Sir Gareth Blades greeted his brother-in-law with great pleasure. ‘Alan, my dear fellow,’ he declared, flicking the touch of grey at the other man’s temples. ‘You’re getting very distinguished. When do I greet you as my lord bishop?’
Alan Trimmer laughed. ‘Never, I hope,’ he answered. ‘I fear I don’t have the legs for gaiters.’ He was a man of about forty with finely drawn features and light-brown hair. He was a little taller than his brother-in-law, but much slimmer. ‘In fact,’ he went on thoughtfully, looking down at the other man’s muscular calves, ‘I’m not sure whether you don’t have a much better figure for them than I.’
The baronet held up one hand in a defensive gesture. ‘Heaven forbid!’ he declared fervently. ‘I suspect that even the church at its most lax would not consider good legs for a bishop’s gaiters to be sufficient reason for entering the ranks of the clergy.’
Trimmer grinned wryly. ‘You’d be surprised,’ he answered. ‘What brings you here, anyway?’
‘Purely a desire to visit my dear sister and her charming family,’ Gareth replied, raising his glass to the lady in question.
‘Gammon,’ his sister replied frankly, even while she bestowed a fond smile upon him. ‘I very much suspect you’ve been with friends in the area and have outstayed your welcome.’
‘Not at all,’ her brother replied. ‘Quite the reverse, in fact. Houghton begged me to stay a little longer, but, out of loyalty to you….’ He glanced at Aurelia, broke off, then added in another tone, ‘Oh very well, then, if you must have it. Christina Langland turned up with all four of her daughters in tow, and they wouldn’t leave me alone. If I had stayed, I would have ended up either being very rude to them, or finding myself in parson’s mousetrap, so I pleaded family reasons and made good my escape.’
‘I knew it!’ his sister declared. ‘Forty years old and you are still evading your responsibilities.’
‘By no means,’ Sir Gareth replied, getting out a box of snuff and offering his brother-in-law a pinch before taking some himself. ‘I’ve no more objection to my responsibilities than any other man; it’s my pursuers I want to evade.’
‘Stop splitting hairs, Gareth,’ said his sister firmly. ‘You know that it is high time you married.’
‘Possibly. But I haven’t yet found a woman that I want to put in Mama’s place, and until I do, I’ll remain a bachelor.’ His sister looked unconvinced, so he added coaxingly, ‘My dear Aurelia, I have before me in you and Alan an example of perfect wedded bliss. Surely you don’t wish me to settle for anything less?’
‘You don’t want the title to die out with you, though,’ put in Alan Trimmer.
‘I’d rather it didn’t, but I’m not going to get worked up about it. Worldly vanity, my dear brother,’ he added piously, casting his eyes to heaven.
‘Play actor,’ laughed the other, cuffing him on his arm.
‘Besides, who’s to say that I couldn’t arrange for the title to go to one of your boys?’ Gareth suggested.
‘I say that you shouldn’t,’ said Aurelia firmly. ‘The title should go to your son, not mine.’
‘Well, don’t try to marry me off whilst I’m here,’ said the baronet firmly. ‘Not to that plainly dressed spinster, nor to anyone else of your acquaintance!’
They were all quiet for a few moments, then Sir Gareth changed the subject by saying: ‘There was another matter that I wanted to bring to your attention. It has come to my ears that our disreputable cousin Bernard is no more.’
‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed Aurelia, dropping her embroidery in her surprise. ‘Do you mean he has actually … passed away?’
‘Yes, if such a peaceful sounding expression could be used to describe his manner of death. He was killed in a drunken brawl in Paris.’
‘Paris!’ Alan Trimmer echoed. ‘Last time you heard of him he was in London surely.’
‘He made London decidedly too hot for himself,’ the baronet answered. ‘He was forced to flee abroad. The authorities sent his effects back to me. There were precious few of them, in all truth; but among them was a cravat pin.’ He reached into his pocket as he spoke. ‘I’ve a feeling that this was made from a brooch belonging to Grandmama which was promised to you, Aurelia, and which he purloined. I thought you might like to have it back.’
Aurelia put out her hand reluctantly, and accepted the ornament that he placed in it. ‘It should have been mine,’ she agreed, ‘but I feel strangely reluctant to take possession of it now.’
‘Then keep it for one of the boys,’ her brother suggested. ‘I should have thought that something with a grisly history would suit Oliver down to the ground. In fact, only convince him that Bernard was wearing it at the moment of his demise and it will no doubt become his favourite piece.’
Aurelia gave a short laugh. ‘You’re absolutely right of course,’ she agreed, putting the pin away amongst her sewing things.
At that moment, the boys came in announcing that they had completed their task, and the subject was changed.
‘But surely my dear Aurelia, you do not intend to ignore your brother’s expressed wishes?’ Alan Trimmer asked his wife that evening when he went to her bedchamber in order to say good night.
‘Certainly not,’ she replied with dignity. She was sitting up in her bed, a light shawl about her shoulders, for the evening was warm, and a rather fetching night cap upon her head. ‘It is simply that I do not believe that Gareth knows his own mind in this matter.’
‘Not know his own mind? A man of his age? I hope you will not allow him to hear you express that opinion!’ He wandered over to the bedroom window, lifted the curtain to glance out, then let it drop again. ‘Aurelia, my dear, it never ceases to amaze me how wherever we go, you manage so quickly to contrive to make the place seem like home.’
‘Thank you, my love,’ replied his wife, much gratified, ‘Which is exactly why I desire dear Gareth to find a wife who will make him comfortable. And how is he to find one, pray, if his nearest and dearest do not make shift to help him?’
‘From what I have heard, my dear, plenty of ladies have already been making strenuous efforts on his behalf,’ said the clergyman, sitting on the bed again, taking hold of his wife’s hand and turning her wedding ring idly with his long fingers. ‘I see no reason why you should add to their ranks.’
‘There is every reason, Alan. All of those ladies have some other aim in view apart from Gareth’s happiness. Christina Langland’s girls are as plain as a set of schoolroom chairs, and she is desperate to marry them off; why, the oldest one must be quite twenty-four! If I do not miss my guess, Millicent Copthorne was there as well, and everyone knows that that family has nothing to offer but debts! As for Annis Hughes, she has been chasing him for ever. If he did marry her, I doubt very much if he could ever be sure that any child she produced really was his.’
‘Aurelia!’ her husband declared in shocked tones.
‘Well, it’s true,’ she replied firmly. ‘Would you desire a sister-in-law like that?’
‘I confess I would not,’ he admitted, ‘but as for the other ladies, I have only heard you say that one is poor and others are not pretty. Would you condemn them for such reasons?’
‘Not condemn them, no; but I refuse to permit any woman to marry my brother simply to get herself out of her own difficulties. No, say what you will, Alan, I am much more likely to find him a suitable bride. After all, my motives are by far the purest.’
‘But how are you to achieve that, dearest?’ Trimmer asked his wife. He got up to blow out the candles on the mantelpiece and on the dressing-table. ‘After all, you have no acquaintance here at all – unless you count the lady who was visiting earlier on today.’ His task accomplished, he wandered back to sit on the bed again.
Mrs Trimmer, who had been leaning back against her pillows in a relaxed manner, suddenly sat bolt upright. ‘Alan! What a splendid idea!’
Her husband frowned. ‘My dear Aurelia, do not think me a fault finder, but did you not say that the oldest Miss Langland, at twenty-four, was too old for your brother? My suspicion is that Miss Whittaker may easily be older than that.’
‘No no, I do not mean that she would make a match for him,’ his wife said hastily, ‘but she said herself that she has lived here all her life. She will be bound to know all the young ladies who live around here and which ones are eligible and which are not. She will be the perfect person to consult.’
‘My dear, are you sure that that is wise?’ he ventured, his brow creasing a little.
‘I see no reason why not. Oh, I will be discreet, of course, but anyone could tell from looking at the lady that she is transparently honest.’
‘That is not what I was thinking,’ he replied.
‘Explain?’
‘I overheard you telling your brother that he had captivated her with his fine eyes, or some such thing. If she has become enamoured of him, then surely it would be cruel in the extreme to ask her help in finding a wife for him.’
‘Oh fiddle,’ declared his sensible wife. ‘People do not fall in love in that kind of instantaneous way. She was flustered at meeting a strange man, that is all.’
‘I’m sure it is just as you say, my love,’ replied Mr Trimmer with a smile. ‘I was just wondering …’ His voice tailed off as he stopped fiddling with his wife’s ring, and ran his fingers up the inside of her arm to her elbow.
‘Yes, Alan?’ she replied innocently.
‘I know you have had a good deal to do today,’ he continued, looking down at the coverlet.
‘That’s true,’ she agreed.
‘I was wondering if you were very tired, or…?’
‘No, Alan,’ she answered, pulling back the coverlet in invitation. ‘I’m not tired at all.’
The members of Canon Whittaker’s household had never kept very late hours, and after Emily had retired for the night, especially in the summer months when she would go to her room before it was properly dark, she would find it impossible to sleep before she had read a few pages of a book.
Before meeting Nathalie, her reading matter had often been Shakespeare. She would sometimes close her eyes and try to imagine what the different characters might look like and how they might sound as they spoke their lines.
Now, she had slightly different subject matter to absorb her, for she had borrowed from Nathalie a copy of Mrs Radcliffe’s novel, The Mysteries of Udolpho, published just a few years ago. Yet although she picked it up once her bedroom door was closed, she sat with it unopened on her knee, her thoughts going instead to the ideas that she had had for a book when she had been in Mablethorpe. As she recalled the pictures that had come into her mind, the hero seemed to take on new life, and she now realized that he bore the features of Sir Gareth Blades. Blades! Now there was a fine name for a character in a book.
She remembered the conversation that they had had concerning Canon Mitchell. Of course it had been very shocking for Sir Gareth to suggest that the clergyman might have pushed his wife down the stairs. What a splendid incident it would make in a novel, however! Perhaps the principal characters might discover that an elderly clergyman had murdered his wife. Perhaps the heroine might discover the body and fling herself into the hero’s arms out of shock!
Blushing at the very thought, Emily opened the novel on her lap and began to read. Minutes later, she burst out laughing, for on reaching the third page, it became clear that the heroine was called Emily! Perhaps, then, she was destined to be a heroine after all.