Chapter 8 #2
“But I shall be good enough. You’ll be happy to know I’ve decided on a profession, and it will please Mother even more, for I’m to join the clergy.
Why, today I will write to the chancellor for a recommendation.
It will be merry indeed to take the living at Anselm, and it will mean we are always near as family. ”
Alasdair removed his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose. “When, may I ask, did you decide upon this?”
“Just now.”
“I see. There is the small problem that Mr. Danforth already has the living, Freddie.”
“Some…reason for his removal can be devised, and Mother will see to it.” Freddie frowned and waved both hands around at nothing. “Surely, she would choose her son over that man!” he added, dissolving into nervous laughter. “Wouldn’t she?”
Alasdair didn’t have an answer for him. “Bathe,” he said. “Before she realizes you’ve returned.”
The subject of Freddie’s future was tabled until supper, when Alasdair returned from the build on sore, aching feet.
Gordon was not the sort of man to stand on ceremony and gladly let Alasdair pitch in as much as he wanted; for that span of time, he had done precisely as Gordon instructed and was put to hard work, so much so that he had been grateful for the way it obliterated any thoughts of his wayward brother and the even more bothersome thoughts of Violet Arden.
But the work concluded eventually, and it was suggested by Mr. Danforth that Lady Edith would fall into despair if her sons continued eschewing her company at dinner.
Peace around the braised venison did not last long.
Alasdair busied himself with eating as much as he could, starving once more after so much backbreaking effort at Clafton, noticing new calluses rasping against his cutlery while he tried to ignore the eyes of the paintings looming just beyond the tight halo of candlelight surrounding them.
“I’ve made some important decisions,” Freddie began, puffing up and preparing to drop his news. “In fact, I—”
Lady Edith, practically in another parish due to the size of the table, squished around under her shawl and skewered an asparagus with her fork. “That reminds me. Danforth has some employment for you tomorrow.”
“To be sure,” Danforth murmured, smiling beatifically over his vegetables.
“Right. But just this afternoon I’ve written to—”
“It is very bad, very bad indeed that they will not hear advice from Mr. Danforth at the Florizel,” Lady Edith continued, undaunted.
Freddie might as well have been trying to speak to her from the bottom of a distant well.
“But for their edification, and the edification of all who might require it, Mr. Danforth has produced a marvelous pamphlet.”
Alasdair reached for his wine.
“It urges us to reconsider Commonwealth ideas regarding public theater, and what is fit to display,” said Danforth, visibly satisfied.
His smile widened as he beamed at Freddie, then Alasdair.
“Lady Edith has suggested you would both enjoy the subject and aid me in seeing these pamphlets distributed among the townsfolk.”
Sitting back, wine in hand, Alasdair snorted. “No. I won’t be doing that.”
“I beg your pardon?” Danforth shifted.
“I sincerely doubt our feelings about secular art and its merits align, Mr. Danforth,” he continued, short.
“Even so, Lady Edith assures me that—”
“Your time would be better served with Freddie, who has decided to join the clergy,” said Alasdair. He looked down the table toward his mother, whose mouth was hanging open. “He’s written to the chancellor, and I intend to do the same.”
Everyone was silent, barely stirring.
“You…y-you do?” Freddie burbled with hope to his right.
Anything to make Danforth shut up.
Danforth glared at Alasdair through a gap in the candelabra. “What a wholly unexpected pivot, Mr. Kerr. Would to God we all in this house might consider such a renewed commitment!” His smile widened, his gaze upon Alasdair unflinching.
“Meaning?” Alasdair held his look.
“Meaning that the good people of this parish, however pure their hearts, are not immune to the contagion of filth and folly. No better demonstrated than by an unmarried man escorting a single lady without chaperone while both of them are, heaven forgive us, woefully underdressed.”
So. Word had spread about more than just Freddie’s reprobate activities.
Lady Edith coughed strangely behind her hand. “Of what does Mr. Danforth speak?”
It was questionable whether Lady Edith’s delicate constitution could withstand the knowledge that a soaking wet Mr. Kerr had carried a forbidden Richmond relation for two entire fields while she was in her nightgown, without so much as a shawl or shoe.
The scope of her life had narrowed so grievously; she had only the art he brought home, Danforth, and Alasdair’s grasping attempts at obedience.
That brief tenderness between him and the lady seemed suddenly precious.
The warm suggestion of her through the thin, torn nightdress, the tiny pink mark left by the wax on her neck just like the evidence of a passionate, sucking kiss, the scent of lavender clinging to the dark abundance of her hair…
And the painting upstairs. The painting he really ought to return.
Now it must go back to her. It would break his mother’s heart to discover that he had lied.
He chewed hard on air, then wrinkled his nose, his entire face tightening with consternation.
“Nothing, Mother, vicious rumor and nothing more.” To this, Danforth opened his mouth to correct him, but Alasdair didn’t give him the chance. “It would be my pleasure—and Freddie’s—to go with Mr. Danforth and his pamphlets tomorrow. What manner of filth will we be protesting, sir?”
Mr. Danforth’s lips curled higher. “The very worst sort. A call to misbehavior and immorality if ever one was penned—the lamentable tragedy of Romeo and Juliet.”