Chapter 1
“What I find most hurtful is their apparent lack of gratitude,” the Reverend Philip Everett said. “It seems tome that the least they can do is be thankful for what wehave done for them.”
Rebecca Shaw smiled at him as she straightened the small pile of old books on the table in front of her. “Youdemand too much, Philip,” she said placatingly. “Youcannot really expect young boys to be grateful for beingforced into a schoolroom to learn their letters when theymight be out in the fields working with their fathers.”
“Yet you and I have worked hard for more than a year to make all this possible,” he said, gesturing vaguely atthe room around them. He was standing squarely in frontof the table, earnestly regarding his companion. “It seemedsuch a noble dream, Rebecca, to open a school for thevillage boys. Left to themselves, they would never have achance for anything more in life than labor in the fields orperhaps employment in one of those dreadful new factories. We give them a chance of learning so that perhapsthey can be employed as clerks at the very least. Do theynot understand that?”
Rebecca rested her hands on top of the books and looked calmly at her betrothed. He had that crusading zealin his eyes, the look that had always drawn her to him. Itwas there sometimes during his Sunday sermons, when hecould transport his parishioners in spirit beyond the confines of their little world and all its humdrum activities andbring them closer to the meaning of it all. It was therewhen he had some fixed idea in his mind for service tomankind.
It was this zeal that still endeared him to Rebecca. Yet the purely feminine side of her nature had to admit shealso took pleasure in his good looks. He was a tall youngman, whose very upright bearing accentuated his height.He always dressed plainly in black. His only concession tovanity was the care he gave his thick blond hair, whichwas always clean and shining and which he always worerather long. His complexion was fair and had a tendency toflush at the slightest emotion. He was flushed now.
“No,” she said, “they probably do not understand, Philip. They are merely children. Most of them are incapable of looking to the future. All they know is that we areforcing them to sit in here when they could be outsidehelping in the fields or playing. Come, there is nothing soreprehensible in their attitude. We must have faith thatwhat we are doing is right and will work out well in theend.”
The Reverend Everett turned his head and looked around him. The building was not large—an oblong, single-roomedstructure with whitewashed walls and dirt floor. Five rowsof heavy wooden benches, nailed to the floor, filled muchof the room. The roughly carpentered table behind whichRebecca stood occupied the remaining space. Small pilesof books and papers were on the windowsills at the back ofthe room. A few watercolors, all apparently painted by thesame hand of only limited talent, helped give the room alived-in appearance.
He walked over to the doorway, from which the door had been pulled back to let in some fresh air, and gazedout to the bright world beyond. His hands were claspedbehind him. “If the boys themselves cannot understand,”he said, “at least I would expect their parents to do so. Dothey not want something better for their children than whatthey have? Yet today you had only fourteen pupils. Thereshould have been nineteen.”
Rebecca crossed to his side. She put a hand on his sleeve and looked up into his face. “Have patience, Philip,”she said. “The idea of having their sons educated is newto them. Many of them find it hard to believe that learningto read will help their children to a better way of life. Youhave to sympathize with their caution, you know. Lifedoes not offer these people much in the way of variety oradvancement. They must be almost afraid to hope.”“They will have no hope at all,” he said, his armunyielding beneath her touch, “if they will not at leastsend the boys to school.”
“They will,” she said, a smile on her face that he did not turn to see. “Let us give it time. We must not losehope, at all events, Philip. We have overcome too manyobstacles to give up now. The money was truly a gift fromheaven.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “I should have thought sooner of that wealthy acquaintance of mine in London. He told meyears ago that I must call on him if ever I felt in need offunds for a worthwhile project.”
“I wish he could see the school,” Rebecca said, looking with shining eyes back into the spartan little room. “It is not much, Philip, but to have a building of our own andeven books and paper and charcoal still seems like a dreamcome true. What I find most touching about your patron isthat he insists on remaining anonymous. So many timesthe rich are charitable only so that others may see andpraise their generosity.”
“I send reports to him regularly,” the vicar said. “He is pleased with what we have done and are doing.”
Rebecca squeezed his arm reassuringly before removing her hand and turning to take her bonnet and shawl from ahook on the wall behind the door. “I must be gettinghome,” she said. “Maude will doubtless delay tea until Iam there, and if I am late Harriet will be cross and makeall our lives miserable for the rest of the day.”
Philip frowned. “I do not like the thought of your living with your uncle,” he said. ‘‘Miss Shaw is by far toowillful. She is all I abhor in people of wealth and privilege. And Lady Holmes, I fear, is too young and too weakto control her stepdaughter.”
‘‘One can hardly expect otherwise,” Rebecca said cheerfully, tying the bow of her straw bonnet beneath her chin. ‘‘Harriet has been used to being mistress at Limegladesince she was ten years old. It is difficult for her to adjust tothe presence of a new mistress and stepmother—especiallywhen Maude is only three years her senior. But there isnothing malicious about either of them. And Uncle Humphrey has always done his best to make me feel that Ibelong in his home.”
“I still cannot like it,” Philip said. “I shall be thankful when we can wed and I can remove you to my ownhome.”
Rebecca smiled fleetingly in his direction and crossed to the table to take up her reticule. She did not know exactlywhat Philip was waiting for, but ever since their betrothalalmost a year before, he had spoken with some longingabout their forthcoming marriage as if some definite obstacle stood in the way. He was not by any means a wealthyman, but then with his calling he was never like to be. Theliving in which he was established was a good one. Theparsonage, which stood next to the church, was comfortable if not lavish in its furnishings. He had a wealthypatron, who was apparently willing to aid him in anycharitable scheme he favored. There seemed no bar, then,to their nuptials.
Yet no definite arrangements had been made. When she stopped to think about it, Rebecca considered it ratherstrange. After all, neither of them was very young. Philiphad recently turned thirty; she was six-and-twenty. But shedid not think of it very frequently. She was quite contentwith life as it was at present. When Philip decided that itwas time for them to marry, she would be ready. But shehad no intention of pressing the issue with him.
“I shall see you tomorrow, then, Philip?” she asked cheerfully when she reached the door again. “I shall walkover to the parsonage as soon after luncheon as I may.Visiting the sick always takes a full afternoon.”
“Yes,” he said, “and I am always grateful for your help, Rebecca. Good day to you.”
She left him standing in the doorway as she crossed the road to the country lane that led in the direction of heruncle’s home. It would have been a three-mile walk, butshe always took a shortcut through the pasture. She muchpreferred to walk than to call out the gig, though UncleHumphrey constantly upbraided her for not using his conveyances. She would ruin her complexion with all thefresh air and exercise, he warned.
Rebecca smiled to herself. Uncle Humphrey had always been terrified of fresh air, and he rarely walked fartherthan from the dining room to his sitting room, or from hiscoach to his church pew. And his was not an attitude thathad come only with advancing age. Indeed, he was barelyfifty years old now. He had always been the same as farback as she could remember. Whenever he used to call atthe parsonage to visit Papa, when Papa had been thevicar, he would always arrive in a closed carriage, summerand winter, and have to be escorted into the house bya footman, on whom he leaned heavily. Yet he musthave been little more than thirty at the time she wasremembering.
And his complexion always preoccupied Uncle Humphrey, too. He had continued to wear paint and powder on his face long after it became unfashionable for men to doso. The paint protected his face from the elements, he hadexplained to Papa at one time. And even now if she shouldhappen to see him at night, his face would be heavilysmeared with creams to prevent wrinkles. And indeed hewas remarkably youthful looking for a man of his years.Somewhat portly, it was true, but he carried his weightproudly. He was an imposing, if a somewhat vain, figureof a man, Rebecca was forced to admit.
She had been living at Limeglade for five years now, ever since the death of Papa. Dear Papa! So deeply engrossed in the Lord’s work that he had never seemed tohave one thought to spare for the affairs of the world. Hehad been the younger brother of Uncle Humphrey, LordHolmes, and therefore his life had been destined for thechurch ever since he was a young boy. But it was hard toimagine him in any other kind of life. On the death of hisparents, he had inherited a sizable portion of both hismother’s and his father’s fortunes. Yet the money had alldisappeared—not frittered away, but given freely to everyone who had asked his help, including several unworthieswho had been less in need than he and his family.
Rebecca had been the sole member of her father’s household after the death of her mother ten years before in the same smallpox epidemic that had carried off Aunt Sybil.She had accomplished the almost impossible—keeping houseand feeding and clothing them both on almost no income.She had almost forgotten what money looked like. Yet shehad been happy during most of those years. They had hada home and they had had friends. There had been nodanger of starving. They were living the faith that they professed.
Yet when the Reverend Shaw had died, Rebecca was left quite destitute. She had been one-and-twenty at thetime and would quite cheerfully have looked for employment as a governess. Uncle Humphrey had almost faintedaway when she had made the suggestion on the afternoonfollowing the funeral. He had indeed sat down heavily—yet gracefully—on the chair that was fortunately positioned just behind him, and fanned his face languidly witha lace-bordered handkerchief.
It was quite unfitting, he had said, for the niece of Lord Holmes of Limeglade to seek employment, albeit the jobof governess was genteel work. His whole family wouldbe disgraced. If she must insist on being useful—he hadgrimaced at the very thought—she must devote herself tobeing Harriet’s companion. Harriet no longer enjoyed thecompany of her governess—penniless daughter of a merecountry parson, poor soul—and needed someone of herown class and with her own good breeding.
Rebecca had hesitated. She hated to be beholden to her uncle. Her years with her father had made her valueindependence and had made her uneasy about privilege.Yet she was fond of her vain, foolish uncle and of hishigh-spirited daughter, despite her volatile temper. Shehad agreed to live with them on the condition that herallowance be small, only what she could feel she hadearned as Harriet’s companion. And she had continued toview herself more in the light of employee than relative,despite Harriet’s apparent lack of interest in her companyand despite Uncle Humphrey’s frequent complaints abouther plain attire and charitable works.
