Distant Voices Page 15

  That was all. He did not look back. They watched as the small boat rowed out to the fishing boat anchored in the middle of the harbour. Already its sails were lifting.

  ‘Where will they go?’ Caroline asked sadly.

  ‘They’ll meet with a Frenchman in the Channel.’ For a moment the butler sat still, staring after his master. ‘Mr Charles will go to ground for a while in France while we see which way the land lies here. There will be a hue and cry for him when they find he’s been released in error.’ He grinned complacently. ‘Nowhere along the coast will be safe while they look for him.’ He shook the reins. ‘No time to hang around for you, either, Miss. I must get you home. Once you’re there, you’ll be safe.’

  She did not let herself look back and in seconds the chaise had swung back into the network of busy streets.

  Her father was waiting for her in his study. ‘I expected you back long since.’ He frowned. Then he went on more eagerly, ‘You saw the bishop?’

  She smiled wearily: ‘The bishop was very hospitable, Papa. I was able to carry out Charles – that is, Mr Dawson’s – instructions.’

  ‘And when are we to see Mr Dawson home?’ He was watching her closely.

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Papa. No doubt he will contact his father when he returns.’

  The rector was obviously dying to ask more, but something about his daughter’s bleak expression stopped him short. He walked over to the window and stared out at the sunlit garden. ‘The archdeacon’s groom came over this afternoon and collected Marianne’s mare. He says you can go and fetch Star tomorrow,’ he said quietly. He turned and looked at his daughter. ‘I understand Marianne is rather upset.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Caroline replied listlessly. ‘I shall go and see her, of course.’

  He sighed. ‘I think you should. And now, perhaps you should go up and rest before dinner. It will give you the chance to catch up with learning the Bible passages I gave you.’ He sat down at his desk and pulled a book towards him. When he did not look up again she understood that the interview was closed.

  Marianne was tearful. ‘But where did you go? Where?’

  Caroline shrugged. ‘I’ve told you. All I did was ride into the countryside with him. Somewhere outside his parish – I don’t know where.’

  ‘But why? Why you?’

  ‘Because I brought him the message.’ Patiently Caroline repeated once again the story she had decided to tell. It was after all, so near the truth.

  ‘He hasn’t come back, you know,’ Marianne went on miserably. ‘He said he would talk to Papa the next day. But he didn’t.’

  ‘I am sure he intended to. I am sure he will as soon as he can.’ Caroline stood up wearily. ‘I don’t know any more than I’ve told you, Marianne. He didn’t confide in me.’ That last at least was true.

  The Rectory was intolerable. Her days were as meaningless as before, boring, filled with the chores of everyday life – interspersed with learning the interminable verses her father set her. Firmly she suppressed her rebellious desire to escape. She had to help her father. But even he could not stop her dreams. And dream she did of her few stolen hours with the handsome rector of Pengate.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about him. Those last few words to her in the chaise: had he meant them? Had he meant he would come back? She lived again and again his quick kiss on her hand and the disturbing sight of him, naked to the waist, his muscular body so close to hers as he changed his clothes. Where was he? Had he reached France safely or had his ship been intercepted by an excise cutter in the Channel? She didn’t even know that. Her father had spoken of the abortive raid with fury, and later he had mentioned that the ringleader had been caught and then allowed to escape. He gave no sign that he knew who the man in question was. Soon even those few mentions stopped and the smugglers were not spoken of again. Once she had gone furtively to the stable to see if any kegs were hidden there. If there ever had been, they were there no longer.

  Caroline’s only moments of real pleasure were her visits to Susan Forrester, whose tiny new daughter had, to her astonishment and pleasure, been christened Caroline. She knew Jake had no news; the smuggling had come to an end. No repairs had been started on the cottage.

  Then came the invitation to the bishop’s Michaelmas party. The reception rooms at the palace were as usual crowded. At her father’s side Caroline stood looking around, still listless, her face pale and strained. She had not wanted to come. Almost at once she saw the Rixbys on the far side of the room and her heart sank. Marianne no longer bothered to hide her hostility to Caroline, or the fact that she blamed her for what she took to be Charles’s jilting of her. She replied to Caroline’s tentative smile with a scowl and a toss of her head, then she turned back to the young man at her side.

  ‘Young Lord Wentworth.’ Mr Hayward had noticed the direction of his daughter’s gaze. ‘It seems Miss Rixby is no longer pining for her lover’s memory.’ He noted his daughter’s heightened colour with a sad nod. Just as he had suspected. The silly child imagined herself in love with Dawson. He sighed. How providential that the bishop’s elder son had absented himself from his parish – for his health, the story from the palace went – and a curate left in charge at Pengate. George Hayward bowed absent-mindedly to a colleague. When he turned back, Caroline had gone.

  The gardens were deserted. Her shoes crunched on the carpet of golden leaves as she made her way along the yew hedge and through into the garden beyond. There were leaves on the grass beneath the swing; leaves had drifted onto its seat in the still afternoon. She stood for a moment, her hand lightly caressing the rope. The only sound came from a robin sitting on a trellis nearby, trilling its song into the clear autumn air.

  ‘I hope you remember that you are too heavy for that swing.’

  For a moment she thought she had imagined the voice. She spun round. Charles was standing near the hedge watching her. He was dressed once more in sober black, his hair neatly brushed, his shoes spotless. He gave a slight bow. ‘So, you still hate parties, Miss Hayward.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ She took a tentative step towards him. To her annoyance she found she was trembling.

  ‘I followed you. I guessed you’d come here.’

  ‘I meant what are you doing back in England?’

  ‘I am attending my father’s party.’

  ‘But it’s not safe –’

  ‘I had to come back, Caroline. I couldn’t leave my parishioners forever.’ He paused. ‘I have something for you. Kennet told me you gave your locket as part of my ransom. I can’t replace it, of course, but I should like you to have this instead.’ He reached into his pocket and produced a pendant on a thin gold chain. He held it out to her. ‘Please. I should like you to have it.’

  ‘I can’t.’ Caroline stared at the dainty thing lying in his palm. It was a wisp of filigree gold and pearls. ‘I can’t accept a gift from you. It wouldn’t be right.’

  ‘It’s not a gift, Caroline, it’s to replace the one you lost. Please. It’s the least I can do. I owe you my life.’

  She looked at him uncertainly. ‘You know I shouldn’t take it.’

  He smiled. ‘But you never do things you should, do you? Did you learn your passage from the Bible?’ There was a teasing light in his eyes.

  She nodded ruefully. ‘There was no escape.’

  ‘So, now you are the dutiful daughter of the Rectory once more? No more galloping round the countryside at night with criminals?’

  She shook her head. ‘I fear I am quite reformed.’

  He must not guess how much it hurt her to smile and spar with him like this; how much she longed for him to touch her.

  ‘Poor Caroline.’ He took her hand and ripping the pendant into it closed her fingers over it. ‘So, make this one last gesture of rebellion. Take my gift, with my thanks. I must go back to the house.’ He gave her a long searching look and for a moment she thought he was going to say something else, but he turned away.

 
She waited at least ten minutes before she followed him.

  She found her father where she had left him. This time he was busily engaged in conversation with the archdeacon.

  ‘Papa! There you are.’ Both men stared at her interruption and she saw her father frown.

  Marianne, she noticed, was talking to Lord Wentworth again. Her fingers closed more tightly over the pendant in her hand and she slipped it regretfully into her pocket. She would never be able to wear it, of course. Her father would see it at once and ask her where it had come from. Already he had enquired where her mother’s locket was.

  ‘You look so pretty, Caroline, my dear,’ the archdeacon said valiantly, eyeing her flushed cheeks. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Well, thank you.’ Her smile froze as Charles appeared beside her father. He gave a slight bow. ‘Miss Hayward, gentlemen. How nice to see you here.’

  George Hayward gave him a searching look. ‘I didn’t realise you were back, young man.’

  Charles smiled. ‘Only yesterday. I decided my parish could not do without me another moment.’

  ‘And did you have a good holiday?’ the rector persisted.

  ‘Hardly a holiday, sir,’ Charles said cryptically.

  ‘Last time we met you were going to come and see me, Charles,’ the archdeacon put in forcefully. ‘About my daughter, as I recollect.’

  There was a moment’s silence. Caroline’s eyes were fixed on Charles’s face. For a moment he seemed taken aback at the archdeacon’s questions but he recovered himself fast.

  ‘Indeed I was, sir. Perhaps I could come and see you one day next week? Then, maybe, I can explain my circumstances more fully.’

  ‘I think you should.’ The archdeacon’s face relaxed slightly. ‘And now George, there are things you and I must discuss.’ He took Caroline’s father’s arm, leaving her standing awkwardly, facing Charles.

  There was a moment’s silence.

  ‘Are you going to ask for Marianne’s hand?’ She knew it was none of her business. The moment the words were out of her mouth she could have bitten off her tongue.

  He glanced over his shoulder. ‘It seems I may have implied that I will.’

  Somehow she made herself smile. ‘And will you tell her of your alternative career?’

  ‘I doubt it.’ He smiled. ‘I fear that career is over. I shall, however, have to think of other ways to help those who need money.’ He hesitated. ‘Caroline –’

  ‘I’m sure you will have a strenuous helper in Marianne.’ She stepped away from him, unable to hide her unhappiness for another moment. ‘Forgive me, but there is someone I must speak to.’

  She fled after the archdeacon and her father.

  How could she have been so foolish as to dream for even a moment that one day he would think of her as anything other than useful at a moment when he needed help? He had not seen her as a woman – or if he had it was only because being a woman made her a nuisance. The pendant meant nothing. It had been exactly as he had said, a replacement for the one lost; nothing more.

  She found that she was staring at the archdeacon. He smiled. ‘You look a little distrait, my dear. Can I fetch you some lemonade?’ She saw his eyes searching her face curiously. ‘Has someone upset you?’

  ‘Indeed, no.’ She smiled desperately. Charles had followed her. She felt his presence as a sudden tingle down her spine.

  ‘Your daughter, archdeacon, seems much taken up with Lord Wentworth,’ Charles said thoughtfully. ‘I wonder if she would have time for me now.’

  The archdeacon’s nose became a trifle more puce. ‘If you are implying –’

  ‘I am implying nothing, sir.’ Charles gave an elaborate shrug. ‘It was merely an observation.’ Behind them they all heard clearly Marianne’s throaty giggle and saw her coquettishly tap Lord Wentworth’s arm with her fan. She had not given the Rector of Pengate a second glance and not once had she acknowledged his presence in the room.

  The archdeacon frowned. ‘My daughter is very young, Charles –’ He broke off as Caroline gave a horrified gasp.

  Barely ten paces away from them, standing talking to the Mayor of Larchester, was Captain Warrender of the Lakamouth Militia. Before she could move he turned and saw her. His mouth dropped open and she realised at once that he had recognised her.

  ‘What is it?’ Charles stared at her ashen face.

  Already the man was thrusting through the crowded guests towards her.

  ‘Oh God! Hurry!’ Not stopping to think, Caroline grabbed Charles’s hand. To the astonishment of the archdeacon and the other guests around them she turned and fled, pushing her way through the room with Charles close behind her.

  In the hall she stared round wildly. ‘Hide!’ she gasped. ‘We’ve got to hide!’

  ‘My father’s study!’ Charles threw open the door opposite them and pushed her inside. Closing it behind them he locked it. Then he turned to her. ‘Who was it?’

  ‘The captain of the militia. He recognised me!’

  ‘And why, may I ask, should the captain of the militia recognise you, Miss Hayward?’ The bishop’s deep voice made them both swing round in alarm. Charles’s father was seated at his desk near the window, having taken a few minutes’ break from his guests.

  Charles closed his eyes and took a deep breath. ‘Father, I’m afraid I have to do some explaining …’

  Behind them the door-handle turned and rattled. They all saw the wooden panels give as someone thrust against it from the other side. The bishop stared at the door over his gold-rimmed spectacles. ‘May I suggest you both go into my chapel, my children, and pray that you can think up a good explanation for all this, while I see who is so anxiously waiting at my door.’ The bishop stood up slowly.

  Charles took Caroline’s hand and dived towards a door half hidden by a curtain in the corner of the room. Inside, the bishop’s tiny private chapel was dark, lit only by the small lamp hanging over the altar. Charles pulled the door closed softly. He turned to Caroline and raised a finger to his lips warningly. Silently they waited in the semi-darkness. There was no sound from the bishop’s study. Caroline sat down heavily on one of the four chairs. She found she was shaking violently.

  Going on one knee beside her, Charles took her hands in his. Neither of them dared speak. They stayed like that for a long time, clinging together in the shadowy silence, then at last the door opened.

  They followed the bishop sheepishly back into his study and stood side by side before him as he sat down at his desk once more.

  ‘I have told Captain Warrender that he was mistaken in thinking any guest of mine could have been involved in a gaol break,’ he raised his eyebrow painfully, ‘and an attack on an officer in the Royal Militia,’ he said at last. ‘The captain has apologised and left the palace. Charles, would you be kind enough to tell me exactly what has been going on. From the beginning, if you please.’

  Charles did so.

  Caroline listened. His voice did not waver once as he told his father the whole story, and not once did the bishop’s face betray his feelings as he heard it.

  When Charles had finished there was a long silence.

  ‘You realise that your motives, however altruistic some of them may have been, cannot excuse your behaviour,’ the bishop said at last.

  Charles grimaced. ‘I realise that, Father.’ He looked for a moment like a chastened small boy.

  ‘I could not allow you to remain in your parish, even if it were safe for you to do so.’

  Charles blenched.

  ‘And what of Miss Hayward?’ the bishop went on relentlessly. ‘She is in as much danger as you. She could be recognised anywhere. Quite apart from which it appears to me that she had been quite unpardonably compromised. Do you realise what you have done to this young woman, Charles?’ He sighed wearily.

  ‘I can at least put that right,’ Charles said with an unrepentant grin, ‘if I marry her.’ He paused. ‘And that could be my penance too, perhaps, to marry a rector’s daughter?’ He looke
d at his father hopefully.

  Caroline’s face burned miserably. ‘I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth,’ she replied angrily. This wasn’t how she had dreamed of him; this wasn’t how she wanted it to happen. She turned to the bishop. ‘Your son is already engaged, my lord. And I assure you, I do not feel myself compromised.’

  The bishop looked at her thoughtfully. Then he turned to Charles. ‘Do you think the Rixbys would have you as a son-in-law once they knew you were gaol bait?’

  Charles laughed grimly. ‘I doubt it. But the matter is resolved I think by Marianne herself. She has found more glamorous amusement than me! I am sure I shall find the Rixbys no longer hope for a proposal from me.’ He turned to Caroline. ‘I meant it you know. I was extraordinarily attracted to you from the first moment I saw you on the swing. Up till then I’d always thought you beautiful, but too quiet.’ He grinned. ‘Then later I found you were quite different from the average rector’s daughter and I fell hopelessly in love. Given all the time in the world I should have pursued you with total single-mindedness and spoken to your father without delay. But as things are I must tell you now, without preamble, that I am absolutely certain that you are the woman I want for my wife.’

  ‘As a penance!’ Caroline retorted.

  The bishop let out a snort of laughter.

  Some penance! Can’t you see that he is in love with you, my dear? And I don’t blame him. I would be myself if I were twenty years younger.’ He stood up and came round the desk. ‘Poor Miss Hayward. So public a proposal. And by such a reprobate. If he weren’t my son I should advise you not to have him.’

  He put his arm around her shoulders. ‘I’m afraid deviousness runs in the family, my dear. You don’t stand a chance against Charles and me together. You must accept. If you love him that is. You can leave the archdeacon to me. From what I saw earlier Marianne won’t break her heart over Charles. And I think I can persuade your father to give his consent. I have been debating the replacement of poor old Canon Peters and it seems to me your father might be a very able successor to him.’ He smiled. There was a moment’s silence.