Chapter Four
“W ould you like me to tell you the news, vicar?”
Andrew set his teacup aside. “By all means, Lady Fulford.”
Why the woman deigned to ask the question was beyond him, given that she’d always say her piece whether anyone liked it or not.
She straightened her back and gave the self-satisfied nod of the gossipmonger eager to demonstrate her prowess by being the first to impart some salacious piece of news. Next to her—sitting in order of age and therefore the order in which she wished them to marry—were her daughters. The eldest—twins—were barely distinguishable from each other, save for the nose of the elder being a little longer than that of the younger. The youngest barely lifted her gaze from the floor. Three young women with no qualities of note other than their overinflated opinions of themselves and their overly ambitious mother.
Oh dear, that’s another sinful thought for which I must pray forgiveness.
Though it was not the kind of sinful thought that rendered a man stiff with need. One look at the Fulford girls was enough to make one’s manhood shrivel in fear.
Andrew always found a wicked voice in his mind whispering of the benefits of the Fulford girls being struck dumb. In that particular wish, he doubted he was alone. Last week, after dinner, Mrs. Lewis, for all that she was Lady Fulford’s particular friend, had visibly flinched when Elizabeth and Sarah Fulford were invited to sing a duet. Mr. Lewis was taken with a sudden turn of colic, declaring the necessity of a visit to the privy before almost sprinting from the room. The man was to be commended for his ingenuity.
“Shore Cottage is let at last!” Lady Fulford cried, returning Andrew to the present.
“Is that so?” he asked.
She set her teacup down with a clatter. “Oh, vicar—is that all you can say?” She turned to her daughters. “Is that all he can say, girls? What say you, Mrs. Lewis?”
“Have you met the occupant?” Mrs. Lewis asked.
“Perhaps it’s a young man,” the eldest Miss Fulford said, her eyes widening with anticipation.
“Now, Elizabeth,” Lady Fulford said, “you mustn’t speculate.”
“A young man would be such a benefit to the village!” Mrs. Lewis said. “To think—that poor cottage has been left empty for so long, after that dreadful woman left.”
“That dreadful woman is now the Duchess of Whitcombe,” Andrew said.
Lady Fulford arched an eyebrow. “Far be it from me to speak ill of a duchess, but that woman played us all false—masquerading as a widow, when we all knew what she was about.”
“Quite so,” Mrs. Lewis added. “Surely, vicar, you don’t condone such deceit. Does the Almighty not tell us to abandon all thoughts of deception?”
“I wouldn’t condone deception when there’s malice intended,” Andrew said, “but Eleanor”—Lady Fulford drew in a sharp breath—“ the duchess , came to Sandcombe with no intent to harm us. We should show more compassion to those who might act out of necessity rather than for personal gain.”
“That’s very charitable, I must say,” Lady Fulford said, her voice sharpening, “given how she led you astray.”
“She hardly did that,” Andrew said, laughing.
“I beg to differ, Mr. Staines. Did she not lead you to believe that she’d accept your suit when she was, in fact, pursuing another man?”
He flinched as her arrow hit home.
“In fact…” Lady Fulford continued, but the youngest Miss Fulford leaned forward.
“More tea, vicar?”
“Caroline!” her mother said sharply. “It’s most unseemly to interrupt your mother when she’s—”
“Thank you, Miss Caroline, that’s most kind,” Andrew said. The girl rose, blushing, and took his cup.
“Has the new tenant taken residence?” Mrs. Lewis asked.
“I believe so,” Lady Fulford said. “Mrs. Gadd said she’d received an order for a hindquarter of pork to be delivered to the cottage on Saturday, and young Thomas Ham told our stable boy that he saw a carriage outside there last night.”
“Whoever it is must be someone of means if they can afford a carriage,” Mrs. Lewis said.
“Perhaps it’s a family,” Caroline said, pouring tea into Andrew’s cup.
“A family? In a hovel that’s barely large enough to house one?” Lady Fulford exclaimed. “Don’t talk nonsense, child! A family of means would never stoop to live in such a place!”
“Then perhaps it’s a young man on vacation, Mama,” the eldest Miss Fulford said, pulling a face at her sister.
“A single man,” Sarah Fulford added.
“What do you think, vicar?” Mrs. Lewis asked.
“My hopes are pinned firmly on the newcomer being a young man,” Andrew said.
Preferably one in search of a wife. Perhaps then the attention of Lady Fulford and her unmarried daughters might turn toward that unfortunate fellow—another poor carcass for the crows to pick over.
“The place is hardly fit to be lived in,” Mrs. Lewis said. “The garden is overgrown with weeds. There’s nobody to tend to it since Mrs. Legge’s father passed, God rest his soul.”
“The garden didn’t seem so badly overgrown this morning,” Andrew said.
Five pairs of eyes focused on him.
“You’ve been to the cottage, vicar?” Mrs. Lewis asked.
“I passed it on my morning walk.”
“And did you see the tenant?” Lady Fulford’s thin-lipped mouth curved into a smile. “Vicar, you’ve been teasing us, have you not? Have you called on him? Is he a man of means?”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but no,” Andrew said. “The cottage looked unoccupied.”
And it had, save for the shadow he’d seen at the window. And he could have sworn he’d heard a cry—high pitched, like that of an animal, at which point the shadow had moved, then disappeared. He’d dismissed it as an animal—a fox, perhaps, seeking refuge from Mr. Fulford and his hunting dogs.
But what fox stood tall enough to look out of a window?
Perhaps the apparition he’d seen at the cliff top hadn’t been a ghost.