Page 16 of The Derbyshire Dance (Kendall House #3)

Chapter twelve

Cottages

“ I wonder if Miss Belinda Morrison might accompany me on this errand of mercy?”

Bel, clad in her trousers and cap, listened from the top of the stairs as the vicar consulted with Aunt Lucy below. She had been about to strike out for the tenant cottages to help Jer and Tam with the thatching, but Mr. Townsend’s knock had sent her in retreat up the stairs.

“Oh, how kind of you to ask,” replied Aunt Lucy, fully aware that Bel was nowhere near presentable—indeed, the vicar would have been appalled to see her in trousers.

“I believe she may not be…at home. But I can check. If you would just sit here, Mr. Townsend.” She gestured to the bench in the narrow hallway.

Aunt Lucy climbed the stairs, silently motioning Bel back into her bedroom so they could talk freely. She closed the door. “You must change your clothes, my dear, so you can go walking with the vicar. ”

“But I intend to examine the cottages today. The roof repairs are finished. And Mr. Ly—” Bel bit her tongue.

She did not want her aunt to think she had an assignation with Mr. Lymington.

She had simply mentioned to him where she might happen to be tomorrow.

She did not know for certain that he would appear.

“You can examine them just as well in a walking dress. Good heavens, it’s not as if you’ll be jumping up and down on the thatch!

Mr. Townsend would like your introduction to the tenants on Morrison land.

He’s received word that Mrs. Hogg is taken poorly and would like to offer her some spiritual reassurance. ”

Bel shook her head in disbelief. Mrs. Hogg was always “taken poorly” whenever she ran out of food at her cottage. What she would want from the vicar was a basket of provisions, not a parcel of spiritual platitudes.

“I can pack a basket for you to take,” said Aunt Lucy quickly. “And I can send Jenny upstairs to help you change. Wouldn’t you like to wear your navy-blue walking dress with the matching pelisse?”

Bel frowned. This was not how she had imagined the day proceeding. But Aunt Lucy could not be deterred, and a quarter of an hour later, Bel found herself holding onto the vicar’s arm and walking through the faint mist to the tenant cottages.

“Your aunt was unsure whether you would be at home,” observed Mr. Townsend brightly. “But I had just come from the Brownlees, and I knew you could not be there. And where else would you possibly go on a day like this?”

“Where indeed?” murmured Bel. She could think of a dozen places on her land and in the village that could have occupied her time this morning, but apparently, the vicar had no such imagination.

As she held onto his arm, she could not help comparing the brisk energy that emanated from him to the more leisurely pace that Mr. Lymington preferred.

Normally, she preferred efficiency and enthusiasm, and yet there was something about Mr. Lymington’s lazy amble… .

“Have you met Mrs. Hogg?” Bel asked, ceasing her woolgathering to hold up her end of the conversation.

“Not yet,” replied Mr. Townsend. “I understand that her health does not permit her to attend services.” His opposite hand was holding the basket that Aunt Lucy had packed, and he began to swing it so vigorously that Bel was afraid the jar of strawberry preserves would have some mishap.

“Her health along with her inclinations,” said Bel.

Mr. Townsend shook his head in disbelief, almost sending his vicar’s hat flying. “What do you mean, Miss Morrison? Is she irreligious?”

“She is quite religious when a basket is forthcoming, but at other times—no.”

Mr. Townsend tutted in annoyance. “The impiety of the metropolis continues to spread, even to a rural hamlet such as this. I am sorry to hear this. Have you worked to remedy this, Miss Morrison?”

“By bringing her baskets to encourage her piety?” Bel lifted an eyebrow.

“Indeed, but also in exhorting her to a truer form of godliness. Ye seek me, not because ye saw the miracles, but because ye did eat of the loaves, and were filled. ”

“I am afraid I have not been so bold,” said Bel meekly. “I shall observe your exhortation today, so that I may know how to go on in the future. ”

As they neared the row of tenant cottages, Bel’s sharp eyes took in the new thatch.

Jer and Tam had finished Mrs. Hogg’s cottage—not because it had been in most dire need but because its occupant had made the most dire complaints—and were now hard at work repairing the ridge across the peak of her neighbour’s roof.

Both Jer and Tam were busy passing bundles of straw up a ladder, so Bel elected not to distract them.

She would see their work from inside in a moment’s time.

Mr. Townsend let go of Bel’s arm and knocked loudly on the door of Mrs. Hogg’s cottage.

“It’s the wrong time of year for woodpeckers!

” replied a shrill voice, followed by a string of mild oaths.

The vicar stepped back in shock, and held out a hand in front of Bel, possibly to shield her from the old woman’s depravity.

“She thinks we’re the workmen,” explained Bel. She pushed past the vicar and used her voice rather than her knuckles. “Oh, Mrs. Hogg, it’s Bel Morrison. I’ve come to bring you a basket.”

There was no reply to that, only a scraping sound, and after a few seconds, a hunched woman came to the door and threw it open. “It’s about time you came to see me, Bel Morrison.” The old crone sniffed. “Well? Who’s this young man you have with you?”

Before Bel could reply, Mr. Townsend swept into the cottage, carrying her along in his wake. “I am Horace Townsend, the new vicar of Upper Cross and the surrounding areas. I believe you are Mrs. Hogg?”

“What if I am?” said the old woman. “What’s it to you?” Now that she knew the vicar’s identity, her defences were up. “An’ who invited you inside my house, you young upst—”

“Careful,” warned Bel. “You shan’t get your basket if you insult the vicar.”

Mrs. Hogg’s wrinkled lips pursed in suspicion as she considered Bel’s threat. “What’s in the basket?”

“Whatever it is,” said the vicar censoriously, “it is worth far less than the treasure that wisdom brings.”

Mrs. Hogg began to mutter, but she managed to keep a civil tongue in her head and keep her complaints of a general nature.

Shuffling forward, she took the basket from Bel, laid it on the table and began to sort through its contents.

“Ham. Scones and biscuits. And strawberry preserves, hmm? The jar’s smaller than last time, I see.

What’s this bundle?” She put it to her nose and sniffed loudly.

“Camomile? I ought t’use it for my headache.

Those great oafs have been up on my house all day, shaking the roof to pieces. ”

“But at least you’ll no longer need this,” said Bel, collecting a bucket in the corner of the room that had been used to catch the drips from the roof above.

“Hmph,” replied Mrs. Hogg. “Seems like a better time for such repairs would have been in the summer before the rains ever started.”

“ Today is always the second-best option to yesterday ,” said Bel cheerfully. She looked at the vicar and signalled him with a nod. “I believe Mr. Townsend has some words of exhortation for you.”

The vicar cleared his throat. “Mrs. Hogg, I have not seen you at church since I’ve come to Upper Cross.”

“Not surprising,” said the old woman with a grunt, “for I haven’t been there.”

“ Labor for the food that does not perish and the water of everlasting life.”

“A fine sentiment,” said Mrs. Hogg, “for folks who sit comfortably by with a clean account at the grocer’s and a full larder at home.

But this basket's what keeps me from perishin’ when Miss Bel here can find the time to come by my cottage.

” She looked at Bel, not exactly in charity with her, but also less in charity with the vicar.

“Miss Morrison’s generosity is commendable,” said the vicar. “I hope you are duly grateful.”

“Hmph,” snorted Mrs. Hogg. “I’d be even more grateful if you went away again. Now that I have my basket, I want to put the things away in peace.”

Mr. Townsend looked ready to deliver a stern lecture, but Bel knew from of old that it was no use arguing with Mrs. Hogg.

She made her farewells, and the vicar was obliged to follow her out of the cottage into the lane.

Jer and Tam were still aloft on the roof of the cottage next door, but Bel was intrigued to see another figure coming up the lane, a figure with dark hair, dark eyes, and a faded, ill-fitting jacket over a pair of buckskins.

“I wonder, Miss Morrison,” said the vicar, offering her his arm, “if you ought to focus more of your efforts on the deserving poor.”

“Oh, is that what you did in London?” asked Bel, taking his arm perfunctorily. “Refuse charity to all but the deserving?” She was far more interested in the dark-haired man’s long stride than Mr. Townsend’s long-faced strictures. Really, Mr. Lymington seemed to be in quite a hurry this morning….

“Indeed. The poor that refuse to amend their way of life should be left to their own devices. It is quite clear that a widow like Mrs. Hogg has not washed the feet of the saints in her younger days—”

“Good day, Miss Morrison. Mr. Townsend.” Mr. Lymington lifted his hat reverently to the vicar. But just before that, Bel could almost have sworn that he had given her a wink .

“Mr. Lymington,” said the vicar, in loud tones, taking in the other man’s faded clothing. “You look quite different in your working day clothes than your evening dress.”

“Indeed,” said the Audeleys’ houseguest. “I was afraid I might be required to ascend a roof today, so I borrowed my coachman’s clothes for the occasion.”

“Ascend a roof?” repeated Mr. Townsend incredulously. His eyes followed Mr. Lymington’s gaze until he caught sight of Jer on a ladder tossing a bundle of thatch up to Tam up above him. “I’m certain the local men have things well in hand.”