Lady of Lincoln (9 page)

Emily pointed him out at the top of his pillar, and recounted the tale of how two imps had come into the cathedral to wreak havoc. They had been reprimanded by an angel, and one of them had climbed to the top of the pillar to throw rocks at his heavenly accuser. As a consequence, he had been turned to stone. ‘And there he stays, but I cannot feel sorry for him,’ Emily concluded. ‘After all, he doesn’t look at all sorry for himself, and he can see everything from up there.’

She smiled up at the baronet, and saw that he was looking down at her. An arrested expression came over his face, and for some reason, her heart began to beat faster. She could not know how very winsome she looked at that moment; so much so that the baronet, already unsettled by their previous conversation, found his usual common sense flying away and emotions taking over.

‘So he can,’ he said. ‘Better give him something to look at,
then.’ Leaning towards her, he tilted her chin with one finger and kissed her lightly and swiftly on her mouth.

‘Oh!’ she gasped, looking up at him. ‘Oh, goodness me! I … I must be going! I am needed to … to …’ She turned and began to hurry past St Hugh’s choir in the direction of the west door.

‘Miss Whittaker, wait!’ called the baronet, hurrying after her. He caught up with her easily, and grasped her elbow, firmly, but gently. ‘Wait, please. I don’t know why I did that. I didn’t mean to insult you, especially when you have been so kind.’

‘Kind?’ she exclaimed in response, staring up at him with an expression that he found impossible to read. ‘I had supposed that you, also, were kind, Sir Gareth.’

At that, he released her, his face flushed. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture betraying his agitation. ‘You do right to rebuke me,’ he told her. ‘No, pray do not run away,’ he added hastily, for he could see that she was about to flee. ‘At least give me a chance to explain myself.’ At first, when he had caught hold of her, she had pulled away from him. Now, she paused, ready to listen to what he had to say. After a moment or two, he said ruefully, ‘That’s confounded me. Of course there is no excuse for me. All that talk about Patrick unsettled me a little, I think.’

Looking away from him, she said quietly, ‘Perhaps the Lincoln imp was trying to wreak more havoc.’

‘Perhaps he was,’ Sir Gareth agreed, with a light laugh. ‘I would be grateful if you would lay the whole matter at his door, and forgive me for my discourtesy.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Emily agreed, in subdued tones, but deep down inside her, something was singing,
He kissed me!

By mutual unspoken consent, they did not look at the rest of the cathedral in any detail, but instead walked slowly back towards the west door, talking idly of the number of services that were conducted in the building, and about the terms of Canon Whittaker’s residency in the close. It must be confessed,
however, that for varying reasons, neither of them would have been able to have given an account of what was said during the conversation.

Light though it was inside, the brightness of the summer day caused them to blink as they stepped out into the warmth of the sunshine. Sir Gareth turned to Emily to thank her for
conducting
him around the cathedral, but before he could say anything, a voice hailed him from just inside Exchequer gate.

‘Blades, m’dear fellow! Houghton swore we’d find you here, but I never believed it.’

If Sir Gareth looked a little out of place in Lincoln in all his London elegance, that was nothing to how incongruous this newcomer appeared. Tall and willowy, he was clad in an elegant blue coat with gleaming brass buttons, red silk waistcoat, yellow breeches and glistening black boots with snowy tops, and his cravat was so high as to make it difficult for him to turn his head. He looked to be about the same age as Emily herself.

‘I don’t see why not,’ Sir Gareth replied easily. ‘I have never known Houghton to lie.’

‘Devil take me, that wasn’t what I meant,’ said the other. ‘It’s good to see you, even in this benighted place.’ The two men shook hands.

‘How kind of you to say so,’ the baronet answered ironically. ‘You can now make your apologies to Miss Whittaker, who happens to live here.’ He turned to Emily. ‘Miss Whittaker, this graceless fellow, who deserves to be taken to the top of the tower and hurled off it immediately, is Lord Stuart Fenn, youngest son of the Duke of Barnwell.’

Lord Stuart’s rather thin, mobile features took on an
expression
of comical dismay. ‘The deuce! Resident here, you say! A thousand apologies, ma’am. I would not for anything cast any aspersions upon your … um … abode.’ He made an elegant bow.

‘You would not be the first to do so, my lord,’ Emily told him with a smile. ‘We do contrive to keep ourselves busy, however.’

‘Busy! It’s the aim of my life to try to avoid being busy as much as I can,’ he answered frankly. ‘But I’m not alone. Look, Blades, I’ve a pleasant surprise for you.’

Two ladies were now drawing closer to them from the Exchequer gate. One, dressed in a modest gown and bonnet, looked to be about Emily’s own age. It was not possible to determine the age of the other. All that Emily knew was that this was the most ravishing creature that she had ever seen. She was dressed in a gown of celestial blue with palest golden piping around the hem and bodice, and a straw bonnet with gold and blue ribbons. Her hair was a riot of black curls, her blue eyes sparkled, and she came forward to Sir Gareth holding out her hand.

‘Gareth, you wicked man!’ said the vision in a teasing tone. ‘You fled Houghton’s estate as if all the devils in Hell were after you, but here I find you in this seat of virtue.’

‘Forgive me, Annis,’ the baronet replied, lifting her hand to his lips. But he did not offer any explanation for his
disappearance
.

‘Have you just been looking over this dreadful old pile?’ the newcomer asked, gesturing towards the cathedral with her left hand. ‘It looks as if it ought to have been pulled down years ago.’

Sir Gareth could feel Emily stiffening beside him. ‘Before you blot your copy-book any more, Annis, I must introduce Miss Whittaker to you, who resides in the close. Miss Whittaker, this is Mrs Annis Hughes. And this is her companion, Miss Wayne.’

The ladies acknowledged one another politely. Mrs Hughes looked at Emily in amazement. ‘You actually live next to this place? Good heavens, it would give me the frights to have that great monstrosity looming over me every day and night.’

‘It does not have that effect upon me,’ Emily replied,
wanting
to defend her beloved cathedral, but feeling more drab than ever in face of all this feminine elegance.

‘Well it would me,’ replied Mrs Hughes frankly. Now that
she had taken a proper look at the newcomer, Emily could see that the lady was not as young as she had appeared at first. Tiny lines at the corners of her eyes suggested that she was in fact probably about Emily’s own age or even slightly older.

‘Now, now, Cousin,’ said Lord Stuart, thus revealing his connection to the society beauty, ‘you can’t say that. I mean to say, get used to anything given time, y’know.’

‘Miss Whittaker has just been escorting me around the
cathedral
,’ Gareth remarked.

‘Indeed,’ murmured Mrs Hughes. ‘Did he flirt with you dreadfully, my dear?’ she asked Emily. ‘He is a shocking flirt, you know; he has quite a reputation for it.’

‘Flirt? In the cathedral?’ exclaimed Sir Gareth in outraged tones, taking Mrs Hughes’s attention away from Emily.

‘No indeed, certainly not,’ Lord Stuart declared. ‘It would be like … like … well, like flirting in church. I mean to say, it
would
be flirting in church.’

‘No one’s conversation elevates the soul quite like yours, Stuart,’ remarked the baronet. ‘Tell me, are you staying in Lincoln, or just passing through?’

Stuart opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, Mrs Hughes said, ‘We are staying for a few days. Our plans are not fixed. We have taken rooms at the White Hart. It seems quite tolerable. Would you care to join us for luncheon?’ Then, after a moment’s thought she turned to Emily. ‘And you too, of course, Miss Whittaker: would you care to join us?’

‘Thank you, but I am expected at home,’ Emily replied.

‘Then I shall join you after I have escorted Miss Whittaker to her door,’ said Sir Gareth.

‘No, there is no need,’ said Emily hastily. ‘I am accustomed to walking alone here. Please join your friends, sir.’

‘Very well,’ the baronet replied with a bow. ‘Then I will thank you for your informative tour, and bid you good day.’

‘Good day, sir,’ Emily replied, ‘And thank you for … for …’ She was thinking of all that he had told her about Patrick.

He made a gently dismissive gesture with his hand. ‘It was nothing, ma’am,’ he replied, smiling down at her in an understanding way.

Emily bade them all a polite farewell, and turned to go home. As she left, she heard Mrs Hughes saying, ‘A sweet, mousy old thing. Who is she?’

Who was she? Once upon a time, about a week or so ago, she had thought that she knew. She would have said then that she was simply Canon Whittaker’s spinster daughter, dedicated to good works. Then Sir Gareth had appeared, and suddenly she had begun to see things differently.

Emily hurried away from the three fashionables, but instead of going back home, as she had told Sir Gareth she would, she walked around the cathedral and entering it again by the door that she usually used, she made her way to the seat that she had so recently occupied with Sir Gareth.

For as long as she could remember, the cathedral had been the place to which she had gone when she wanted to express how she really felt. Not since her brother’s death had she been able to do such a thing safely at home. Now, she recalled how she and Gareth had spoken about Patrick; how he had been so moved at the memory of her brother’s death, and she blushed as she thought of how she had caught hold of his hand to comfort him. After that, they had walked round to look at the Lincoln imp, and there, under the little creature’s mischievous gaze, he had kissed her. I will never look at the imp again
without
remembering that moment, she told herself.

In her mind, she went over the scene again, recalling Sir Gareth’s deep tones, the strong feel of him as she had cannoned into him, the touch of his lips. Suddenly she recalled how on the day when they had first met he had suggested that perhaps she might not have liked the look of him. Not like the look of him? She would be mad not to do so. In her mind, she had come to think of him as the hero of some kind of story. Well, now another character had appeared: a character called Mrs
Hughes, who might, she feared, turn out to be the heroine. One thing was certain: however much she might like the look of Sir Gareth Blades, she was quite sure that Mrs Hughes liked the look of him as well. 

‘T
hat lady is Miss Emily Whittaker, as I have already told you, Annis. I cannot think your description of her very kind or even very accurate,’ said Sir Gareth as he strolled back to the White Hart with Lord Stuart, Mrs Hughes and Miss Wayne. He strove to keep his tone pleasant, but truth to tell, he was rather surprised at how annoyed he felt at this criticism of the canon’s daughter.

‘Hoity toity! I had not realized that she was a favourite of yours,’ Mrs Hughes exclaimed, prompting him to realize that he had not been entirely successful in disguising his feelings. ‘Well, I did say she was sweet. Anyway, she’s certainly dowdy; you can’t deny that.’

‘I should say not,’ said Lord Stuart quickly, then glanced
sideways
at the baronet and cleared his throat in a rather
embarrassed
way.

‘She’s not fashionably dressed, I agree,’ the baronet admitted. ‘But then, my dear Annis, you will find that fashions are
somewhat
behind London here in the provinces.’

‘You do not need to tell me so,’ the lady agreed fervently. ‘Why, as we were travelling through the town, I saw a richly dressed woman in a gown that was quite ten years behind the times. Can you imagine?’

‘Ten years? You shock me,’ declared the baronet in amused tones.

Inside the White Hart, they were shown into a private parlour and there served with a light lunch of cold ham, bread, cheese and a ginger cake. ‘You seem to be well catered for here,’ Sir Gareth remarked as he carved a slice of ham for Miss Wayne, then cut another for himself.

‘It is tolerable,’ Mrs Hughes drawled; then recollecting that she was choosing to remain there, and without a very good reason, save that which naturally she could not disclose to the baronet, she added, ‘Very tolerable; surprisingly so, in fact. I assume that you are staying with your sister.’

Sir Gareth inclined his head. ‘As you say. Aurelia will be pleased to receive all of you.’ He smiled at Miss Wayne, in order to indicate that she was included in the invitation.

‘Devilish good of her,’ declared Lord Stuart, as he carefully inspected the cheese and cut himself a large piece. ‘Her husband’s a clergyman, ain’t he?’

‘That’s right,’ answered the other man.

‘Well, no one’s perfect,’ declared his lordship largely. Then realizing the infelicitous nature of what he had said, he added hastily, ‘That is to say, someone has to do it. Take old Clumber, now; youngest son; no income; what else is the fellow to do?’

‘Ah, but Alan, my brother-in-law, has a substantial private income, but is a clergyman by choice,’ Sir Gareth pointed out.

‘Oh,’ said Lord Stuart blankly. ‘No accounting for taste, I suppose. But tell us, old fellow, what the deuce is there to do here? Nothing much, I suppose.’

‘Nonsense,’ replied his cousin, as she selected a piece of ginger cake, and nodded to her cousin who was offering her another glass of wine. ‘I’m sure it is a charming place.’

‘I thought that you had judged it to be years behind the times, with accommodation that is merely tolerable, within sight of a gloomy old pile that needs pulling down,’ remarked Sir Gareth pleasantly, but with a slight edge to his voice nevertheless.

‘Gareth, my dear, surely you know by now when I am merely funning,’ Mrs Hughes replied with a trill of laughter. ‘Travel
broadens the mind, you know, and I am sure that I will benefit from learning a little more about this place.’

‘I am sure that you will, Annis,’ replied the baronet, smiling. ‘The only trouble is that I am not sure you are taking the matter seriously.’

‘Oh, I am quite sure that I know when to take things
seriously
,’ she answered, smiling back at him over the top of her glass. ‘But tell us, Gareth, what is there to do here?’

‘I am sure that Miss Whittaker could tell you better than I, but in her absence—’

‘Miss Whittaker!’ exclaimed the beauty scornfully. ‘Why, anyone can see that she has never been anywhere or done anything. What would
she
know?’

‘I should imagine she knows a good deal about the cathedral, ma’am,’ Miss Wayne suggested.

‘Unsurprisingly,’ Mrs Hughes murmured.

‘But, as I was saying,’ Sir Gareth went on, ‘in Miss Whittaker’s absence, I can tell you that there are some Assembly rooms in which functions take place; there is, apparently, some good society here in the upper town, and at certain times, although not presently, there are race meetings.
And
, Annis my dear, just a few doors along from here is a fashionable milliner’s.’

‘
Really
?’ answered the lady, with the first real sign of interest that she had shown in anything that Lincoln had to offer yet.

‘Certainly. Would you like me to escort you there later?’ Sir Gareth replied, reflecting inwardly that if travel broadened the mind, it did not seem to have that effect upon present company, despite what Mrs Hughes might have said.

That afternoon, Emily remembered that she had promised to purchase some soap for the housekeeper. She left the house, went back into Bailgate and made the necessary purchase. She was just walking past the milliner’s shop, when the door opened, and Mrs Hughes came out, all smiles, accompanied by
Sir Gareth. The baronet lifted his hat politely.

‘Ah, Miss … Whittaker, isn’t it?’ smiled Mrs Hughes. ‘Such a charming shop! Do you not find it so?’ Her eyes lit on Emily’s bonnet and her enthusiasm seemed to fade a little. Then she went on, ‘Gareth has been giving me such good advice. He is a fount of wisdom with regard to fashions.’

‘Wisdom?’ murmured Emily in a quizzical tone, which caused the baronet to glance at her with a slightly narrowed gaze.

‘Why yes,’ replied Mrs Hughes. ‘No one can advise upon female apparel as well as he. You must beg him to go with you, next time you shop.’ She glanced at the package in Emily’s hand. ‘But I see that you have been shopping today, in fact.’

‘Yes,’ replied Emily, colouring a little. ‘It is soap; for the housekeeper.’

‘How useful,’ murmured Mrs Hughes in a mystified tone.

‘Miss Whittaker, my nephews have been plaguing me to take them up the tower ever since you mentioned the matter, but I have told them that I will not go without your escort,’ said Sir Gareth, abandoning the subject of shopping without hesitation. ‘Do you have any idea when you might be able to give us some of your time?’

‘The tower?’ exclaimed Mrs Hughes, horrified. ‘Not that huge one in the middle of the cathedral, surely!’

‘Most certainly,’ replied Sir Gareth, laughing. ‘Would you care to join us, Annis?’

‘Don’t be so absurd,’ Mrs Hughes answered. ‘I should be worn out for the rest of the day.’

‘Perhaps tomorrow, if it is fine?’ Emily suggested.

‘Thank you. I should be very much obliged to you,’ said the baronet devoutly. ‘Perhaps then I shall get some peace.’

‘From my experience of small boys, they will soon find
something
else that they want you to do,’ Emily told him.

‘My God, you are right,’ he exclaimed, striking his forehead. ‘Perhaps I had better put off the tower expedition for a little longer. At least, then, I shall know where I stand.’

‘Don’t blaspheme in Miss Whittaker’s presence, Gareth,’ said Mrs Hughes. ‘She will be very much shocked.’ She smiled at him intimately, as if to say, but I am not. Emily opened her mouth in order to state that she was not so easily disturbed, but before she could say anything, Mrs Hughes spoke again. ‘I am sure you will excuse us, but we are due to visit Aurelia for tea.’

‘Naturally, you are welcome to join us,’ put in the baronet.

‘Gareth, do not be obtuse,’ said Mrs Hughes patiently. ‘Miss Whittaker must hurry home with her soap.’

‘The housekeeper is expecting me,’ Emily agreed, feeling a very strong desire to get out her soap and wash Mrs Hughes’s silly pouting mouth.

‘Then I shall see you tomorrow,’ said Sir Gareth, as they parted.

The following day dawned bright and clear for the expedition up the tower and Emily, who had climbed it many times and never with any thought as to what she looked like, now found herself torn by indecision as to what to put on. Strong shoes were essential, of course, but should she wear her lavender gown, the dark brown, or perhaps the navy? The navy was undoubtedly the most becoming, but the lavender would probably be a more sensible choice, in case she brushed against any stonework. After a moment’s thought, she donned the navy.

Now, the question arose of what bonnet to wear. She did have one that went with the gown, but she seldom wore it, knowing that her father thought it rather frivolous. She had heard Canon Whittaker go out earlier, however, so she quickly put it on, and looked at her reflection with rather guilty
pleasure
. It was a very modest item of headgear by London
standards
, but the silk trimming to the crown and the bunch of daisies stitched to one side, near to where the ribbons were tied, made it look rather pretty, she decided.

Sir Gareth was due to meet her at the west front with the
boys, but shortly before their time of meeting, as Emily was coming down the stairs, there was a knock at the door, and her heart gave a strange little skip as she heard his deep voice
speaking
to the maid.

‘Good morning,’ said Emily as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

‘Good morning,’ replied the baronet with a bow. ‘Oliver and James could not wait like civilized people, so I have brought them round here.’

‘So that they can be uncivilized in our house?’ she asked him wryly. Then she turned to the boys. ‘Good morning,’ she said to them, smiling. ‘Are you feeling strong today?’

‘Yes, thank you, ma’am,’ replied Oliver.

‘If you’d seen what they ate for breakfast this morning, you wouldn’t ask,’ the baronet replied. ‘I’m surprised my sister has any food left in the house.’

The boys laughed then Oliver said, ‘How high is the tower, ma’am?’

‘Two hundred and seventy-one feet,’ Emily replied, as they left the house.

The boys’ eyes grew very round. ‘My stars!’ James exclaimed.

‘But it was taller once, wasn’t it?’ Oliver asked with interest.

‘Yes, indeed it was,’ Emily agreed. ‘When there was a spire on top, the height was over five hundred feet.’

‘How I should have liked to have climbed to the top of that,’ declared Oliver with relish. ‘Would not you, Uncle Gareth?’

‘No I should not,’ the baronet replied firmly. ‘The present two hundred and seventy-one feet are quite enough for me, thank you.’

Clearly regarding his uncle’s comments with deep contempt, Oliver turned back to Emily.

‘Are people allowed to climb up the spires on the other two towers?’ He asked.

‘I suppose someone must, if they need to be repaired, but ordinary people are not allowed to do so.’

‘But our uncle is not ordinary, he is a baronet,’ declared James.

‘Let me assure you, you objectionable brat, that this baronet is not even going to attempt climbing the spires, however extraordinary he may be,’ declared Sir Gareth frankly. ‘Didn’t I hear somewhere that there had been a move to take them down?’ he asked Emily.

‘Yes, in about 1730, I think, but there was such a riot that they gave up the attempt.’

‘A riot!’ Oliver exclaimed. ‘My stars! Miss Whittaker, were you there?’

‘No, she was not,’ interrupted Sir Gareth. ‘That would make her well over seventy years old. Beg her pardon at once!’

Master Whittaker did so, although it must be said that he did not look noticeably abashed.

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?’