads. That you spend your days laboring in the fields or perhaps using a framework knitter as does Mr. Reed, until your hands are calloused or even bleeding. That even when you return home for the day, the labor is not done, for children must be tended to, dinner must be prepared, and nothing is ever done at home.” He paused. “How anxious would you be to give up some of that meager income—to risk your children going hungry—so that you could spend a day of back-breaking labor on roads that will undoubtedly have craters and mounds from the rains within a fortnight?”
She stared into his eyes, her forehead drawn down so that two wrinkles appeared above the bridge of her nose. “I see.” Her voice was quiet and subdued.
Why did he feel as though he had just kicked a puppy? But it was only the truth he was telling her. It was better for her to know how things worked in Rushbury or else she would be forever disappointed. And for some reason, Samuel didn’t want her to be disappointed.
She turned back to the road, reaching absently for his arm, and they continued walking the last bit to Granchurch House.
“Perhaps I can convince the Gilmours to take on the labor,” she said, looking up at him with a twinkle in her eye. “Lady Gilmour in particular looks like she would be valuable.”
Samuel nodded, unable to suppress a grin. “You can suggest it to them at your visit tomorrow, though I will very much regret being absent for the look on their faces if you do.”
She laughed and then looked around at their surroundings. What did she think of Rushbury? Why was it so difficult for outsiders to see its beauty—to see why Samuel couldn’t imagine home being anywhere else?
“Everyone at the vestry meeting seemed very concerned about the Gilmours’ arrival,” Miss Paige said. “Why is that? Apart from Lady Gilmour’s charming demeanor, I mean. For it was apparent that no one had met them, and yet everyone was anxious.”
They arrived at the door to Granchurch House, and Samuel pulled it open for her to pass through. How could he explain to her why the presence of any member of the gentry was looked on as unwelcome by the parish? And how he had regarded her arrival with almost the same dismay as he had the Gilmours’?
They stepped into the entry hall, and Miss Paige undid the buttons on her pelisse, which Samuel assisted her in removing, well paid by the grateful smile she sent him over her shoulder as he did so.
“We have not had particularly good luck with the residents of Amblethorne in the past.” He noted the little edge in his own voice, and Miss Paige look up at him as if she too had remarked it.
He forced a smile. He would leave it at that. She needn’t know all of the ways in which the gentry at Amblethorne had affected his personal life. “We as a village are rarely in agreement with them, and unfortunately, they hold a great deal of power over things. The Gilmours look more than ready to wield that power. They spoke to me yesterday of improvements to be made here and of bringing Rushbury into the current century.”
She rolled her lips together. “Well perhaps we might make them allies instead of enemies with a bit of care.”
He smiled wryly.
“What?” she asked. “Is that such a preposterous idea?”
“There is enough of a gap in status and class between us in the village and those who reside at Amblethorne that….” He grimaced and raised up his shoulders.
“But you are a gentleman,” said Miss Paige. “Surely they feel a kinship with you at least?”
He bit his lip. “I am a lowly vicar in a village so small that we could cease to exist without causing inconvenience to almost anyone. I fraternize too freely with those considered below me—indeed, I feel more comfortable and easy with a baker or a lowly farmer than I do with the likes of the Gilmours. I don’t dress in the height of fashion, by any means, and I stoop to fulfilling some of the duties of a physician when those services are urgently needed here. It is not precisely a recipe for respect from genteel families.”
The footman Andrew approached them, bowing and then looking at Samuel. “Here to see the mistress, Mr. Derrick?”
Samuel nodded, turning back to Miss Paige. “Perhaps we can discuss your duties more soon.”
She nodded. “I fear that I will require a fair amount of instruction to understand not only the duties but the realities of my role, since there is quite obviously a gap between them.”
He nodded with feigned gravity. “It is only natural that you would need more instruction than usual. I will try my best to be patient, as I know how slow to learn you London types can be.” His mouth broke into a grin, and he winked at her as her mouth twitched, acknowledging his hit.
“It was a pleasure, Miss Paige.” He bowed and followed Andrew toward the stairs.
It had, very unexpectedly, been a pleasure.
Chapter 8
Georgiana chose a dress for dinner that night that wouldn’t require the help of a maid—she didn’t wish to deprive Aunt Sara of her maid, and she wanted to test her own limits. But even that dress she found difficult to manage on her own, with the ties at the top and waist in the back.
She had looked on the prospect of her new and independent life with great anticipation, certain that she would relish not having a maid to follow her on errands and such. But certainly there were very practical considerations like dressing that required such help.
As she reached her arms back to tie a simple bow at her waist, she looked in the long mirror with an appraising gaze. Lady Gilmour had not believed her old enough to be out ten Seasons, but Georgiana would look the part of a spinster sooner than later, she suspected.
But what of that? No one in Rushbury would care that she was seven-and-twenty. And she would have little occasion to care for anyone’s opinion but that of the villagers while she remained at Granchurch House. The thought was liberating in many ways and frightening in other ways. Gaining the good opinion of the village seemed a more difficult cause than she had anticipated.
She smiled sardonically as she thought on the first impression she must have made at the vestry meeting, letting her arms drop and rolling her shoulders to relieve them of the ache occasioned by tying the stubborn bow.
Mr. Derrick had spoken of the effect his interaction with the villagers had upon his reputation with people like the Gilmours. What, then, would they make of Georgiana’s new position as surveyor of the highways?
She bit her lip at the thought. It was so absurd as to be comical. Lady Gilmour would be scandalized, no doubt, as would Georgiana’s own family—Aunt Sara, too, more than likely. She could keep the knowledge from her family—indeed, there seemed little purpose in telling them about something they would hardly understand—but she could not hide it from Aunt Sara. She would have certain duties associated with the position, and it would be best to ask her aunt whether they would interfere with keeping her aunt company.
She left her bedchamber to seek out her aunt. Perhaps Mr. Derrick would still be with her?
But Mr. Derrick had gone when Aunt Sara’s maid opened the door to Georgiana—a fact which caused a slight feeling of disappointment within her. Aunt Sara was dressed and ready for dinner, though.
“I am feeling much more the thing today,” Aunt Sara said, sweeping toward the doorway in a fluid motion.
She seemed to have regained her energy—and her appetite too, based on the number of helpings she took from the platter of roast duck and potatoes. She chattered energetically throughout the meal on topics ranging from the weather to the health of the Prince Regent.
It wasn’t until the servants were removing the covers and set down a few sweetmeats that Georgiana had the opportunity to broach the subject of her new position in the village.
Aunt Sara stared, hand suspended in the act of reaching for one of the desserts. “Surveyor of the highways!”
Georgiana held her breath. “Do you dislike it terribly?”
Aunt Sara blinked and took one of the bite-sized cakes from the tray. “Dislike it? No. It is not that. It is just…well, I assumed that such a role would be filled by one of the farmers in the village, perhaps? I cannot think that it was meant to be taken up by a young lady of your position.”
“No, I imagine not,” Georgiana said, tilting her head from side to side. “But it is not as though I shall be required to dirty my hands, you know. And it is not a paid position—merely a way to assist the parish and the county at large by taking in hand a nuisance that people are obliged to confront on a daily basis.”
She sat back in her chair and smiled. If Aunt Sara continued so energetically, how much companionship would she stand in need of? It would be good for Georgiana to have something to occupy her and, unlike with needlework or sketching, her time could be spent in benefit to the community.
“Hmm,” Aunt Sara said, devouring the last of the cake and reaching for a tart. “You shall have to appear before the Justices, if I am not mistaken, to give an account of the roads in the parish.”
Georgiana’s jaw opened and then shut. She had not realized that. “Well, I need to speak with Mr. Derrick about the various duties that comprise the position, but I cannot think it would be such a terrible thing for the Justices to be confronted with me rather than a farmer. They might be more likely to take me seriously.”
“What, a woman?” Aunt Sara said with a furrowed brow. She shrugged, popped the tart into her mouth, and chewed for a moment. “Well, you are old enough to know your own mind, my dear, so I shan’t try to dissuade you from it. But do have a care. I shouldn’t wish for your father to be angry with me for allowing such a thing.”
“Aunt,” said Georgiana with a laugh, “I did not come here for you to be inconvenienced with the role of acting as chaperone to me, you know. I came so that we could act as friends and companions to one another.”
“You are very kind, Georgiana,” Aunt Sara said, “but I am hardly a fit companion for a young lady like you.”
Georgiana opened her mouth to counter her aunt’s words, but Aunt Sara plowed on.
“Whatever you may say or think, you are not a spinster, my dear. And I hope that you will not feel obligated to stay at Granchurch all day on my account. Someone to talk to at dinner, someone to share in the management of the household, someone to receive visitors with—that is the type of companionship I hope we may provide for one another.”
Georgiana smiled and nodded. There was relief at the knowledge that Aunt Sara didn’t wish for her constant company, and yet somehow Georgiana found herself a bit somber. Her father had clearly overestimated his sister’s fussiness and particularity when it came to a companion. It rather seemed that any woman—young or old—might have provided the type of companionship Aunt Sara was looking for. And Rachel would arrive in a few weeks, making Georgiana even superfluous.
“You mention visits, Aunt Sara,” said Georgiana. “I wonder if you might wish to accompany me—if you are feeling well, that is—to visit Sir Clyde and Lady Gilmour tomorrow. They are the new residents at—”
“At Amblethorne, yes,” said Aunt Sara, looking full of interest and anticipation.
“They happened upon Mr. Derrick and me as we were walking back from the vestry meeting, and Lady Gilmour requested a visit tomorrow.”
“I will most certainly accompany you,” she said, rising from the table decidedly, as if they were set to leave right then. “I have been very curious indeed to know what sort of people would be taking up residence at Amblethorne.”
Georgiana woke to a crisp and frosty morning, and while the thought of venturing outside in such cold made her shiver in anticipation, it was precisely to combat such cold that she had agreed to visit Mr. Reed in the village.
She took in a large breath of the warm air inside Granchurch House and then stepped outside, noting how the short blades of grass lining the pebbled drive had frosted tips. She grasped her arms at the elbows and forged ahead.
It was not yet spring, of course, but living in the south had given her a false sense of that season, with its milder weather and early-budding snowdrops, bluebells, and daffodils. She walked along the drystone wall that ran the length of the lane from Granchurch, hoping that the grass that skirted the lane would keep her from slipping in the layer of mud that coated the road. If she had known she was opting to reenter winter in coming to Rushbury, she might have delayed her journey a few weeks.
No. The thought of four more weeks of social engagements did not at all appeal to her. A little cold and a little dreariness—well, a great deal of dreariness—was a price she was willing to pay for more freedom.
She took in a breath of cold air, feeling it fill her lungs and invigorate her. As if to reward her for choosin
g not to regret her decision, the sight of a patch of unopened daffodils met her eyes. They hung somewhat limp, chilled and lined with frost. Did the sun ever come out in Rushbury to warm such plants and give them a direction to face?
Approaching the third door from the end on the right, Georgiana felt her heart begin to race again. Mr. Reed was a distrustful fellow from what she had seen, and she had the distinct impression that he had not been thrilled to meet her. In fact, no one seemed thrilled at her presence in Rushbury. Of anyone she had met, Mr. Burke had been the most welcoming.
But perhaps the villagers were much like the frozen daffodils she had just seen—in need of a bit of warmth and coaxing to unfurl their petals and show the more inviting side of their natures.
Before setting a hand to the door, she glanced at the window and noted the wide-eyed faces of two little children pressed up against the small pane. She smiled and waved at them before knocking on the door.
It was Mrs. Reed who opened the door to Georgiana. Unlike her husband, she was smiling and kind, inviting Georgiana in with a baby boy on her hip and an apron covered in flour. It was a humble house, simple and small, and Georgiana thought about Mr. Derrick’s words—the labor it required to feed the mouths of the Reeds and keep this roof over their heads.
A large framework knitting machine sat on one side of the main room in the house with the kitchen on the other side. A few woolen products—gloves, stockings, and a scarf—lined the window so that passing villagers could see them. Bunches of raw wool sat beside the knitting machine, and the two children who had watched Georgiana from the window stood next to it, their eyes fixed upon her. An older girl who looked to be near the age of Daphne bustled about the kitchen, hands covered in flour and dough, her red hair tied back with a string.
“Come, children,” said Mrs. Reed. “Stop your ogling of Miss Paige and mind the wool. If Papa is going to make something warm for her, the wool must be carded, you know.”
