older girl in that family, that Sophia sent to Mrs Bryers’ school?’ he asked.
Gertrude shrugged in irritation at the mention of the girl from the Ash-Pits who had so outshone her own daughters at reading and writing.
‘Possibly so, Osmond. In fact, I have another daughter of theirs as maidservant – see, over there? Now do not scold me, for I took pity on her.’
Calthorpe identified the curly-haired maid as the one who had taken his son’s fancy, and nodded his approval.
‘That was well done, my love, an act of Christian charity.’
She smiled coolly. ‘Thank you, Osmond. One does not always trumpet one’s charitable deeds to the world, as some do.’
Polly’s pink cheeks and fluttering eyelashes assured Osmond of his disturbing effect on her. Little temptress! He looked forward to a leisurely pursuit of Polly, culminating in capture and ultimate possession. He’d show her! The very thought of her softness aroused his hardness. Life in Beversley need not be such a bore after all.
Edward tried not to look at the Luckets, having made certain that Susan was not with them, yet his head turned again towards that poor woman whose dull eyes stared unseeingly into space while her restless hands clawed at a black leather-bound prayer book she had picked up, though she could not read.
Edward suddenly tensed, and his heart leaped. Who was that slight figure sitting in shadow at the back of the church, her head bowed and her face hidden by her bonnet? She was dressed in the plain calico gown of a maidservant, and she was – was she . . .?
He willed her to look up and meet his eyes.
And she did. Yes, she was Susan, little Susan. The large grey eyes met his for a brief moment and then looked down again.
Edward experienced a tremor, an increase in his heartbeat. He saw again a cheerful, ragged little girl defending Goody Firkin; a serious-faced child with a thirst for knowledge, almost trampled underfoot by his horse; a charity child outstripping her betters at school; a girl with a shadow in her eyes, glimpsed in the fields at haymaking and harvest time.
And now she was here again, older, taller, her body rounded into a woman’s shape. Was it possible that those wretched supplicants for parish relief were her family? Yes, he recognised them, the surly man, the cross-eyed boy – and that poor lost-looking soul was her mother, incredible as it seemed. Edward longed above everything to help Susan, to assist her and relieve her of anxiety in any way he could.
As Susan silently repeated the words of the ‘Our Father’, she sensed an unspoken command, and against her will she raised her eyes to the Calthorpe stall and the dark blue gaze fixed intently upon her. She recognised Edward, the younger son now grown to manhood, strong and ruddy-complexioned. He was smiling, and she knew it was for her alone. Just for a moment their eyes met, then Susan hastily lowered her head for shame: he too would witness the public spectacle this morning.
When Dr Gravett passed the Luckets’ pew on his dignified progress up the aisle, the sour smell of unwashed flesh assailed his nostrils, and he frowned in revulsion; the verger should have warned him. Another time the applicants would have to wait outside in the porch. He glared at the sexton, who gave the signal for fiddles, flutes and voices to begin.
‘Let us, with a gladsome mind,
praise the Lord, for He is kind.
For His mercies ay endure,
ever faithful, ever sure!’
The rector cut them short after four verses, and, taking his place at the lectern, began to intone Morning Prayer. The General Confession, Absolution, Lord’s Prayer, Versicles and Responses followed in brisk succession, and the rector settled into his high-backed chair to endure the sung Venite and Te Deum. He then read the parable of the talents from St Matthew’s Gospel, extending it to include the preceding parable of the wise and foolish virgins, as not inappropriate for the occasion. As
Gertrude shrugged in irritation at the mention of the girl from the Ash-Pits who had so outshone her own daughters at reading and writing.
‘Possibly so, Osmond. In fact, I have another daughter of theirs as maidservant – see, over there? Now do not scold me, for I took pity on her.’
Calthorpe identified the curly-haired maid as the one who had taken his son’s fancy, and nodded his approval.
‘That was well done, my love, an act of Christian charity.’
She smiled coolly. ‘Thank you, Osmond. One does not always trumpet one’s charitable deeds to the world, as some do.’
Polly’s pink cheeks and fluttering eyelashes assured Osmond of his disturbing effect on her. Little temptress! He looked forward to a leisurely pursuit of Polly, culminating in capture and ultimate possession. He’d show her! The very thought of her softness aroused his hardness. Life in Beversley need not be such a bore after all.
Edward tried not to look at the Luckets, having made certain that Susan was not with them, yet his head turned again towards that poor woman whose dull eyes stared unseeingly into space while her restless hands clawed at a black leather-bound prayer book she had picked up, though she could not read.
Edward suddenly tensed, and his heart leaped. Who was that slight figure sitting in shadow at the back of the church, her head bowed and her face hidden by her bonnet? She was dressed in the plain calico gown of a maidservant, and she was – was she . . .?
He willed her to look up and meet his eyes.
And she did. Yes, she was Susan, little Susan. The large grey eyes met his for a brief moment and then looked down again.
Edward experienced a tremor, an increase in his heartbeat. He saw again a cheerful, ragged little girl defending Goody Firkin; a serious-faced child with a thirst for knowledge, almost trampled underfoot by his horse; a charity child outstripping her betters at school; a girl with a shadow in her eyes, glimpsed in the fields at haymaking and harvest time.
And now she was here again, older, taller, her body rounded into a woman’s shape. Was it possible that those wretched supplicants for parish relief were her family? Yes, he recognised them, the surly man, the cross-eyed boy – and that poor lost-looking soul was her mother, incredible as it seemed. Edward longed above everything to help Susan, to assist her and relieve her of anxiety in any way he could.
As Susan silently repeated the words of the ‘Our Father’, she sensed an unspoken command, and against her will she raised her eyes to the Calthorpe stall and the dark blue gaze fixed intently upon her. She recognised Edward, the younger son now grown to manhood, strong and ruddy-complexioned. He was smiling, and she knew it was for her alone. Just for a moment their eyes met, then Susan hastily lowered her head for shame: he too would witness the public spectacle this morning.
When Dr Gravett passed the Luckets’ pew on his dignified progress up the aisle, the sour smell of unwashed flesh assailed his nostrils, and he frowned in revulsion; the verger should have warned him. Another time the applicants would have to wait outside in the porch. He glared at the sexton, who gave the signal for fiddles, flutes and voices to begin.
‘Let us, with a gladsome mind,
praise the Lord, for He is kind.
For His mercies ay endure,
ever faithful, ever sure!’
The rector cut them short after four verses, and, taking his place at the lectern, began to intone Morning Prayer. The General Confession, Absolution, Lord’s Prayer, Versicles and Responses followed in brisk succession, and the rector settled into his high-backed chair to endure the sung Venite and Te Deum. He then read the parable of the talents from St Matthew’s Gospel, extending it to include the preceding parable of the wise and foolish virgins, as not inappropriate for the occasion. As
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