An Accomplished Woman by Jude Morgan Page A

have you had her and,
more importantly, when does she leave?’
    ‘She is a — a little
indisposed, so she is taking a late breakfast in her room. Oh! that reminds me
— I forgot to ask the maid about Mrs Vawser’s coddled egg.’
    ‘Her coddled egg.’
    ‘Yes — only I am afraid
it was not quite soft enough for her yesterday, for it must be just right . .
.’ Rising, Emma turned. ‘Lydia, what are you doing?’
    Lydia had taken her
pencil and tablets from her reticule, and was writing it down. ‘There. Now, my
dearest Emma, let me read it back to you. “Mrs Vawser’s coddled egg ... I am
afraid it was not quite soft enough for her yesterday ...” Shall I go on?’
    ‘No, you tormenting
creature. Perhaps I do fuss over her a little. And here you are — my
dear Lydia, I have asked you nothing - how you are, and your brother in London
and the children—’
    ‘Ah, Miss Templeton!’
The Reverend Mr Paige burst in like a draught. ‘I thought I heard your voice.
You must pardon me for intruding upon your tête-à-tête.’ He pronounced the
French with breezy condescension, as if quoting baby language. ‘You must pardon
me also for paying my very brief respects to you as I am on my way to an
urgent parish visit.’ He bowed. ‘Ma’am, your servant: I hope I find you well,
likewise your excellent father: your family in London also. They flourish, I
hope?’
    Yes, thank you, Mr
Paige: I was very glad to see them, and I am glad to see old friends again. And
as I was about to say to Emma, I bear an invitation: my father would be very
happy if you were able to dine with us at the Priory tomorrow. Your guest Mrs
Vawser also, of course.’ Lydia glanced sidelong at Emma, who gave a grimace of
thankfulness.
    ‘Tomorrow, ma’am,
certainly — we have, my dear, I believe, no engagements; and indeed it would be
hard to think of one that could not be willingly put aside to enjoy the
hospitality of Dr Templeton. And that of Miss Templeton, of course, our
excellent hostess upon such occasions.’ He gave another of his crisp bows. Mr
Paige was full of these pointless punctilios, which left you floundering for a
response. He was a robust, unresting man with a round, sleek head and a
perpetual close-lipped smile — not of cheer but a sort of professional
assertion, as if defying anyone to be impiously miserable.’ If I may venture to
say so, Miss Templeton — in my pastoral capacity, call it — I do not think you
in your best looks. I believe I have the reason. London. The air of the modern
Babylon is not conducive to health. This is, I suspect,’ he added, with a
significant nod at his wife, ‘the source of poor Mrs Vawser’s trouble. Miss
Templeton, I have not, I hope, offended: I speak from solicitude: and in the
absolute confidence that country air will effect a swift restoration.’
    As so often with Mr
Paige, there seemed no appropriate reply, beyond diving under the table, or
bursting into song: so Lydia made do with thanking him.
    ‘I wonder, Miss
Templeton,’ he went on, slapping his gloves against his potent thighs before
putting them thrustfully on, ‘did you observe, during your late stay in the
metropolis, much evidence among the populace of continued disaffection — of a
rebellious and insubordinate temper? — But of course I cannot stay to give your
answer the attention it merits: you must tell me at dinner tomorrow: till that
time I am full of anticipation.’
    ‘What am I to say?’
Lydia protested, when he had whisked out.’ After all I am disaffected,
rebellious and insubordinate myself
    ‘Hush,’ Emma said,
listening for the boom of the front door, ‘you know Mr Paige does not care for
that sort of jesting.’
    Mr Paige did not care
for any kind of jesting — alas for him, and still more alas for his wife, Lydia
thought.
    It was nine years ago
that the young vicar of Heystead, as energetic a huntsman as a moral reformer,
had gone in quest of a bride, and brought back from his own county