Chapter Thirty-Five
Another week passed. Frederick was good to his word and moved out of his childhood home, renting rooms above a public house in the village.
They were nothing special but at least they were affordable, clean, and the bed was not too uncomfortable.
Robert did not try to dissuade him from taking this step—they were barely speaking, except when in the company of the new Mrs. Morton.
When she inquired about his move, Frederick explained that he wanted her and his brother to enjoy Brentwood without the additional distraction of excess relations around the manor.
She accepted his excuse but begged him to join them often for dinner.
“You have merely to send word you wish to dine with us, and we shall be happy to send the carriage for you. We shall, shall we not, Robert? No? Yes. Yes, of course, we shall.”
One day, Frederick was working on a sermon. It was not easy, sitting at the rickety desk, which he had been forced to prop up with a bit of wood to make level. He was interrupted by a knock on the door. He opened it to find his landlady, holding a folded piece of paper.
“Mrs. Banner, good morning. What can I do for you?” he asked.
She thrust the paper at him. “This came for you, just now from Haverstone, sir. I offered to fetch you in case you had a message to return, but the boy said no. He was to drop it off and not wait.”
Frederick thanked her and closed the door, then rushed to the window which afforded a good view up and down the main street.
He spied a young man in Gillingham livery riding east, just before turning out of sight.
Frederick sat back at his desk, examining the paper.
He saw his name upon it, but why would anyone from Haverstone write to him?
He broke the seal and unfolded the letter.
Dear Mr. Morton,
We have never had the pleasure of becoming close acquaintances, but we have met before, although you were but a lad and may have little memory of it.
Lady Gillingham is my eldest daughter and upon occasion when my family visited her at Haverstone after she married Lord Gillingham, your late parents were kind enough to have us over to dinner at Brentwood estate.
I am told you have now taken orders and are a curate at Brentwood Parish. Both my daughters, Dorothea and Charlotte, have spoken quite highly of your abilities at the pulpit, and since neither are prone to unwarranted praise or exaggeration, I must take them at their word.
My purpose for writing now is to tell you that I own the advowson for Clayton Parish and, as it turns out, the living there is currently vacant.
Since I am fond of a good sermon and am told you can deliver such a thing, I should like to offer the living to you.
I have already discussed this matter with our Bishop, and he has no objections to my making this offer.
I am hopeful you would be able to come to Clayton House in Doddington as soon as possible to discuss it further with me.
No specific date is necessary for our meeting as I am recovering from an illness and will be at home for the foreseeable future and able to meet with you.
While here to discuss the exact terms of the proposal I have made bold to offer, you may stay at the rector’s cottage on our estate, but I hope you will be able to dine with us.
I am certain Charlotte would enjoy your society again, and I look forward to getting to know you better.
Yours most sincerely,
Evan Kendall
Clayton House
Frederick sat, stunned, at this amazing and unexpected offer.
He had been completely certain the Kendalls would want nothing to do with him after Robert’s betrayal of affections toward Charlotte, and yet here was the father, making the offer of a valuable living to him—sight unseen.
He could hardly account for it. Perhaps Mr. Kendall was unaware of Robert’s deceitful acts?
It seemed unlikely, although it was possible.
Should he accept? Even if Mr. Kendall were eager to meet him and have him dine with them, Charlotte could not possibly feel the same.
She had loved Robert only to have him break her heart in a manner most cruel.
To see his younger brother would be a constant reminder of the pain Robert had inflicted upon her.
He would not wish to injure her in such a way.
No, it would be for the best for him to simply decline.
He pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and reached for his pen to write a grateful but firm refusal to the offer.
He held the pen over the paper, pondering, unable to begin.
A drop of ink fell from his pen, beading up before the paper soaked it in.
After another moment or two, Frederick returned the pen to the inkwell, pushed away from the desk, and went downstairs to ask Mrs. Banner whether she knew the schedule for the post coach to Doddington.
*
“My dear Mr. Morton,” Evan Kendall said, rising from his desk and extending a hand toward Frederick as the rector was shown into the study by Mrs. Wilson. “I am very glad to see you. Thank you for coming all this way. I hope your journey was not too tiring?”
“Not at all, sir,” Frederick replied. “The roads were good and the ride was without incident.”
“Excellent. Have a seat, if you please, so we may talk.” Evan motioned to one of two comfortable-looking chairs near a window that were separated by a small table, then turned to Mrs. Wilson and ordered tea.
“Unless my nose deceives me, I believe Cook has baked some of her fine oat cakes, so bring those, too.”
“Of course, sir,” Mrs. Wilson said, departing.
Evan took the other seat and smiled at his guest, whose clenched hands betrayed his nervousness.
“Well,” he said warmly. “Again, I am so happy you decided to come here to discuss the terms of my offer. You are interested in the living then? I feared you might be reluctant to leave Brentwood estate, seeing as it is your childhood home, and certainly more comfortable than our parsonage.”
“Oh, no, sir. I certainly am interested in hearing more about the living. I should be a fool not to. While I enjoy being curate at Brentwood Parish, I might well remain a curate there for many years, as Mr. Peabody is still rather young and his health is good.”
“And living on a curate’s salary is not easy, I know.”
“Indeed, sir.” Frederick nodded, then focused his attention on his hands in his lap.
Mrs. Wilson knocked briskly, then she and a servant entered, bearing trays carrying tea, oat cakes, lemon curd, and clotted cream. For a time, the two men ate and drank in silence before Frederick spoke again.
“Sir, while I was most flattered by your letter, I confess myself puzzled as to how you came to choose me for this vacancy, of all people?”
Evan smiled easily. “As I wrote, both Charlotte and Dorothea spoke highly of your sermon giving, as well as of your being a moral and upright man of the cloth. As I had no one else in mind for the vacancy, it seemed like the logical thing to offer you the living.”
“I see.” Frederick spread lemon curd on a second oat cake and chewed it thoughtfully.
Evan did not think it prudent to fully share his conversation with Dorothea when he gave her the letter he had written to Mr. Morton and asked her to deliver it.
She had been appalled that he was even considering bringing Mr. Frederick Morton to be the new rector and insisted on telling him all the details of the reprehensible way in which the elder Mr. Morton had abused Charlotte’s heart.
“Honestly, Father—pleasant as Mr. Frederick is, I do not care to see either of the Morton sons ever again. Mr. Robert Morton all but proposed to Charlotte only to cast her aside when we came to Clayton House to help you. He had even tried to persuade her to elope with him to Gretna Green—and he did elope with this Phoebe Graham. Why the haste? I suspect there was no good reason for him to go north. Indeed, I strongly think that a fat dowry was at the base of his actions. How can you even think to give the living to his brother?”
“Mr. Frederick has done no harm toward our family in any way. You yourself called him a good curate and sermon maker. I have always believed in using my advowson to help raise up worthy men of the cloth to a higher standard of living and my choice of rector is, I believe, a very good one. Do not discount the possibility that it may help mend the breach of cordiality between your family and the Mortons. You have adjoining estates, after all, and one wishes to be on good terms with all one’s neighbors, do not you think?
“In addition, Charlotte seems to bear no ill will toward Robert Morton for his hasty marriage. She told me she likely misunderstood his courteous behavior toward her and raised her own expectations too high. If she can be so forgiving, so can I. And so should you.”
Dorothea made an exasperated sound. “I readily observed his behavior toward her with my own eyes on many occasions, Father. He had every intention of asking for her hand at the ball, had it not been canceled.”
“Well, then, it is a very good thing the ball was canceled that we could see his affection for Charlotte was not leading toward marriage. For had he loved her, he would have certainly waited, would he not? Therefore, it is clear that his feelings for her were not what you or Charlotte perceived. And, since you assure me he did not compromise her reputation in any way, it is not worth speaking of any further. Let us put it all in the past and look forward to helping this young Mr. Morton on his path.”