CHAPTER TWELVE #4
He shook his head. “A little shocked, that is all. I did not expect this.” He put a hand to his chest and kept it there. “How did you come to be searching for that entry? How did you know of the marriage?”
“By a method you could not have foreseen.” Her unreasoning anger was dissipating. She pulled out another chair and sat down near him. “Lord Pennington had told his secret to only one person. She is an old lady now, and perhaps her ability to hold to discretion is impaired.”
Mr Waley nodded. “God works in mysterious ways.”
“Why did you do it, Mr Waley?” Lucy’s tone was almost gentle. “You knew my distress at believing I was Lord Pennington’s love child.”
“Yes, I knew it,” the curate agreed heavily. “You will not believe it, I dare say, but I thought it was for the best.”
“How could it be?”
A hand wavered. “Bear with me, Miss Lucy. I will come to it.”
She wanted to urge him, but Lucy held her tongue, waiting for him to arrive at his explanation.
“I did not remember it at first. It was a long time ago, and I had no reason to connect you with the event until I understood the circumstances of your birth. But the names niggled at me, until at last I recalled the marriage I had witnessed. I did go to St Bride’s.
I had to be sure.” He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow.
“After, I deliberated long and hard, Miss Lucy. It did not seem to me likely that the noble family of Pennington might welcome what must undoubtedly prove a skeleton in their closet. I feared your impulsive nature would lead you to seek them out. I feared even more that you would meet with a rebuff, which must be more painful than to think yourself a natural daughter of the family.”
“That won’t fadge!”
The voice was dry and Lucy started almost as violently as did Mr Waley. She shot a look to the door where Stefan was standing, his hand upon its edge.
He shut it and came into the room, even as the curate rose shakily from his chair. Lucy knew from the glint at Stefan’s eye that he was furious. But before she could intervene, he was addressing the curate.
“You must have realised there had been no rebuff when we escorted Lucy here to fetch her belongings. Yet you failed to reveal the secret knowledge you believed you alone possessed.”
Lucy’s shock hammered protest in her head. She eyed the curate with dawning anger. “You said nothing. Instead you asked me to marry you.”
Stefan uttered a short bark of laughter.
“Of course he did. He never had the least intention of telling you.” He closed in towards the curate, who flinched back, cheeks pinching tight.
“Is that not correct, my dear sir? You used cunning, I’ll grant you.
You surmised Lucy might be less inclined to marry you if she knew the truth.
Your best chance of success lay in being the magnanimous parson who would marry her in despite of her nameless state. ”
Dismayed, Lucy stared at him. “Is it true? But why did you want me? How could I benefit you? It could not be love!”
The curate threw out a hand at this. “Believe what you wish, but my regard for you is sincere.”
“I don’t believe it,” Lucy declared.
“Oh, I think you may,” Stefan said unexpectedly. “I doubt he had the wit to think he might gouge a petty fortune out of the Ankervilles.”
Mr Waley drew himself up straight, his cheeks flying colour. “Sir, you insult me!”
“On the contrary, I have just said I acquit you of any mercenary motive. But I take leave you tell you that I find your actions cowardly and dishonourable. You are a disgrace to your cloth.”
Mr Waley seemed to shrink into himself. His legs buckled, and he just managed to reach the chair before he fell into it. Lucy could not withstand a rush of pity.
“Enough, Stefan. You have reviled him enough.” She went to the curate and held out her hand. “I must bid you farewell. For Papa’s sake, let us part as friends.”
Mr Waley managed to nod as he took her hand in a weak grip. “You are very good, Miss Lucy.”
“May I help you up?”
He shook his head, releasing himself. “I will manage, I thank you.”
Rising shakily from the chair, he made his slow way towards the door. But Stefan moved, halting him with a hand upon his arm before he could reach it.
“One moment. If you are minded to make amends, you may readily do so. I am in need of a special licence. Where may I find the nearest bishop?”
Lucy felt fortunate in the weather as the curricle, equipped with a borrowed team from the Rose and Crown, bowled along in the direction of Chaseley and the Cullicudden farm.
It was a crisp afternoon, but the sun peeked intermittently between the clouds, making the day pleasant.
The way was convoluted, but Stefan recalled it from their previous visit.
Lucy had asked Stefan at luncheon if he would take her back to the Oade farmstead, a decision he had not hesitated to question.
“Are you sure you want to return there?”
“Yes,” Lucy said staunchly.
Stefan eyed her frowningly as he forked a mouthful of pie. “But why?”
“It came to me all in a bang, when you said we must be married without delay.”
Last night, in the aftermath of Stefan’s careful initiation of his prospective bride into the intricacies of the marriage bed, which proceeding Lucy had enjoyed with a fervour she could not conceal, he had been adamant their wedding must take place immediately.
His frown now deepened. “Exactly so. And since, thanks to Mr Waley’s intelligence, we must journey to Gloucester for a special licence, we cannot afford the time. Can’t it wait?”
“No, it can’t, so we must make time,” Lucy insisted. “It is far more important than our wedding.”
“After last night? How can you say so?”
Lucy drew a painful breath. “That is just it, Stefan. I cannot be wholly yours until I have done this.”
He looked a little hurt. “After you have given yourself to me? You are mine, Lucy.”
She reached out to him across the table, and he gave her his hand. Lucy brought it to her cheek, and Stefan cupped her face.
“What is troubling you, my sweet?”
She clasped his hand between her own and then let it go. “I only know my heart is not yet free.”
“This has to do with Alice?”
She nodded. “Don’t ask me how, for I don’t know. But the urge is strong in me to go there.”
A faint smile lit his eyes. “Dare you brave your lunatic uncle again?”
Lucy gave a short laugh. “I must. There is a wrong which must be righted.”
He had said no more, and Lucy was grateful.
Despite the wonder of love’s awakening in his bed, she was yet hollow in spirit.
Could it be the shade of Alice once more, urging her to action?
A fanciful thought, but Lucy was nevertheless gripped with the same pressing intensity which had accompanied her visit to the church the day before.
As they neared the vicinity of the Oade farm, she could not withstand a rise of apprehension, remembering the threats of Alice’s brother and his blunderbuss.
Lucy comforted herself with the presence of Stefan at her side.
And at need, there was Cobbold, a thickset stolid creature in whose physical power Lucy was persuaded she might repose every confidence.
The place was as quiet as it had been the first time as the curricle turned in and approached the Cullicudden farmhouse.
“It looks deserted.”
Stefan glanced at her. “So it did when we visited before.”
Nevertheless, he sent Cobbold to knock upon the door before taking trouble to alight. No answer was forthcoming.
“Give them a shout,” Stefan recommended.
The groom raised his voice. “Ho, there! Anyone home?”
They waited while Lucy’s apprehension grew. She could not be defeated now.
“If they’re here, sir, belike they’re out of hearing,” Cobbold said, coming back towards the curricle.
But at that moment, the young lad who had previously taken charge of the curricle came into sight around the bend of the house. He stopped when he saw the curricle, standing staring at its occupants. The groom accosted him.
“You, boy. Where is your master?”
The lad shuffled his feet. “Down in the fields.”
Cobbold looked in question to his master in the curricle and Lucy turned quickly to Stefan. “Help me down, if you please.”
Stefan called to the groom to go to the horse’s heads. In a moment, Lucy had been assisted down.
“Come here, boy,” Stefan called to the youth, who was still standing there, apparently unable to operate until he was pushed. He obeyed, taking several steps towards them before he stopped again.
“I have not come to see Mr Oade, but his mother,” Lucy told him firmly. “She is at home, I trust?”
Reflecting that the crippled lady could hardly be otherwhere, Lucy waited for his response.
The lad jerked his head towards the house. “She’s abed. She’s been took ill.”
“Oh, no,” Lucy cried. “Is it bad?”
The youth nodded. “The master don’t reckon she’ll last the week.”
Lucy turned to Stefan, a pang catching in her breast. “I might have been too late!”
He put out a hand and brushed her cheek with his finger, a smile in his eyes. “Go.” Then, to the boy, “Take her ladyship to Mrs Oade, if you please.”
The boy looked towards the house, doubt in his face.
“Is the door open?” Lucy asked.
“Aye.”
“Then pray hasten.”
Stefan walked her to the door. “I will wait for you here.”
Lucy nodded, drew a breath, and followed the lad inside.