The Courtship of the Vicar's Daughter (71 page)

As the train pulled away from Droitwich Station, the last stop before Worcester, Andrew took Gabriel Patterson’s letter from his waistcoat pocket and read it again.

Dear Sir
,

Please pardon me for not recalling your name, but I am sending this letter to you because Philip Hollis once told me that his mother was engaged to marry the vicar of Gresham. I do not think he would forgive me if I were to send this to his mother, because it was obvious to me that he is very protective of her.

I was until recently a schoolmate of Philip’s, until a prank caused me to fracture my arm. Now that I am no longer at the Josiah Smith Academy, I fear that Philip will bear the brunt of the cruelty that pervades the whole atmosphere of the school. At the time I left, he was most miserable and longed to go home.

The letter went on to describe some incidents, such as a frog squashed into a textbook and even physical assaults. Behavior that one could expect when dozens of boys were housed under one roof, similar to things Andrew had experienced during his own boarding school years. While he had taken it upon himself to warn Philip to expect such treatment, he had also held the opinion held by most men—that bullies were an inevitable part of life and it built a boy’s character to endure them. But it was the last paragraph of the letter that had prevented him from enjoying his breakfast, until he finally felt compelled to grab his hat and coat and hurry down to the Shrews-bury station.

Sir, I consider it my good fortune to have broken my arm, for it saved me from that wretched place. But I saw boys whose spirits were being broken every day. Is not a person’s spirit more important than an arm? Will Philip have to wait until he is likewise physically injured before he can escape?

Overly dramatic it was, as if this Gabriel Patterson were an aspiring wordsmith at heart. But combined with Andrew’s memory of Philip’s declining weight and of the tears he had witnessed on the riverbank the day of the Durwins’ wedding, he could not in good conscience ignore the letter. He was not sure what he hoped to accomplish today. Perhaps he would insist that Philip accompany him to meet with the school’s headmaster. Or at least be able to reassure himself that he was doing right by keeping silent.

Whatever action he would decide to take, he was glad he had gone ahead and caught the morning train. He had promised to help with archery practice tomorrow, and Sunday was of course out of the question. And Monday seemed too far away, if Philip was as miserable as the letter stated.
Give me discernment, Father
, he prayed.

Philip could not tell who had tripped him as he lay with legs splayed across the staircase and his books were being trampled by dozens of pairs of feet hurrying to lectures. The worse part was not that his chin throbbed from violent contact with the edge of a step, but the knot of boys congregating on the landing below for the sole purpose of laughing at him. Glaring down at them, he roused himself to his knees and attempted to gather his textbooks. But no one would stop, until seconds later an authoritative voice demanded, “What’s going on here?”

It was the Latin instructor, Mr. Blake, who spoke. “To classes—on with you!” he ordered the boys below while scooping up a chemistry text. When Philip was finally on his feet with textbooks gathered into his arms, Mr. Blake asked him what had happened.

Isn’t it obvious?
Philip thought, staring dully back at him. Surely any reasonable person could deduce what had happened from the intensity of the jeers launched up at him.
Are all the adults here blind?

“I tripped, sir,” he mumbled.

“Yes? Well, it was bound to happen, the way you boys rush down the stairs. Haste makes waste, you know.”

“Yes, sir,” Philip told him. “I’ll be more careful.”

When it happened again an hour later, this time as he was on his way down the busy corridor to another lecture, he forgot about his books and jumped to his feet in time to catch the self-congratulatory jeer Tupper was sending back in his direction. Elbowing his way through the boys between them, he jumped on the upperclassman’s back and they both fell to the floor. He flailed into the older boy with his fists as a circle of shouting, laughing boys surrounded them. It was Westbrook who broke up the fight, grabbing Philip by the collar and jerking him to his feet.

“You know better than to touch an upperclassman, Hollis!” he growled. Meanwhile Tupper struggled to his knees, fishing for a handkerchief for his bleeding nose.

“He started it!” Philip answered, matching Westbrook’s glare. “And I’ll make him even more sorry if he trips me again!”

“I didn’t touch you, Hollis!” Tupper exclaimed through the handkerchief held up to his face. “You’re as daft as your fat friend!”

Westbrook shoved Philip in the direction of his strewn books. “Go to lecture, Hollis. And you can forget about lunch today—you’ll be running laps.”

Two hours later, as Philip was rounding the corner of the building to begin his fourth lap, he spotted a hackney cab drawn up the drive by two horses. He had no interest in learning who the passenger might be, so he resumed staring dully at the ground in front of him. Just as he made it to the far side of the building, a familiar voice hailed him.

“Philip?”

Incredulously, he halted and turned. Vicar Phelps stood next to the cab, waving an arm. Philip began running toward him, and forgetting how embarrassed he was at any public displays of affection, he threw himself into the vicar’s arms. As he burst into tears against the man’s broad shoulder, a hand clapped him gently on the back. “There, there now,” the vicar soothed.

After a minute or two of this consolation, Philip became embarrassed and pulled away. “I’m sorry, sir. I just …”

Vicar Phelps would not let go of his arm. Narrowing his eyes, he said, “What happened to your chin?”

“I was tripped on the stairs.” The memory of being laughed at again was far worse than the dull throbbing of his bruised chin, but he blinked his eyes and forbade any more tears. Then the question finally occurred to him. “Why are you here?”

The vicar’s face wore a frown of concern. “To see about you, Philip. Why are you running out here by yourself? Isn’t it close to lunchtime?”

Staring at the ground, he replied, “I fought with an upperclassman.”

“Yes?”

Quickly Philip felt compelled to explain, lest the vicar think he was a troublemaker. “He tripped me twice, Vicar.”

“You didn’t have to tell me that, Philip. You’re not the sort of boy who picks fights.” Vicar Phelps glanced over at the building. “What do you think we should do? Talk with the headmaster?”

Hopelessness deflated Philip’s shoulders. This was not Gresham. Beyond extending sympathy, there was nothing the vicar could do. “It won’t do any good.”

The man scratched at his bearded cheek. “Hmm. Then I suppose we’ve no other choice. Nip up to your room and collect your belongings while I inform whoever should be concerned that you’re leaving.”

“Sir?”

“Let’s go home. Do hurry, will you? I didn’t tell Elizabeth where I was going for fear she might let it slip to your mother. She’ll fret herself sick if we miss that last train.”

The mention of “home” brought intense longing. “But the money … Mother …” He swallowed a sob. “I don’t want to waste Mother’s money, and everybody will think I’m a quitter.”

“Your mother will agree with my decision, Philip. No amount of money is as important to her as you are. There’s no shame in leaving an intolerable situation. You gave it a try.
I
wouldn’t stay in a place where I was repeatedly mistreated. I don’t know why we force children to do so.”

As Philip was opening his mouth to protest that he really thought he could tough it out for the rest of the school year, the vicar raised a finger to his lips. “If you don’t want to spend another night in Worcester, you’ll hurry!”

He thought his heart would burst. With a whoop of happiness, Philip caught the vicar into a ferocious embrace, then raced for the door. He was halfway up the stairs when he realized he had not told the vicar that the headmaster would be at lunch. But he thought it best to do as he was told. Fortunately, Westbrook was still at lunch with the rest of his dormitory mates, so he was able to collect his things unmolested.

Passing Westbrook’s bed on his way to the door, Philip slowed his steps. Would he not enjoy the memory for years to come of having pitched the monitor’s belongings and bedclothes out the window? The temptation lasted only a fraction of a second. God had answered his nightly prayer to take him out of this wretched place. He didn’t think an act of pettiness was the proper way to show his gratitude.

“My name is Andrew Phelps, Mr. Houghton,” Andrew said to the white-haired man at the head of the faculty table, where he had been directed by a student. “I’m withdrawing Philip Hollis as of this moment.”

Headmaster Alfred Houghton swallowed the mouthful he had been chewing when Andrew approached and asked, “Under whose authority?”

“Under the authority that I’ll be his father in another three weeks.”

Glances were exchanged among the other men at the table. The man seated at the headmaster’s right motioned him closer, and a whispered conference took place. Finally straightening, the elderly gentleman inquired, “Has the boy’s mother granted permission for him to leave?”

“She will be glad of it, once she hears how your faculty denied your students protection from intense bullying.”

Mr. Houghton’s cheeks reddened. “It is not our policy to grant refunds, Mr. Phelps.”

On impulse, Andrew took the envelope from his pocket. “I have a letter here written by a certain Gabriel Patterson, whom I’m sure you recall left this school with a fractured arm incurred under dubious circumstances. It would make compelling evidence in a court of law. Perhaps some newspapers would be interested as well.”

There was another hurried whispered conference, and then the headmaster told him, “Mr. Courtland will draft a cheque.
Excluding
three full month’s tuition and board, you understand.”

That’s better than what I expected
, Andrew thought, nodding. Now that he had had a little time to think about it, he was a little stunned that he had taken it upon himself to withdraw Philip. But he knew Julia’s heart. Even if she would have recovered nothing of the money, he was certain she would be of the mind that her son’s welfare was more important.

They arrived in Shrewsbury at nine o’clock, and then Andrew had to retrieve Rusty and his trap from the livery stable near the station. It was almost ten by the time they reached Gresham. “I still can’t believe this day is happening,” Philip told him after knocking on the
Larkspur
’s courthouse door.

Andrew smiled back. “It’s been a strange one, all right.”

“Master Philip?” Mrs. Beemish said after answering the door with candle in hand. “Vicar? Is something wrong?”

For a second it appeared that the boy would wrap his arms around her. “I’m home to stay, Mrs. Beemish!”

“Indeed?” Still looking perplexed, the housekeeper smiled and stepped back out of their way. “Well, your mother turned in just a half hour ago. Perhaps you should wake her?”

Philip started off in that direction but then turned to Andrew. “I’m sure she’ll want to speak with you too, sir. Will you come in?”