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Breakfast at home was almost always a silent affair, with the admiral devoting his attention entirely to his plate and Amelia dividing hers between her meal and her book. Most mornings, her food was neglected in favour of finding out what would happen next to one or other beloved character. That morning, however, neither book nor breakfast was attended to with much enthusiasm, for her lack of sleep afflicted her sorely.
“Dear me, Amelia!” Admiral Sudbury remarked when she yawned for the fourth or fifth time in quick succession. “I wonder if I ought to put my foot down about your gallivanting if it leaves you so weary. And you were not home particularly late last evening, were you?” His eyes twinkled. “Or perhaps it was merely the excitement you experienced at Roland Park. Tell me, have you met the dread Sir Benjamin yet?”
Amelia took a sudden interest in the contents of her plate, so that her answer, when it came, was scarcely more than a whisper.
“I assume you already know the answer, Papa. It was he who wrote to tell you that I was staying for dinner, was not it?”
“Indeed it was!” The admiral beamed. “And indeed, I did already suppose that you had met - but after all, one ought never to ask a question to which one does not already know the answer.”
Amelia flinched at hearing these words again on her father’s lips so soon after she had heard them on Devereaux’s. Her fork clattered noisily to the table, and in her eagerness to catch it, she let go the hand that had held open her book, which closed itself mercilessly, losing her place.
“Is something the matter?” Admiral Sudbury grew concerned, a frown darkening his usually merry features. “You do not quite seem yourself this morning, my dear.” His frown deepened. “I hope Sir Benjamin was not the terror you imagined. I might say his penmanship betrayed no beastly tendencies. It was altogether a very nice little note and I thought, as his sister and mother would be there also, there was no harm in allowing you to remain. Perhaps I ought to have come myself to collect you -”
“It was fine, Papa,” Amelia said, seeking to reassure her father and put an end to his worry. “Sir Benjamin was quite...” She fumbled for a word that would best describe her enigmatic, changeable host. “Agreeable.”
“Agreeable, eh?” The admiral looked crestfallen. “What a pity. I was hoping for a bit of excitement around here with. Still, I suppose agreeable is a better trait in one’s neighbours than any other. We must be grateful.”
Silence reigned undisturbed once more and after a few moments more Amelia pushed her plate aside, her meal barely touched but feeling quite certain she could eat no more. The admiral ate heartily, for little on earth could interrupt that gentleman’s appetite, and he seemed almost oblivious to Amelia’s presence at the table beside him. She took to gazing out of the window, and it was this that led her to notice some movement, to squint, and to gasp in surprise at the less than welcome guest who appeared, at that moment, to be making his way towards their front door.
“What’s that?” Admiral Sudbury asked, looking up from his meal and following Amelia’s gaze to the window. “Mr Connelly! Jolly good, I had hoped he would come a-calling.” He pushed himself back from the table, before glancing almost guiltily at his daughter. “That is, you do not mind him coming so early do you, Milly?”
“It is too late for me to mind it,” Amelia remarked, as the sound of movement in the corridor suggested that their guest had crossed the threshold. She scooped up her book, feeling sure that the worthy curate would not approve of her reading Mrs Radcliffe, particularly not at the breakfast table, and had just managed to rearrange her features into an expression of sanguine calm as the door flew open and their guest was welcomed in.
“Good morning, Connelly!” Admiral Sudbury called, taking a swig of his rapidly cooling tea. “Come in and sit with us. You’ll take a plate?”
“I have already eaten, Admiral.” The curate demurred, then, noticing Amelia, he recovered himself and offered an altogether different opinion. “But I should not be averse to taking a cup of tea in the company of such good friends. And perhaps a morsel of bread?”
“Good man!” The Admiral handed his plate to a servant, summoning a fresh pot of tea and additional refreshments for their guest.
Amelia slid her book onto her lap, shielding it from Mr Connelly’s eyes and, she hoped, his comments. He had once before had cause to lecture her on her choice of reading material and she did not feel quite equal to the task of receiving the lecture a second time so early in the day. She swallowed a yawn, but this, unfortunately, did not go unnoticed.
“I hope I am not calling on you too early, Miss Sudbury.” Mr Connelly smiled, but the effect was so wide and exaggerated as to appear almost painful on the curate’s thin face. “You know I am an early riser myself, and think it the very best course of action a Christian can undertake, to wake early and go about one’s tasks while the lazy man sleeps.”
“Aye, the admiralty would agree with you.” Amelia’s father chuckled. “I fear I could not stay in my bed half the morning, even if I wanted to. Years of activity on board ship has set me forever for waking early and retiring early. Ordinarily, Amelia has little choice but to wake early - nor should she choose otherwise. But we must allow her a little leeway today, Mr Connelly, for she was dining away from home last evening and therefore her normal routine was disrupted.”
“Oh?” Mr Connelly turned his obsequious smile on Amelia for a second time, evidently angling for detail. She did not provide it, and the admiral took the opportunity to explain.
“She went to call at Roland Park and, trapped by the weather, was invited to stay and dine with them.” He winked, heartily. “Although I have not yet been able to extract any worthwhile information regarding the new master of the house, unfortunately. All my Milly will say is that he is agreeable. Now, tell me, Curate, do you think she is truthful in this or is she keeping back some horror from father for fear of it upsetting me?”
“I would always have said that Miss Sudbury is entirely honest!” Mr Connelly said, with a loyalty Amelia was not sure she deserved. In fact, his hearty defence somewhat annoyed her. They were not well-acquainted, although their paths crossed a little more now that her father had sought to deepen his friendship. Even so, she could count on the fingers of one hand the notable exchanges she had shared with the young man beside her. What right had he to act as if he knew the inner workings of her mind? She opened her mouth to say as much, but the curate had begun to speak once more.
“I do hope that Sir Benjamin was a proper host, Miss Sudbury. I have not yet met him, myself, but one hears such stories -”
There was another flurry in the corridor, and both Amelia and the admiral exchanged confused looks until a low voice reached Amelia’s ears, and she smiled, the first genuine expression that had rested on her features all morning.
“Mr Connelly, it seems you will be afforded the opportunity to judge the man for yourself. Father, it appears we are to be the social centre of Westham this morning.”
The door opened, and Sir Benjamin Devereaux himself stood before them, clutching his hat to his chest, and wearing a smile that on any other man would have been tentative.
“Forgive the hour, Admiral Sudbury. We discovered this, after you had left, Miss Sudbury, and my sister did not like to think of your being without it. I took it upon myself to see it was returned to you.”
He passed her the reticule she had carried with her all day and not even realised was no longer in her possession, and as he did so their fingers brushed. Amelia let go the reticule too soon and it would have dropped to the ground, had Sir Benjamin’s grip not held fast. He set it down on the table and was poised to bid the party farewell when the admiral stood.
“Well, you must not lurk in the doorway, Sir Benjamin. Come in and be seated, do. I have just sent for more tea. You’ll take a cup? Excellent. Have you met our curate, Mr Connelly...?”
***
DEVEREAUX FOLDED HIMSELF, with difficulty, into a spare seat around the dining table. He had not been expecting to be invited to join the family, although he could not own to regretting the invitation. He had only ridden over so early so as to assure himself of Amelia’s being there but now that he had seen her again he wondered if he had made a mistake. She would not look at him but kept her eyes fixed on the table before her. It was her father who rose to the challenge of playing host, and a more jovial man Sir Benjamin had not met in all of Westham. Not that I have been looking, he thought. Still, he could not help but like Amelia’s father. He had the same forthright attitude as his daughter, he laughed loudly and often and made sitting around that particular table at that particular hour a pleasant occupation.
“You will join us for the service on Sunday, I hope?”
Ben turned, surprised to hear the Sudburys’ other guest speak, at last, when he had thus far been silent, shooting Ben the sort of looks he had grown to expect from new acquaintances in Westham.
“That is what one does on a Sunday, is not it?” Ben’s smart answer was out almost before he was aware of having thought it and although he won a scowl from the clergyman he thought he detected a sparkle of merriment in the admiral’s eyes.
“It is what most civilised members of society do on a Sunday,” the curate muttered, his unspoken inference being, of course, that Devereaux was not to be counted amongst them.
“If the church is only opened to the most civilised, sir, I wager your pews are more often empty than they are full.” Ben smiled, as sweetly as he could, to indicate that he meant his words in jest, however genuinely he might also feel them. Amelia had lifted her eyes to him at this exchange, and they widened as if she was not sure whether to laugh or scold him. She did neither, hurrying to change the subject, though whether this was for his sake or the clergyman’s, he was not sure.
“I hope you received Papa’s letter, Mr Connelly. I tried to deliver it whilst running errands yesterday but alas! You were not at home, nor at the church.” She smiled, ruefully. “It was a day of disappointments for me, for I left home with a list of tasks to accomplish and achieved not one of them.”
The curate’s features shifted, abruptly and completely. He shot a superior glance at Devereaux before turning a simpering smile on Miss Sudbury.
“Indeed, Miss Sudbury, I was quite disconsolate to have missed you! I stepped out to run a few errands of my own. What a pity our paths did not cross!”
He let out a snivelling laugh that was intended, Ben supposed, to be endearing, and to promote inquiry but as nobody asked any further question of him he allowed the laugh to die away before continuing on, unprompted, his voice taking on the timbre of a sermon, though his pulpit was but a seat at another man’s breakfast table.
“A curate’s time, I feel, is never truly his own, you see. There are always a great many tasks to be completed, parishioners to call upon, studies to adhere to, and many hours of solitary contemplation of the words of our great teacher.” He paused, before adding, unnecessarily, that teacher’s name. “Jesus.”
Ben nodded with interest as if he had never before heard mention of this particular messiah, and Amelia, catching his eye, struggled to swallow a laugh.
“I know you, Miss Sudbury, understand and share my great compassion for the poor. It is our responsibility, as civilised, Christian men - and women, of course, haha! - to devote to these poor, miserable wretches our time and our pity, as the Lord would have us do.”
“Mr Connelly,” Ben said, tiring of the lecture though it had scarcely begun. “Do you seek to help these miserable wretches on whom you lavish your time and pity? In a practical manner?”
Mr Connelly’s pious smile faltered.
“What do you mean, Sir Benjamin?”
“Well, if you see a man without work, do you make it your business to find him some? If a family is starving, do you provide them with food from your own kitchen?”
“I - I am a bachelor and scarcely have means of providing a hearty meal for myself. No, I, too, rely on charity -”
“Which you do not then share with those less fortunate than yourself?” Ben was baiting the man, then, but he did not care. He had little patience with those who made claims to piety and yet made no practical action to alleviate the suffering of those around them.
“Do you?”
Amelia’s crisp, musical voice rang like a bell, bringing all the men to attention. She was looking directly at Ben, at last, but instead of enjoying the victory of having won her attention to himself, Ben felt her challenge and was determined to meet it well.
“I am the master of an estate, Miss Sudbury. I have little choice but to take interest in the lives of my tenants. If I hear of them suffering, I do what I can to help them. Not to win rewards in heaven. God has seen fit to position me thus, I am sure he expects no less of me than to do my duty.”
“How interesting you speak of duty, Sir Benjamin, where I speak of charity -”
“Are they not one and the same?”
“Gentlemen!” Admiral Sudbury set down his teacup and laughed, merrily bringing the discussion to a close before it could grow any more heated. “I fear we are straying into territory far too learned for the breakfast table.” His eyes sought out Amelia’s. “We shall have to invite Sir Benjamin to dine here one night, Milly, shall we not? Then we shall be guaranteed of some good conversation.” He turned back to Devereaux, beaming with delight at what he evidently thought was a very good idea. “My daughter can give quite as good as she gets, Sir Benjamin, when it comes to discussions of moral philosophy and religion. Quite outfoxes poor Mr Connelly here, doesn’t she, Samuel?”
The curate turned a peculiar shade of purple and stammered a rebuttal, but Ben scarcely noticed. His eyes strayed once more to Amelia, and he found his interest rising yet again in this enigma of a young lady.
“If you would be kind enough to invite me, Admiral Sudbury, I would be only too eager to dine with you,” he said, fixing a warm, knowing smile on Amelia. She kept her gaze averted but colour seeped into her cheeks and Ben, noting the power he had on her, merely smiled all the wider. “I shall bring both my opinions and my wits, for I am sure I shall need both if I am to defend myself against your daughter.”