Chapter 4
Since arriving in Reading, Peter had worked on familiarizing himself with the St. Mary’s parishioners.
He sat in his study, looking through the church registry to get a good sense of who everyone residing within the parish was.
He also wanted to understand the situation with Mr. Randolph’s sister better, but he’d neglected to ask the curate for her name.
He would ask some of the other parishioners this morning as he made his rounds and visited a few families.
His curate was nothing if not efficient.
All the papers in the office were well organized, and Peter had easily found the sermon for Sunday’s services.
He’d picked up the pages and groaned at the length of it.
Mrs. Paulson was right about the sermons going on for a good long time.
This one would probably be in the two-hour range.
He would have to pare it down to a reasonable length and take out many of the fire-and-brimstone aspects of it.
He wanted the people to be happy about coming to praise God, not constantly hearing about burning in a fiery hell if they strayed from the path of righteousness.
When he walked out of the vicarage, he headed toward the center of town.
The first cottage he came to looked a bit run-down.
Some of the thatch in the roof seemed sparse, and he wanted to assess the condition on the inside.
He knew there was a poor fund for the parish, and he wanted to put it to the best possible use for the neediest of his parishioners.
Having a dry place to live seemed to him to be at the top of the list.
He walked up the path and knocked on the door. It was several moments before he heard a shuffling of feet and the door opened. An elderly woman leaning on a cane stood in the doorway.
“Good day, madam. I’m Mr. Wallings, the new vicar,” Peter said with a nod.
“Good day, Mr. Wallings. I’m Mrs. Harding. How may I help you?” she asked.
“There’s nothing you need do, dear lady. I’d like to inspect your roof from the inside if I may.”
“Oh, dear me. I don’t think you’ll like what you see,” she said, opening the door wider so he could enter the small cottage.
When Peter walked in, the first thing he noticed was that there were multiple bowls on the floor. “Does your roof leak in all these places, madam?”
“I’m afraid so. After Mr. Harding passed last year, there was no one to help maintain the roof. My son lives too far away to come and help me now.”
“I see. Everyone should have a dry place to live. I’ll see what I can do to get this repaired as soon as possible.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wallings,” she said, her eyes welling with tears. “Would you care for tea?”
Peter shook his head. “No, thank you, Mrs. Harding. I’d like to visit a few more families this morning to find out their needs.”
“Of course. Thank you for visiting.”
“May I ask if you know where Mr. Randolph’s sister lives? I wish to visit her as well.”
“Of course. That would be Mrs. Stillwell, who lives past the marketplace at the end of Kings Road.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Harding. I shall see you again soon,” Peter said, leaving the cottage.
He scribbled a couple of notes in the small journal he carried, wanting to jot down what the various families needed so he could estimate the costs associated with each problem.
He had no idea how much money was left in the poor fund, but he would do his best to help as many people as possible.
As he walked through the town, he stopped to talk with folks going about their daily chores. Most folks recognized him by the black cassock he wore, and the people were quite friendly. It seemed everyone wanted to welcome him to Reading, which made him feel good about his assignment.
It took him a while to finally reach the Stillwell home.
Walking up to the door, he noticed that the yard could use some tidying up.
The weeds were taking over the path. Just as he was about to knock, the door opened, and the curate stood there with a scythe in his hand.
His eyes widened when he saw Peter standing on the doorstep.
“Mr. Wallings, uh, I wasn’t expecting to see you today. Do you need my services for something at the vicarage?”
“Mr. Randolph, good day to you. I’ve come to pay my respects to your sister.”
A young woman appeared behind the curate. “Edward, let the poor man in, and please put down that scythe before you injure yourself again,” she said. “Please come in, Mr. Wallings. The tea water is hot. Shall I pour you a cup?”
“Yes. Thank you,” Peter said, taking a seat at the table along with the curate. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Stillwell. Mr. Randolph told me about the unfortunate death of your husband, and I came to offer my support.”
“That’s very kind of you. My brother has been doing his best to help out, but he has other duties and cannot be here full-time.”
Peter looked at the curate. “Mr. Randolph, rest assured, now that I’m here, your workload will be a lot less, so you’ll be able to help your sister more.”
The curate’s mouth fell open. “You’d do that for me?”
Peter nodded. “Of course. We can talk about your schedule over the next few days.”
Mrs. Stillwell brought the cups to the table and poured out the tea as the three of them talked about how Peter could best help out.
“Mr. Randolph, do you know someone who can repair Mrs. Harding’s roof? The poor woman is living with so many bowls on the floor to catch the raindrops that I’m worried she’ll trip and be injured.”
Mr. Randolph nodded. “Mr. Brighton is the man to handle such things.”
“Excellent. I’ll check the status of the church funds, but I do believe Mrs. Harding’s roof should be among the first things we fix.”
“I don’t know how much coin is left in the fund. The former vicar didn’t seem inclined to spend much from it.”
“That’s interesting. The fund is supposed to be used to help make the lives of the parishioners better, not be hoarded. Do you know if the former vicar had a grand plan for the funds?”
Mr. Randolph shook his head. “I wasn’t privy to it if he did indeed have one.”
Peter turned to Mrs. Stillwell. “Is there anything needed for your cottage?”
“No, luckily not. My late husband had rethatched the roof a month before he passed.”
As they talked, Peter got a much better understanding of how much work the last vicar had put on the curate’s shoulders.
It seemed Mr. Randolph had handled just about everything except when there was money involved.
It was a shame that a man of God would abuse his power in such a way.
Peter vowed to change how things ran in the future.
Mr. Randolph would not be run ragged now that he was in residence.
“Mr. Randolph, I wanted to talk to you about a garden project,” Peter said.
“Garden project? I’m not sure what you mean,” the curate said.
“The vegetable garden at the vicarage is thriving, and I now realize that that’s wholly due to your excellent maintenance and care. I would like to expand the garden area so that we will be able to supply more families with food, and I’d like you to be in charge of the project.”
Mr. Randolph’s eyes widened. “You want me to be in charge?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Um… it’s just that the former vicar was not keen on me being in charge of anything.”
“Well, be that as it may, I don’t share the former vicar’s opinion. With your loving care, I do believe many more families will have fresh vegetables to eat. Would this be something you’d like to do?”
Mr. Randolph sat up straighter in his chair at Peter’s praise. “Of course, sir. I’d be delighted to take on such a project. Um… there will be a cost, buying seeds and such.”
“The money will be available, not to worry. We can talk about it in the coming days. I could use your expertise in figuring out which vegetables would be most desired by the parishioners. No sense growing something no one wants to eat.”
Mrs. Stillwell gave Peter an almost imperceptible nod.
After chatting for a bit longer, Peter said, “Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Stillwell. I must be on my way.”
Mr. Randolph stood and began to follow him out of the cottage.
“No need to come to the vicarage, Mr. Randolph. I’m sure there are things your sister needs help with today. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Peter said.
“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Wallings. Thank you,” Mr. Randolph said.
“We must all take the time to care for each other. I hope to make sure no one in our parish suffers from the lack of food or help when the need arises.”
Jacob Fletcher sat in his study, reviewing the ledger books.
The steward had maintained thorough records of everything, which allowed him to quickly grasp what had transpired at Dandridge Manor over the years.
The drought last year had led to a significant reduction in the harvest. Though the farmers had enough to get through the winter months, there was little extra.
So far this year, rain had fallen every few days, and the harvest in the autumn should be much better, which would benefit everyone.
A knock on his door made him look up. “Come.”
Jones opened the door. “Mr. Jack Johnston to see you, my lord.”
“Good. Send him in.”
Jacob stood when the steward came in. “Good day, Mr. Johnston. Please have a seat. We have much to discuss.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“I want to commend you on your excellent record-keeping. It made it easy for me to see what expenses have occurred on the property over the years and how the profit was handled.”
“With the poor harvest last fall, some much-needed repairs for the tenants’ cottages have been put on hold,” Jack said.
“I see. I want to find out exactly what the tenants need. Shall we plan to ride out tomorrow to check?”
“Of course, my lord. Whatever time is convenient for you, I’m at your service.”
“While I have you here, I notice the garden is quite overgrown. Can you recommend a gardener?”
“Of course. As a matter of fact, I know that Mr. Swifton’s cousin, Sam Clifford, is looking for work. I could arrange for him to come for an interview if you like,” the steward said.
“Mr. Swifton is the stablemaster, correct?”
“Yes, my lord. He’s been at Dandridge Manor for a good many years and is very reliable.”
“Where is Mr. Clifford now?”
“I believe he’s currently in London looking for work, but I’m sure he can be here in a few days’ time.”
“Send a note to Mr. Clifford and ask him to come for an interview.”
“Of course, my lord. I’ll check with Mr. Swifton for his address and contact him.”
“Good. Make it happen.”
“Of course, my lord.”