Page 58

“My uncle had clued in his old comrade to my situation when he wrote to McGill to have the lodge opened. They gave me my space when I needed it and after a few months I found myself dropping by their cottage more and more often for Mrs. McGill’s scones and a spot of conversation.

By September I found myself ready for a bit of society and curious enough for news of the world to come out of my cocoon.

McGill gave me a haircut and shave to make me look a bit less of a Highland wildman and I headed down the road to town.

“I stayed with a friend in Edinburgh; Meriwether had been a few years ahead of me at school and then we’d served together at one point or another.

He’d settled as a solicitor in Edinburgh with his wife of five years and two children.

Fiona Meriwether took one look at me and bustled off to plot with the cook over how to fatten me up.

After a week they had me trimmed and tailored to befit a man of my standing (my valet had finished his holiday and traveled up to Edinburgh to assist in the effort) and ready to reenter the world. ”

Suddenly Sir Paul colored and looked down at his plate. After a moment’s pause, however, he looked up at Jonathan with a bemused look. “You are an excellent listener, young man. I haven’t blathered on about my life’s story for years.”

Jonathan immediately disagreed, assuring the older gentleman that he was indeed interested in his history. Churchill waved him off, though, after checking his pocket watch.

“No, my dear boy. You’ve certainly proved those talents that make you so respected as a cleric but I have other appointments to keep. Come by our home for dinner some evening this week and I might tell you more.”

When Jonathan indicated his willingness, the Commander thought for a moment before speaking. “I believe Friday would work but I need to consult Evelyn. I’ll send around a note and we can work it out.”

When Jonathan de Bourgh arrived at the Churchills’ on Friday evening for the first of many friendly dinners, he was impressed by the happy relationship that existed between the Commander and his wife, an intelligent, well-bred woman who still spoke with the soft accent of her native Edinburgh even after twenty years in London.

It was soon apparent that her intellect easily matched her husband’s and that, unlike some men, he embraced it.

Theirs was truly a marriage built upon affection and respect in every sense, and Jonathan felt more comfortable with them than he ever had in the house in which he had grown up.

The Churchills had two children; their son Edmund was away at university and their daughter Rebecca was in Scotland visiting her mother’s family.

One Tuesday afternoon not long after, Jonathan was in his study working on the bookkeeping for St. Elmo’s, a task he genuinely despised.

He felt slightly guilty at the relief he felt upon hearing the door bell ring but still opened it with a smile.

That smile grew when he found the Commander on his doorstep, accompanied by a rather severe looking young lady whom he soon learned to be Miss Rebecca Churchill.

Once introductions were made, Jonathan pressed his visitors to take tea and soon they were comfortably settled in his little parlor.

He watched as the young lady took a tentative sip from the cup he served her and, upon determining that it was potable, nodded to herself.

Then she glanced at him and they locked eyes.

He was not certain but he thought that she might have blushed ever so slightly.

The curate’s eyes twinkled. “Is the tea acceptable, Miss Churchill?”

The young lady showed no reaction except to blink before replying, “Quite, Mr. de Bourgh.”

The Commander leaned back in his chair and suppressed his desire to chuckle. He had been looking forward to introducing his daughter to this young man for some weeks.

“Please, call me Reverend Jonathan.”

The young lady blinked again and he had the odd feeling that every detail of the room had been catalogued with great precision.

Eyes still twinkling, he continued, “I find that tea is an excellent lubricant for conversation. My parishioners often use up all their courage to knock on my door and then find themselves seated but unable to tell me about their troubles. My bishop let me in on the secret and now I always keep a kettle on the hob.”

Rebecca tilted her head to one side, still studying him intently. Finally, her father could no longer restrain his laughter. “What my daughter is trying not to say, knowing that it is not quite polite, is that she is surprised that you served the tea yourself rather than a servant.”

The blue eyes closed tightly for a moment, clearly embarrassed. “Papa!”

Jonathan grinned. “Please, do not make yourself uncomfortable; it is not the first time that someone has remarked upon it and I doubt it will be the last. Your father has disclosed my dark secret; I keep neither a housekeeper nor a maid but do most of my own cooking. Mrs. Burke comes by twice a week to do the heavy cleaning and see to the laundry; she isn’t quite sure whether to consider me unnatural or adopt me as a favorite son. ”

Head still cocked, the young lady spoke distinctly. “I am surprised that someone of your family would deign to suffer so.”

“Rebecca!” exclaimed her father in an admonishing tone.

Jonathan held up his hand, stopping the Commander’s apology before it was spoken. “You strike me as an intelligent young lady, Miss Churchill. Shall you judge me on that particular accident of my birth or on how I choose to live my life? ”

There were several moments of silence before Rebecca nodded slowly. “You are quite correct; I hadn’t realized how prejudiced I was.”

“I take it that you have met my family?”

She nodded curtly and could not restrain herself from speaking bluntly. “Your eldest brother seduced a friend of mine; she was then but seventeen and your esteemed father deemed her too poor to marry any son of his.” Her pursed lips indicated precisely what she thought of that.

Despite herself, Rebecca was intrigued to see that the young man was unfazed by her directness. Instead, he nodded sadly and sighed, rubbing his hands across his eyes. “I have tried…” He trailed off before looking back to her. “The girl, is she well? Is there anything I can do to help her?”

Rebecca noted the genuine concern in the young man’s face and her features softened. “She suffered a miscarriage before she began to show at all, which some might say was the most fortunate outcome.”

Jonathan shook his head, having counseled too many women grieving over the loss of a child. “That may be what Society says but I cannot believe that the loss of any child should be counted as fortunate. How is the mother?”

Miss Churchill’s respect for the young curate was rising quickly. “She is grieving, both for the loss of her babe but also for the loss of her innocence. It hasn’t helped that her parents were less concerned with her comfort than with concealing the event and acting as if nothing happened.”

She attempted to restrain her emotions but her agitation was obvious. “Not four days after the miscarriage, they made her attend a garden party at the de Bourghs house and act as if nothing was wrong. Your brother’s engagement was announced and she had no warning.”

Jonathan shook his head and looked into his cup for some minutes before speaking. “How is she now? Is there anything I can do? I will speak to my father and brother but I’m afraid my words hold little sway with either of them.”

“Don’t bother. If Beth has her way, she will never hear the name de Bourgh again, much less see any of them.”

Jonathan was oddly pleased when she referred to the de Bourghs as ‘them,’ implicitly acknowledging his separation from the family.

Rebecca continued, “We arranged for her to visit my mother’s family in Edinburgh; I’ve just returned from accompanying her.

” She smiled weakly. “I suppose that is why I’m so riled up; I hope you will forgive my harsh words earlier.

After spending so many hours in a carriage with Beth…

I am afraid that the only way I could find to raise her spirits was to make up stories of how your elder brothers would be punished in a just world. We were quite inventive.”

The young man managed a smile. “That sounds quite healthy and I have to admit that I indulged in something similar when I was a lad, living in the same house with them.”

The two young people shared a look full of understanding.

At that point, the Commander cleared his throat, deciding that it was time to remind them of his presence.

“I spent some time in India, at various ports, long enough to learn a bit of their beliefs. As I understand it, rather than death followed by an eternal afterlife in either heaven or hell, they believe that one’s soul is reborn many, many times and that your actions in this life determine what you will be reborn as in the next…

cockroach or king. I admit to finding the concept attractive at times; Hell seems too good for some men. ”

Rebecca smiled at her beloved father. “And is that why you take such delight from stomping on cockroaches?”

Father and daughter shared an amused look before Sir James turned back to their host. “Well then, Reverend Jonathan. As much as I would enjoy one of our theological debates, I’m afraid that my visit had a far more practical purpose.

Are you still having difficulties with the ledgers for St. Elmo’s? ”

The young man grimaced. “Indeed; I’ve spent the morning working on them but I cannot make heads nor tails of it. Something is clearly off but for the life of me I can’t work out what. I should hate to spend the parish’s funds to hire a bookkeeper but I may be forced to do so.”