Read Candles in the Storm Online
Authors: Rita Bradshaw
Tags: #Romance, #Sagas, #Historical, #Fiction
Candles in the Storm (29 page)
Enid was sitting on the end of Nellie’s bed, and now Alf’s mother nudged her old friend as she said, ‘You’d better watch your Ps an’ Qs when the parson knocks on the door, lass. Likely he’s never had an arse, only a backside.’
Both old women convulsed with laughter. It was Margery who asked quietly, ‘How bad is Kitty, Daisy?’
Margery was sitting in one of two wicker chairs with flock cushions which had been purchased a few weeks before, and as Daisy handed her a piece of cake she thought how poorly Tom’s lass looked. Apart from the mound of her stomach she seemed to have lost weight rather than put it on as her pregnancy had progressed.
‘She’ll be all right.’ Daisy gave her grandmother and Enid a piece of cake each and then Alf, leaving her own on the table as she continued, ‘Bugs just seem to bounce off Kitty, she’s always better twice as quick as anyone else. Miss Wilhelmina says she’s got the constitution of a horse.’
‘Aye, well, mebbe that’s the case but this influenza is a different thing, isn’t it?’
Alf’s tone was distinctly belligerent but before Daisy could voice the sharp reply she’d had in mind, Tilly and the children trooped in, fresh from visiting Tilly’s sister in Seaburn, and the little ones’ excited cries as they saw the birthday cake allowed the moment to pass.
The rest of the afternoon passed fairly harmoniously, but Daisy was forced to recognise she missed Kitty’s presence in the house. She hadn’t realised how much her friend talked to Alf and kept him amused, the two of them laughing and larking on like a pair of bairns most of the time. Today he sat quiet and morose, responding only in monosyllables to anything which was said to him. His demeanour cast a shadow over the precious hours she had at home, and by the time they heard the parson’s trap outside the cottage Daisy was almost glad to leave.
She pulled her shawl round her shoulders as Margery climbed the ladder to the upper room as quickly as her increased girth would allow. The other girl had been horrified to learn the parson would call, her shame at being an unmarried mother seemed to swell with her stomach, and although Daisy had tried to persuade her to stay and meet Parson Lyndon Margery had become upset at the mere thought.
Once the introductions to the others had been made Daisy had expected they would leave immediately, but the parson seemed in no hurry, engaging first Tilly and then the oldest of her children in conversation and handing the bairns a slab of stickjaw for them to share.
Nellie watched the tall young man from her vantage point in the bed, and something in his gaze as he looked at Daisy made her heart beat faster. So that was the way of it. Did the lass know? She doubted it. Whenever she’d mentioned the parson Daisy had referred to him in almost reverential tones, and Nellie was sure her granddaughter saw him as a being apart from the normal throng, because of the man’s vocation and also because he was a highly intelligent and learned individual according to the lass. But however Daisy saw him, he obviously liked her.
Nellie felt warm pride stir within her. There had been a change in her granddaughter over the months since she’d started having lessons with this tutor feller. A little learning had served to stimulate her lass’s naturally inquisitive and searching mind. Daisy was brighter than most, Nellie would swear to it. She had always asked the most baffling questions right from a bairn, and had only been knee-high to a grasshopper when she’d wanted to know why the sky was blue, what made the tides come in and go out, and why coal burnt and stones didn’t. Nellie had always passed her granddaughter’s queries over to George, but - bless him - her son-in-law hadn’t been up to all the answers as the lass had grown. But the parson now, he was different altogether.
Her Daisy had always been a peculiar lass - not in a strange way but in an extraordinary way - and some men couldn’t cope with that. Nellie’s gaze fell on Alf. The last months had shown her that the girl had been right to refuse him, much as she and Enid would have liked the pair of them to get wed, Nellie thought. Alf was a good lad, but he was a fisherman born and at heart wanted a lass who knew her place as his wife and the mother of his bairns, and that was all. Daisy was different from most of the fishergirls and this had become more and more apparent of late. Not that her wonderful Mr William would ever have been any good to the lass - just heartache and maybe ruin there - but the parson . . . It meant something if you were a parson’s wife, by, it did, and she would be safe with him. And with all his book learning and such, she’d look up to him which was important in a marriage.
‘It’s right good of you to give Daisy a ride back to the house, Parson.’ Nellie ignored Alf’s stiff expression and spoke warmly. ‘I hope it’s not put you about too much?’
‘Not at all, Mrs Shaw.’
‘An’ the lovely hamper Daisy’s mistress sent! She’s so kind to the lass is Miss Fraser.’
Hector smiled. ‘A meek and willing spirit will always reap its own reward, Mrs Shaw.’
Nellie nodded but didn’t reply to this. The Daisy she knew was willing enough, but much as Nellie loved her granddaughter she could never have described her as meek.
Daisy had been standing in the middle of the room, her shawl still round her shoulders. Now, as she reached for the empty basket, Hector said quickly, ‘Allow me.’
‘Oh, thank you.’ Daisy was flustered and it showed. She kissed her grandmother and said goodbye to the others, and she and the parson were actually at the door when Alf said, with no lead up whatsoever, ‘So you’re not married then? You live in the Vicarage on your own?’
Hector turned to face the bronzed young fisherman. ‘I have a very able housekeeper who comes each morning,’ he said quietly.
‘Still a big place to live in on your own, isn’t it?’
Daisy stared at Alf’s red face and now she was squirming inside. What was he doing, speaking to the parson in that tone of voice?
‘Possibly.’ Hector smiled, a soft deprecating smile. ‘But hopefully it won’t be for ever.’
Alf wanted to say, ‘You’ve got your eye on a lass then?’ but knew that would be going too far. Instead he said, his tone still distinctly confrontational, ‘Nice, is it, the Vicarage?’
Hector seemed to consider his answer for a moment. ‘Yes, it is very pleasant, but more importantly it is where God has called me to minister,’ he said gently.
Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Alfred Hardy. Daisy glared at him and Alf glared back, but Hector merely nodded to the women once again and opened the cottage door. ‘Shall we?’ He gestured for Daisy to precede him out of the house and this she did, after one last furious glance at Alf.
‘I’m . . . I’m sorry about Alf.’ They had climbed up into the parson’s trap which was a relatively new one with fine brass side lamps, although the pony was getting on a bit. Nevertheless, Primrose was as calm and placid as they come with great heavily lashed eyes and a gentle disposition, which was important in a parson’s pony. It wouldn’t do for her to be bad-tempered or untrustworthy, not with the amount of time she had to wait outside various dwelling places while the parson ministered to those within. But Primrose loved human beings and animals alike and always lowered her velvet muzzle to nuzzle at anyone who stopped to pet her. Daisy stared across the pony’s broad furry back and didn’t look at the parson as she added, ‘I can’t think what has got into him.’
‘I think the young man is fond of you, and that being the case is a little over-protective,’ Hector said quietly, adding, ‘although that is no bad thing,’ in case she thought he was criticising her friend.
Daisy’s cheeks turned pinker. ‘I have brothers who are more than able to provide any protection necessary. Alf . . . well, he knows where he stands on that score.’
So the fisherman had made his feelings plain to her at some point. Hector took a deep breath and said steadily, ‘He may have taken exception to my bringing you to the village and then calling again.’
She didn’t doubt it. Twilight was beginning to dampen down the vivid blue of the sky above and there was the scent of hay in the warm air. It had been a long hot summer and the farmers had made the most of it, harvesting the corn and getting it safely in the stack or in barns in plenty of time this year. No doubt lots of farm workers would have spent this Sunday afternoon walking round the parish admiring or criticising each other’s efforts because a good corn rick was a work of art.
‘See, over there? There are several goldfinches feeding on thistle seed.’
The parson’s voice brought Daisy out of her thoughts and as she looked across to where the pretty little birds were busying themselves arguing over the choicest morsels, she thought, He’s so nice, the parson. Most people wouldn’t have given the birds a second glance, let alone stopped the pony and trap and commented about them.
She smiled back at him and for the first time, as their eyes met, Daisy realised the parson was really very good-looking and not all that old, or not for a parson anyway. It was disconcerting, seated next to him as she was, and suddenly Alf’s rudeness took on a whole new slant. She had assumed his attitude was one of resentment because he saw the parson as part of the life which had taken her away from the village, but the way Parson Lyndon had looked at her just now put a different complexion on the afternoon.
Daisy dropped her eyes, her thoughts causing her cheeks to burn as she pretended to take an interest in the view on her side of the trap.
Hector smiled to himself. He had seen the sudden awareness and the ensuing blush of confusion, and considered this just as it ought to be in an innocent, artless young girl. Daisy was woman enough to have registered his unspoken declaration of intent and that was quite enough to be going on with for now.
He adjusted his long legs, making some comment about the lovely evening as he did so to which Daisy replied shyly.
He was fully aware that she looked upon him first and foremost as a man of the cloth, and, he liked to think, as a friend too, or perhaps a counsellor and teacher on a par with her tutor would be a better definition. Now she had been awakened to the fact that along with those things there were others - that he was an ordinary man made of flesh and blood for a start. There would be plenty of time once she had adjusted to this realisation to present himself as a suitor, but she was still very young and he knew he had to be patient.
Hector breathed in the warm scented air, smiled again to himself, and allowed Primrose to continue at a steady pace as he engaged Daisy in conversation about nothing more contentious than how she had enjoyed her afternoon with her family.
‘You are not seeing this clearly, William, and if it was just your well-being at stake I would say go ahead and learn the hard way. You will always have money behind you and furthermore will always be accepted into good society whatever errors of judgement you make while you bear the Fraser name.’
‘The Fraser name!’
It was said with utter contempt and now Wilhelmina’s voice became even sharper as she said, ‘Yes, the Fraser name. Mock it if you like, but the fact remains you will be forgiven much on the strength of it. If, heaven forbid, this madness of which you speak did come to pass it would not last, you must be aware of that? And when the marriage finished you would recover and go on to make a good life for yourself among your own kind in this male-dominated society in which we live. Oh, yes, you would, and you needn’t shake your head at me in that way. But Daisy . . . she would be cast adrift most cruelly. Tennyson, Ruskin and other writers habitually liken maidens to flowers, but believe me, William, girls of Daisy’s class need to be as tough and enduring as oak trees.’
William almost fell so abruptly did he turn and march over to the drawing-room windows, and it was from there he said, ‘I thought you of all people would understand. I thought you had some regard for Daisy.’
‘I have great regard for her which is why I am speaking to you like this.’
‘What about all your talk of women’s rights and how society is rotten from the inside out?’ William’s face was scarlet. ‘Or does all that only apply when it doesn’t affect your own family?’
Wilhelmina took a steadying breath. Dear, dear, the boy was in a state. Her heart was already palpitating violently from the force of the altercation which had begun some ten minutes earlier when William had arrived at Evenley House and showed her the brooch. She ignored its rapid throbbing as she said, ‘I think you know me better than that, William. I am not speaking in this way because I agree with society, or because its strictures give me any pleasure. Nevertheless, it must be said that Daisy is still a very young woman who knows nothing, or almost nothing, of the world you and I were born into. Can you visualise the child giving orders to your servants? Or accompanying you to dinner parties and holding her own with the ladies who will be there? Women are never so cruel as when a beautiful member of their sex is at a disadvantage, as Daisy would be. In every way.’
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