Chapter 6 #3
Mr Stanton shifted beside her, his knee brushing hers. She paused, forgetting what she had planned to say next.
“And the things said about his father.” Mr Stanton spoke as though the pressure of his leg against hers meant nothing. “Sir Robert was blamed for the negligence, while Lord Howden escaped justice.”
“I tried to tell him he would learn from the tragedy, but he wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“How often did he come to St Mary’s?” Emma knew the answer was most days. She’d heard Lord Howden mock the man in Thomas’s study.
“On Sundays until his father died.” The vicar was careful not to elaborate. There was talk Sir Robert had accidentally taken laudanum with brandy. “Then every day of late. He sat in the same pew for hours.”
Mr Stanton found it hard to keep quiet. “Why the same pew? Was it close to the door? Did anyone visit him there?”
“Only your cousin.” He glanced at her but said no more, perhaps not wanting to break a confidence.
“I sat with him three times. Only to find out what he knew about the reputation of the man my sister wants me to marry.”
The vicar sat forward. “Did you do as I suggested? Speak to your sister about the sanctity of marriage? About intimacy being a holy gift?”
She felt the weight of Mr Stanton’s stare and knew he was enjoying every word. “I tried. But—”
“My cousin seeks a dull, loveless marriage with someone who is a sensible pillar of the community.”
She turned on him. “You make me sound cold and unfeeling. After my parents’ tragic end, I merely wish to protect my heart.”
“By marrying a man with no backbone.”
“I’m not marrying him. I’ll leave home if I must.”
They fell silent.
She hadn’t meant to tell him that.
The vicar eyed them curiously. “Are you married, sir?”
Mr Stanton scoffed. “No. Nor am I likely to consider it.”
“Forgive an old man his observations, but I sense an understanding between you. Most families support marriages between second cousins.”
She met Mr Stanton’s gaze, ready to ridicule the suggestion, but her stomach tightened at the thought of a wedding night.
For goodness’ sake. That’s what came of spending too much time with the man. It muddled the senses.
“I fail to meet the criteria,” he said dryly. “I encourage her recklessness, which is the last thing she wants.”
“Yes. There’s not a dull bone in your body.” It sounded more like a compliment, which explained his smile. “It would be a disaster.”
The vicar chuckled. “I don’t know. You have that certain something one can’t quite name. I’m sure you would muddle through, with a little patience.”
Eager to change the subject, she returned to the matter at hand. “Did Mr Bellingham mention any enemies? Or say anything that might help the magistrate find his killer?”
“The smallest thing can be significant,” Mr Stanton said.
The vicar sat quietly, tapping his lip. “A man joined him the other day. They struck up a conversation, which is quite normal. Many come to church to ease the bite of loneliness.”
Mr Stanton shifted in the seat. “A man you’d seen before or knew from the parish?”
“No. I’ve not seen him since, though Mr Bellingham changed pews to sit closer to the south aisle.”
“Nearer the exit?” Mr Stanton said.
“Yes.” He inhaled, remembering something. “He feared you wouldn’t notice, my dear, and made a point of mentioning it when we last spoke.”
“He referred to me specifically?” She bit her tongue. Why did he not say so sooner? It would have avoided the awkward discussion about marriage. “What did he say?”
“That draughts slip through the cracks, and you’d found it cold last time. If you came again, I was to direct you to his seat.”
She turned to Mr Stanton. It would be colder by the exit.
He presumed the same. “I know it’s late, but might we inspect the pew?”
The vicar looked at the papers on the table and shook his head. “Call in the morning and—”
“Reverend, someone pushed me into the road yesterday. I was nearly crushed beneath the wheels of a carriage.” She felt Mr Stanton stiffen but carried on. “I fear it’s connected to Mr Bellingham. Perhaps he was trying to warn me.”
The vicar removed his spectacles and polished them slowly. “My dear girl.” He looked between them. “I’ll fetch the key.”
“We’ll return it within the half hour.” Mr Stanton slipped off his signet ring. “You may keep this and my watch as surety.”
He pushed out of the chair, brushing aside the offer with a wave. “I know an honest man when I see one, even if you did lie about being her cousin.”
She waited until the vicar had gone. “I said we should have been honest from the start. We’re nothing alike. I’m fair, and you have a dark, magnetic presence.”
“Magnetic?” Mr Stanton slid the ring back onto his finger. “That explains why you won’t leave me alone.”
“It’s a good job I haven’t. I’m the one who’s found all the clues. When you print the truth, I expect a dedication.”
“Yes. To the woman of many disguises, who has yet to decide which suits her best.”
The vicar reappeared in the doorway, key in hand, his nightcap slightly askew. “This is for the south door. Mind the step by the font—it’s been loose since Michaelmas.”