The Courtship of the Vicar's Daughter (32 page)

“Wouldn’t you be wantin’ some lunch, sir?” he asked. “It’s half-past twelve.”

“No, thank you,” Jonathan replied. He’d only had toast and tea at the railway station this morning, but he couldn’t have eaten had his life depended upon it. When the door was closed again, he took off his shoes and lay across the bed. If he could just make himself rest for a little while, perhaps he wouldn’t be so jumpy. But that proved worse, for he worried about accidentally falling asleep and facing the vicar with his wits in a fog.

So he returned to his chair and resumed his watch out of the window, reminding himself that Elizabeth Phelps was worth putting himself through this torment.

“ ‘ … and Cornelius said, four days ago I was fasting until this hour; and at the ninth hour I prayed in my house, and behold, a man stood before me in bright clothing,’ ” Andrew read loudly into the silver-haired woman’s ear horn as she sat propped upon her pillows.

“Yes?” she said, her faded brown eyes wide. “Who was the man in bright clothing, Vicar?”

“He was an angel, Mrs. Cobbe. Remember how he told Cornelius to send men to Joppa?” he fairly shouted so the poor woman could hear.

“Yes, for Simon Peter.” The woman gave him a grateful smile. “I remember now. Go ahead, Vicar.”

Andrew called at the cottage on Thatcher Lane weekly to deliver a condensed version of the sermon that Mrs. Cobbe and her daughter, Mrs. Ramsey, missed at church each Sunday—and to pass along news of the parish. It was a strain to have to speak so loudly, but he enjoyed his visits with the two. They were so appreciative and drank up news like sponges.

If he had not insisted that Elizabeth stay home and nurse her cold, she would have entertained the two with descriptions of what the ladies had worn to the service. Gresham was by no means a fashion Mecca, but to Mrs. Cobbe, who never left the confines of her bedroom, it was an opportunity to participate vicariously in village life. Mrs. Ramsey was almost as reclusive—she left her mother only when it was necessary to go to
Trumbles
or the bakery, or to tend to her vegetable garden. A combination of the wages the widow earned as a seamstress and parish assistance kept the two alive.

Andrew had to be careful how he offered this assistance, for both women were proud. He had learned that it was easier to purchase staples with their portion of the poor box proceeds and casually set them inside the door on his Monday visits than to attempt to press money into Mrs. Ramsey’s hands.

“Will you have a bite of lunch with us?” Mrs. Ramsey asked when Andrew rose from the bedside chair. She was a plain woman with a pock-marked complexion, but the flowers set about in every conceivable container proved she had a love of beauty.

“Thank you,” Andrew replied, “but I should see about Elizabeth.”

“What did you say, Ruth?” asked Mrs. Cobbe.

“I asked the vicar for lunch, but he has to leave,” she said loudly.

“Well, perhaps next week,” her mother said sweetly, nodding her understanding.

Sometimes Andrew accepted their offer of a meal in spite of their limited means, because he had learned over the years that poor people did not feel so poor when allowed to give occasionally. He was startled to discover his pocket watch read almost one o’clock when he stepped out into the sunlight again. Today’s calls were within walking distance, so he had left Rusty and the trap at the vicarage.
Those poor women
, he thought, chiding himself for running behind on his calls and staying so late. They would starve before interrupting the sermon.

He knew he was in hot water with Mrs. Paget, whom he had advised he would be home for lunch. So when he approached the back of the
Larkspur
from Church Lane and spotted Mr. Herrick helping Julia and her girls from the landau, he exchanged quick greetings with the Worthy sisters and turned into the carriage drive. He would stop for just a minute to see how she was coping with Philip’s departure.

“Tell me again he’s going to be all right,” Julia said after Aleda and Grace had greeted him and gone inside. Andrew sat with her on a bench in the courtyard, the west wing shielding them from the ever vigilant eyes of the Worthy sisters.

“He’s going to be just fine,” Andrew replied, raising her fingertips to his lips. It was obvious from the look of her green eyes that she had shed some tears earlier. He understood. He certainly wasn’t looking forward to Laurel’s departure next Monday, and
she
wasn’t even going very far and would be home every weekend. “He’s an intelligent boy, and this will be a good experience for him.”

“Of course it will.” She mustered up a smile for him, though it was clear to see that it took some effort.

“And it’s a blessing that he can come home once a month, you know?” Andrew reminded her. “Most lads in boarding schools see their families only on holidays.”

Grasping at that, she added, “And we stay so busy around here that a month will pass before we know it.”

“There, you see? He’s practically on his way home already.”

Now her smile became more genuine. “Thank you, Andrew.” She glanced back at the door. “Mrs. Herrick will be holding some lunch for us. I should go in now. Would you care to join us?”

“No, thank you. I told Mrs. Paget I’d be home at noon. She’ll have some cold shoulder waiting for me.”

“I see. Then you should hurry—” She stopped, suspicion narrowing her eyes. “Some cold shoulder? I’ve had to say good-bye to my son today, and you’re making a
joke
?”

He grimaced. “Forgive me, dear. It just slipped out.”

Julia stared at him for several long seconds, while Andrew, feeling miserable, chided himself for his lack of sensitivity. No doubt she was wondering why she ever agreed to marry him. Just as he was considering throwing himself upon his knees and begging for one more chance, she smiled.

“I never realized it before, but you’re just alike, you and Philip.”

“You’re not angry?”

She shook her head. “I
should
be, you know. But I suppose one woman giving you cold shoulder is enough for today.” Allowing him to assist her to her feet, she said, “Why isn’t Elizabeth making calls with you today?”

Relieved that she held no grudge, he replied, “She has a head cold.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is it a very bad one?”

“Not too bad, but I didn’t think people like Mrs. Cobbe should be exposed.”

He said good-bye with just a squeeze of her hand. Only a boorish fellow would expect a kiss from a woman who had so recently shed tears over her son’s departure.

But she surprised him by standing on her toes and leaning forward. “Thank you for being such a comfort, Andrew,” she said, just before planting a soft kiss upon his lips.

It put him in such a pleasant mood that he hummed all the way up Church Lane. Even the prospect of facing Mrs. Paget couldn’t take the bounce out of his steps. When the vicarage came into view, he noticed Laurel seated on the top step of the stoop with an open book in her lap. She looked up when the garden gate let out its usual squeak.

“Hello, Pet!” he called.

“Hello, Papa!” Apparently she had been waiting for him, for she put the book aside and jumped to her feet. “I thought you’d never get home!”

“Why, what’s happened?” he asked, sending a worried glance up to Elizabeth’s window. “Is your sister—”

“She’s upstairs, most likely crying her eyes out again.”

When the next knock came, Jonathan knew in his heart it was the vicar. He had expected it to be louder, more forceful, perhaps hard enough to rattle the windowpanes. With legs that seemed to have turned to wood, he rose from the chair by the window and opened the door.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Raleigh,” Vicar Phelps said.

He was the same as Jonathan remembered, from the broad shoulders to the neatly trimmed beard. “Won’t you come in, sir?” It was then that Jonathan realized he was still in his stocking feet, as his shoes were still at the side of the bed. He felt embarrassed about that, but it was too late to do anything about it now.

“Yes, thank you,” the vicar replied and walked into the room. From the tone of his voice it appeared he was taking great pains to keep himself under control.

Realizing he was wringing his hands like an underclassman before his orals, Jonathan wiped his palms upon the front of his pants and motioned to the only chair. “Would you care to have a seat?”

The vicar closed the door behind him. “I prefer to stand, thank you.”

It was ludicrous, the two of them exercising such courtesy as if they were just about to discuss favorite novels over tea and shortbread, when Jonathan was sure that his visitor would have much preferred pouncing upon him and ripping out his lungs. He stood there awkwardly while the pair of hazel eyes studied him. It was a relief when the vicar brought up the subject on both their minds.

“I will not ask you why you came here, Mr. Raleigh,” he said in a well-modulated voice.

Jonathan could imagine him using the same tone to explain the parable of the wheat and the tares to his congregation.

“I can only assume you still fancy yourself to harbor some feelings for my daughter.”

Jonathan straightened. “I love her, sir.”

“No doubt it seems that way to you.” Taking a step closer, Vicar Phelps clasped both hands behind his back and said, “You are still quite young, Mr. Raleigh. Oftentimes it takes years for a man to discover his true nature. Shall I save you some time and tell you something about yours?”

“Sir, if you would just allow me to—”

“You are shallow, Mr. Raleigh.” He took another step closer until they stood only two feet apart. “And just as an infant sits in the midst of his toys and frets for the one forbidden to him, you desire Elizabeth because she has no use for you.”

“That’s not true.” Swallowing hard, Jonathan said, “Perhaps it was true at one time, but I’ve changed, Vicar Phelps. I’ve become—”

“You’ve changed? I could preach a sermon on the likes of you.” He drew his lips sarcastically. “One about a leopard changing its spots comes to mind right away.”

I know that verse
, Jonathan realized. If only he could recall from where, surely the vicar would understand.
Isaiah? Ezekiel?

“So as you can see, Mr. Raleigh, your journey here has been—”

“Jeremiah!”

The vicar blinked, his sentence left hanging in the air. “I beg your pardon?”

“ ‘Can the Ethiopian change his skin, or the leopard his spots? Then may ye also do good, that are accustomed to do evil.’ ”

It was almost comical, how Vicar Phelps gaped at him. Jonathan gave a self-conscious shrug. “My grandfather, sir. He encouraged me to memorize scripture since I was a boy. But I confess it never meant anything to me until last January.”

Vicar Phelps’s eyes widened. “You’ve come to personal faith in Christ?”

“Yes, sir—in my grandfather’s parlor. I was practically suicidal with self-loathing. Please believe me, sir. I wouldn’t lie about something so serious.”

The face across from him actually paled. Jonathan couldn’t help but feel disappointed. He had not expected the vicar to shout with joy and
embrace
him, but surely a man of the cloth would take the news of a conversion without appearing as if suddenly stricken with a stomach ailment.

“Vicar Phelps?”