Page 23 of Loyalty (The Chaplain’s Legacy #5)

K atherine had received sad news from Branton, for Mr Vance had finally succumbed to the many ailments that afflicted him. Katherine wrote her letters of condolence to Mrs Vance and her five daughters, and put on black gloves for a while. She had not known Mr Vance well, for he had been bedridden for many years, but Mrs Vance and her daughters were all good friends and Katherine knew they would feel the loss keenly.

The other sad news was the departure of Mr Kent Atherton. She had the first word of this from Emily, who came to Cathcart House straight away to report that he had called at Westwick Heights to make his farewell, and was leaving that very day.

“I know you are not such good friends as you were, but you will be sorry to hear it, I am sure,” Emily said.

“Yes,” whispered Katherine, almost too distraught to speak. She had known he planned to go, but to discover that he was in fact leaving that very day, and with no chance of saying goodbye, was distressing indeed.

“He sent his regards to you,” Emily said. “He mentioned you most particularly. ‘All my good friends at Cathcart House, and especially Miss Parish.’ That is what he said. ‘Tell her I shall miss our rides very much.’ Is that not something to be pleased about? And he will be back before long, I am sure. He said it would only be for a few weeks, he thought.”

A few weeks! A few long, dreary weeks, but then he would be back. And he would miss their rides. Yes, that was something, at least.

“But where has he gone to?” Katherine said.

“No one knows! He was very secretive about it. He said he planned to look up some old friends, and after that he could not say. But I have some absolutely splendid news — at least, I think it is. Mama is to invite you to stay with us for a week or two. Is that not wonderful? It is because Julia and Penelope have gone off to stay with the Websters, to plan Julia’s wedding in the spring, and Mama is busy getting the Dower House ready for Bertram’s wedding next month, so she thought you would be company for me. We shall have so much fun!”

Since her aunt and uncle made no objection to this pleasant scheme, it was arranged that Katherine would move to Westwick Heights the very next day. That evening, Aunt Cathcart came to see Katherine before bed.

“I am sure I need not tell you what an excellent opportunity this is, Katherine dear,” she trilled happily. “Mr George Atherton is not only Lord Rennington’s brother, but he is the heir presumptive to the title at present. That may change, of course, but still, you will mingle with a most superior family, and with much association with the Corland Castle family. It will be very good for you, and you must be sure to make every effort to join in the conversation at dinner. And although perhaps your affections have been leaning in a certain direction, if Mr Lucas Atherton, say, should take an interest in you, I am sure you would not be so foolish as to spurn him. But you need not attempt any of Aveline’s clever little devices with him, for your natural ways seem to be quite effective. So just be yourself, dear.”

Katherine had not the least notion how to be anything else, so she smiled and nodded and said nothing.

She found that the George Atherton family was not unlike the Cathcart family. The same abundance of children and servants brought the same bustle and noise, the same affectionate teasing amongst the children and even, occasionally, from Mr George Atherton, too, and the same gentle mothering from Mrs Atherton. Katherine found that so long as she carried a shawl everywhere, and was prepared to swathe herself in it if Mrs Atherton detected the least draught, all would be well.

But there were some differences. Westwick Heights had fewer rooms than Cathcart House, but it was built on a grander scale, with an imposing entrance hall fronted by a pillared portico, and large rooms with high, ornately plastered ceilings and elegant mirrors everywhere. It felt like the home of a nobleman, not a mere gentleman. Meals were different, too. Mrs Atherton had a dreadful fear of rich food and overindulgence, so she provided an array of plain dishes and simple roasted joints of meat, which Katherine enjoyed very much. And grace was said at every meal, so that she felt she had arrived at a proper Christian family.

The greatest difference was that Katherine shared a room with Emily. She discovered the joy of whispered confidences each night, and if she woke during the hours of darkness, it was surprisingly reassuring to hear Emily’s soft breathing beside her.

So the days passed in pleasurable company, and even though the weather had settled into dreary autumnal rain, precluding any outings, there was enough enjoyment indoors that Katherine could not repine. There was still a deep ache in her heart where her grief for the loss of Kent Atherton smouldered, but she was kept too well occupied by Emily to fall into a melancholy. Every day there was some new activity to entertain them, and still plenty of time for her music. There was an excellent collection of pieces at Westwick Heights, many of them new for her to try, so she happily played for hours while Emily worked on her tapestry or leafed through a journal.

It was inevitable that the two girls would be drawn into the plans for the imminent marriage of the eldest son, Bertram, to Miss Bea Franklyn, step-daughter of the fearsome Lady Esther Franklyn. The couple would live in the Westwick Heights Dower House after their marriage, and the place was alive with painters, carpenters and plasterers, with deliveries of furniture arriving on an almost daily basis.

This activity drew Miss Bea Franklyn there just as frequently. She was as unlike Emily and Katherine as it was possible for a girl to be, bouncing from one room to another with irrepressible glee, and filling the Dower House with her vocal enthusiasm. Only when she spoke of her betrothed did her voice soften, and her eyes shone as she enumerated his many perfections, and as often as not, broke into Latin to express herself adequately.

The Dower House was an exciting project, and whenever difficult decisions were to be made regarding the installation of a dado, or whether a floral style of wallpaper was to be preferred to the more fashionable chinoiserie, or whether celestial blue was a more restful colour than pomona green, as many opinions were needed as there were ladies in the house. This was especially so when Lady Esther Franklyn was present, for she invariably disagreed with Mrs Atherton, and neither lady being willing to concede defeat even in the matter of a wallpaper, Emily and Katherine were sure to be appealed to. Since Emily always sided with her mother, and Katherine was terrified of Lady Esther — a duke’s daughter! — she dreamt up a desperate escape.

“Miss Franklyn, which do you suppose Mr Bertram would prefer?”

“Oh, the pomona green, definitely,” Bea would say happily, and thus the matter was settled, for the wishes of the master of their modest household could not be gainsaid. No doubt Miss Franklyn would apprise him privately of his preferences later.

Into this placid routine came a most unexpected visit. Uncle Cathcart arrived one morning and asked to speak to Katherine alone.

“You may have the library,” Bertram said at once, emerging to greet the visitor. “The fire is lit, so it is comfortably warm.” He was a man of some learning, so he spent most of his days in the library with his books.

“If that will not inconvenience you too greatly…”

“Not at all. Let me show you the way.”

He pointed out the comfortable chairs beside the fire and the tray of decanters and glasses, before gracefully withdrawing.

“A pleasant young man,” Uncle Cathcart said, tugging ineffectually at the cuffs of his shirt and adjusting his cravat minutely. “He will make an excellent earl, when his time comes, if it should come to that. Of course, such matters are most uncertain. Lord Rennington may yet take another wife…”

“Is that what you wished to talk to me about, uncle?” Katherine said, puzzled.

“No. Not that, no. Something unexpected has occurred. We have a caller at Cathcart House, a young man by the name of Tiller.”

“Mr Geoffrey Tiller? From Branton?”

“The very one.”

“Whatever does he want? Oh, I hope it is not more bad news… another death, perhaps.”

“No, no. Nothing like that. He wishes… he wishes to pay his addresses to you.”

“Mr Tiller?” she said in some astonishment.

“He claims to have long held an attachment to you.”

“Oh, yes… well, no, not to me particularly. To my dowry, rather. When Papa was alive and… and we were comfortably situated, it was well known that I would have a good dowry and would eventually inherit everything. Mr Tiller paid me some attention then, indeed, he offered for me twice. But unless his circumstances have changed, he cannot afford to marry me now.”

“He tells me he is likely in time to become a partner to the attorney by whom he is employed,” Uncle Cathcart said.

“Oh yes, but Mr Gray has not yet done it, and may never do it. Mr Tiller is thirty already, you know, and I do not think he is a very good attorney, for he gets in a muddle sometimes and Mr Gray has to look over everything he does.”

“That does not sound very promising. But perhaps there is more to his prospects than the distant hope of a partnership, and if your feelings have undergone a change…”

“But they have not.”

“Then shall I send him away disappointed? If you do not wish to see him…?”

“I do not mind seeing him. Any friend from Branton is welcome, for he will bring me news of my other friends.”

“Then I shall send him up here to talk to you.”

Mr Geoffrey Tiller was a personable young man, rather fashionably dressed for an attorney, but then he had always aimed high, and from the moment he qualified as an attorney, had pursued every heiress who crossed his path with relentless amiability and undisguised avarice. He had been part of Katherine’s court for a number of years, only drifting away now and again when a more promising prospect hove into view.

He sat for some time with the Athertons making civil conversation before requesting a private interview with Katherine, and that business being speedily concluded with a gently worded but decided refusal, he settled down again, quite unabashed, to delicately flirt with Emily instead. Mrs Atherton, seeing only the agreeable young man and not knowing of his fortune-hunting ways, invited him to dinner, where he spent the evening bestowing every possible attention on Emily, quite undeterred by the fact that she was reduced to blushing incoherence in his company.

Even Mrs Atherton had tired of him by the time he bowed himself out of the door at midnight to walk down the hill to the White Horse, and forbore to ask him to call again. Katherine thought he was quite capable of calling anyway, if he thought it worth his while, but having found out from Emily that her portion would not be above five thousand, and not even that if a man could be persuaded to take her for less, she was sure he would not appear again, and so it proved. The servants brought word the next day that his hired post chaise had set off back to Lancashire shortly after breakfast.

Katherine was pleased to be rid of him. She could not at all understand why he had come, for the thousand pounds from her uncle was hardly an inducement to a man of Mr Tiller’s ilk, and he did not even bring much news with him. He said very little of poor Mr Vance, and nothing at all of anyone else. He had been travelling about a bit, he said, and had spent the last six months at Mr Gray’s office in Lancaster, so he knew nothing of Branton.

She was exceedingly disappointed in him. His only function, it seemed, was to provide gossip for the spinsters of the parish who gathered in Mrs Dewar’s parlour to sew, and spent an inordinate amount of time teasing Katherine gently about what they described as her lovelorn swain. She was relieved to return after these outings to the less trying atmosphere of Westwick Heights, where the topic of the day had now progressed to the quantity of bookcases required for the Dower House library.

Katherine had no opinion on bookcases, and therefore was permitted to retreat to the pianoforte and play to her heart’s content, mostly easy pieces that allowed her mind to wander freely over any number of subjects, such as where Kent might be, and what he was doing, and whether he would revert to his smuggling activities when he returned. Most of all, she wondered whether he thought of her as much as she thought of him, or whether she had already faded in his mind, like the paper on a sunny wall, becoming greyer and more indistinct with every day that passed.

***

K ent noticed the chimneys first. The town would look just like any other town were it not for the chimneys, monstrous great fingers pointing at the sky, clouds of smoke pouring from them. He could see warehouses, too, towering over the houses and shops below them. And everywhere he looked, he smiled as he thought of Katherine walking these streets, Katherine seeing the chimneys, Katherine gazing into shop windows. When he passed a gaggle of women chatting together outside a milliner’s shop, he imagined her as one of them, laughingly discussing the bonnets displayed, wondering which was the most becoming. And although there was pain in remembering her, he was happy to think he was encountering her spirit on every street corner.

Branton! Her town… her home, the place that had shaped her. The one place where she had felt at ease in society, where she had not blushed and stammered and been rendered inarticulate. She had surely never been inarticulate amongst her friends here. She would have talked freely, just as she had with Mrs Vance, and given him that unexpected glimpse of the friendly girl beneath the terrified mask.

The postilions took him to a respectable-looking inn, where the innkeeper instantly recognised him as a person of importance. How did they do that? His manner of speaking, perhaps, or the quality of his clothes. He had never thought much about it, but it always happened that way. Was it the way he walked, with an air of assurance? Or perhaps he simply expected to be treated with respect, and thus it came about.

However it was, he was given a large bedroom and a pleasant parlour with a good fire already blazing, and a tray of refreshments followed him up the stairs.

“This is our best parlour, sir,” the innkeeper said. “We’ve mutton and beef on the spit for your dinner, and the wife can do a chicken if you’ve a mind for it.”

“Any fish?”

“I’ll ask, sir. We’ve a cosy room for your manservant, too. I’ll have hot water sent up to you right away.”

“Not yet. I should like to pay a call on an acquaintance first… Mrs Vance. Do you know her?”

“Ah, the poor lady! Such a sad loss.”

“She is dead?” Kent said, startled.

“No, no! ’Tis Mr Vance, sir. Went to the Good Lord’s arms just three days ago, poor man. Buryin’ him this afternoon, they are.”

Thus, Kent spent his first day in Branton attending the funeral of a man he had never met. He could not now call upon Mrs Vance, but he had sent a note of condolence from the inn, and the innkeeper had directed him to the church where the funeral service was to be held. Kent sat at the back of the packed church, and then followed the mourners out to the graveyard, although standing a little apart, for he wanted to be able to give Katherine a full report. He wished he knew the names of those present.

After the interment, as the crowd began to drift away, a small group of young men came over to him at his vantage point beside a listing stone cross.

“Good day to you, sir,” one of them said. “You are welcome here, naturally, but… were you a friend of my father-in-law?”

“Mr Vance? No, I never met him. I briefly met Mrs Vance, however, so as I happened to be in Branton, I thought I would pay my respects here, since I cannot call upon such a recently widowed lady.”

“She would be delighted to see you, I am sure. Will you not come back to the house for refreshments?”

“No, indeed! I would not dream of intruding upon a grieving family.”

“Then at least give us your name, sir, so that we may tell her of your presence.”

“I am Kent Atherton, a friend of—”

They all cried out in delight. “Mr Atherton! We have heard so much about you! Indeed, you must come to the house with us, or Mrs Vance will never forgive us.”

And so he went, and Mrs Vance greeted him with the same pleasure, brushing aside his apologies. “I’d have been mortified if you’d gone away without calling,” she said, beaming at him. “Come and sit beside me and tell me how Katy’s going on. Reggie, a glass of something for Mr Atherton.”

And so the afternoon passed off most pleasantly in talking about Katherine… or Katy, as everyone called her. Kent even asked Mrs Vance about that.

“Oh, everyone calls her Katy. It was her mother who called her Katherine, always. Such a sweet lady, but very formal. So ladylike! But then she was a Hawley, and you know what they’re like! Huge estate up near Carlisle, and connected to the Marquess of Carrbridge, distantly. Mind you, everyone’s connected to him! The important families, that is, not the likes of us.” She laughed heartily, not at all the grieving widow. When Kent offered his condolences, she waved it aside. “No, none of that, if you please. I shall miss my husband dreadfully, for it’s above thirty years we’ve been man and wife, and never a cross word between us, but he’s been in a bad way for a long time, Mr Atherton, and I don’t mind telling you he was ready to go at the end there, and I’m glad his sufferings are over.”

Kent left when the lawyers began making noises about reading the will, but not before he had been introduced to Mr Ridwell, who had bought Longfarley, Mr Parish’s mill. Kent made an appointment to see the beam engine the next morning.

***

K atherine had spent the morning helping Mr Bertram Atherton box up his own books from the library, ready to be taken to the Dower House just as soon as the bookcases were ready to receive them. It was a pleasant occupation, dusting, packing and occasionally peeking inside some of the more interesting works. Since Mr Bertram was inclined to do the same thing, and Emily had found a novel to read, the morning was half gone, almost before they were aware of it.

A knock on the door was followed soon after by the butler admitting Uncle Cathcart and another man.

“Ah, Katherine, my dear,” her uncle said, beaming at her. “Here is someone you will not have been expecting to see.”

The young man beside him was perhaps thirty or so, tall and well built, with fair hair, deep blue eyes and a wide smile. Katherine looked at him in some bewilderment.

“Well?” he said, tipping his head on one side as the smile deepened. “Don’t you recognise me, sister?”

Sister! Surely it could not be—

“Harold?” she said tentatively.

“The very same, returned to you at last.”

“But… but you are dead!”

He roared with laughter. “As you see, I’m not quite dead yet.”