Chapter 2 #2
Guilt nipped. He had intended this as a social call.
The duke was his patron, after all. Besides, as vicar, surely Hugh could handle the issue of the thief.
He didn’t even know how much of an issue that matter would prove to be.
If someone needed food or money for medical treatment, he could arrange for those sorts of things himself.
Only if they were stealing for more nefarious reasons would he have to alert the duke, who was also the local magistrate.
“I don’t know of any issues that would affect you, Your Grace,” Hugh assured him.
“Very good.” He steepled his fingers under his chin. “Have you been informed that Mrs. Legg is ill?”
“The baker?” Hugh frowned, thinking of the silver-haired lady with the ready smile. “No. I’ll go see her as soon as possible.”
The duke rose, forcing Hugh to his feet as well. “No time like the present, I find.”
He would have preferred to return to the vicarage for his Bible, but he had sufficient scripture memorized that he could likely make do. “Of course, Your Grace. Thank you for letting me know.”
The duke nodded a clear dismissal, and Hugh bowed and left.
The Legg family lived in one of the tenant cottages on the Tyneham estate, the one closest to the manor on the other side of a copse of trees along a hedgerow.
Like the other buildings in the area, it was built from Dorset limestone, weathered to a soft grey, with a thatched roof and multipaned windows.
Someone had painted the front door a jaunty blue.
Hugh rapped at the thick panel and put on a smile as it opened.
Georgie stared at him.
He stared at Georgie.
Her little pug pushed between them, snuffling at Hugh’s boots. With a smile, he bent to run his hand down her back. “A pleasure to see you again, Anastasia. I was told the lady of the house was feeling poorly. I imagine you’ve cheered her up already.”
Georgie opened the door wider. “I’m so sorry. Please, come in. Mrs. Legg’s daughter and son have gone to see if the wet grocer might have bones they could use for soup. I was just keeping the lady company. This way.”
Hugh followed her up the narrow stairs, which opened onto a short corridor with a door on either side. He’d visited a few of the cottages now and knew these would be the bedrooms, one over the parlor and one over the kitchen.
Georgie went ahead of him into the door on the right, which smelled faintly of liniment and boiled cabbage.
Mrs. Legg was reclining on the bed that took up much of the space, with a washstand in one corner and a high dresser in the other.
The braided rug on the floor and colorful curtains at the window proved the lady of the house took some trouble to keep things not only tidy, but pleasant.
At the sight of Hugh, his parishioner tried to sit up higher on the pile of pillows behind her, only to collapse in a fit of coughing.
Georgie hurried to ease her back into a more comfortable position. “There now, I’m sure our good vicar won’t mind if you rest.”
“Not at all,” Hugh told them both. “I’d prefer it.”
Mrs. Legg nodded shakily and attempted to put a smile on her pale face.
“She coughs if she speaks for too long,” Georgie explained. “She’s doing better than she was, but obviously isn’t well enough yet.” She smiled at the older lady. “I’m going to send word to Dr. Bennett to come look at her.”
“Too much trouble,” the woman protested weakly.
“He’s very accommodating,” Georgie told her, patting her hand. “If he can be spared from his current duties, I’m sure he’ll come.”
Hugh had already been treated to stories about how the dowager duchesses could summon the renowned physician from the spa town of Grace-by-the-Sea, which was about three miles from their little village.
Hugh could only be thankful, especially given the fact that the village had no physician of its own.
Most families seemed to make do with shared recipes for elixirs and ointments.
Georgie aimed her big blue eyes at him. “Would you sit with her for a moment? I have some tea brewing.”
“Of course,” Hugh said.
She had to squeeze past him out the door, and her shoulder brushed his chest. A frisson of awareness shot through him, but he shoved it down. He had no right to feel attracted to the dowager duchess. He was the vicar, here to tend to her immortal soul.
Which didn’t seem to need much tending at all.
“Pretty thing.” Mrs. Legg’s wheeze recalled him to his duty. Conscious that he’d been staring after Georgie, he dropped onto the chair someone had positioned near the head of the bed.
“Tyneham is fortunate in the kindness and devotion of all its duchesses,” he told the older woman.
Those brown eyes were knowing, but she merely smiled.
Something bumped his leg, and he glanced down to find Anastasia beside him. She must have been waiting until she was certain she had his attention, for she turned in a circle, then gazed up at him, dark eyes expectant.
“Treat,” Mrs. Legg managed, pointing to the little bit of biscuit that waited on her side table.
Hugh nodded his thanks and fed the pug a bite. Anastasia’s tail twirled so rapidly he thought he felt the breeze.
Georgie returned shortly afterward and helped the lady to a few sips of the tea. He stayed a short while longer to make sure Mrs. Legg had water and an extra blanket nearby, then left with Georgie.
“It seems I must once more offer my services as escort,” he said with a smile. He waited for her refusal. The manor was only a little way through the trees. The chances of any trouble coming on her own estate were minimal.
“Anastasia and I would be glad for the company,” Georgie said.
Surprised, Hugh decided not to question her reasoning or his good fortune. He offered her his arm, and they set out across the greening fields toward the trees.
She cleared her throat. “I find I must apologize, Mr. Caddington. I fear my behavior has been unkind.”
Hugh shook his head. “You could never be unkind. That would go against your very nature.”
She took a deep breath, as if he’d relieved a burden, but she didn’t agree with him.
Anastasia yipped and tugged at the leash.
“What do you see, my girl?” Georgie teased her. “A wicked squirrel? A sneaky sparrow?”
In answer, the pug tugged harder, straining toward the hedgerow.
Georgie held the leash taut, frowning at the mass of branches. “Do you see that?”
He followed the line of her gaze. “Another bird?”
“No, that gap in the hedge,” she said. “Mr. Foster, our head gardener, would hardly allow it if he knew. Shush, Anastasia! Come here!”
The pug trotted back to drop her plump rear next to Georgie’s skirts, but a growl bubbled from her throat. What had the dog found? The breeze suddenly felt colder.
“Stay here,” Hugh said. “I’ll check.” He strode forward.
At first he saw nothing to distinguish this particular stand of bushes from any other along the line. Then he noticed a curve in the branches, leaving a little space near the ground. The nest was lined with the missing blanket and his greatcoat!
“Someone’s been sleeping there,” Georgie said at his back. He turned to find her a few steps away.
“Our thief, it seems,” he agreed. He bent for his coat.
She caught his arm. “Don’t take it! The poor thief will have nothing!”
“And if I leave it, he may only be emboldened to strike again,” Hugh pointed out. Still, she was right. He didn’t need his greatcoat much this time of year, and the vicarage had plenty of other blankets.
“I’ll ask one of the footmen to keep watch,” she promised, pulling Anastasia back from where the pug was sniffing at the material. “That way, we can identify who has such need.”
He nodded, straightening. “Thank you. I admit that would set my mind at ease.”
She regarded him with the smile that had always made him feel as if he was the cleverest man alive, and it was all he could do to merely offer her his arm as they continued to the manor.