Things were different at Limeglade now, of course, with a new Lady Holmes. The baron had taken his daughter toLondon for a Season two years before, with the intentionof finding her a husband suitable to his consequence.Harriet had returned unattached—though Rebecca hadlearned afterward by piecing together various hints andslips of the tongue that great scandal had been narrowlyaverted when she had been about to run off with a half-payofficer.
But the baron himself had brought home a new wife—a wide-eyed, rather frightened young girl who looked noolder than Harriet, though in fact she was three years hersenior. Rebecca had been horrified. Uncle Humphrey obviously doted on his prize and felt that he had conferred agreat honor on her with his title, his wealth, and hisimposing person. Yet it seemed glaringly clear to Rebeccathat poor Maude had been the victim of ambitious parents.Several times she had caught an expression of distaste oreven revulsion on the girl’s face when she looked at herhusband. She behaved with perfect correctness and showedhim outward deference and even affection. But Rebeccawas in no doubt that her new aunt was unhappy. Harrietdid not help; she refused to recognize almost the veryexistence of the other woman.
Rebecca paused for a moment on the dirt road. Should she turn into the woods to her right and walk through themto the pasture? Or should she add an extra half mile to herjourney by walking farther along the road until the pasturemet it? The sunlight was so lovely—she glanced up to theclear blue sky. It would be a pity to plunge into shade anddarkness. And she was really in no great hurry. She walkedon.
She had resented Philip when he first came to the village. He had seemed a usurper—occupying Papa’s pulpit, living in their house. She had forced herself to be civil tohim and had gradually warmed to him as it became clearthat he was almost as eager as Papa to minister to theneeds of his parish. And she had had to admit that hissermons were easier to listen to than Papa’s had ever been.She had resumed some of her old activities—visiting thesick and the elderly, distributing most of the money thather uncle insisted on giving her, decorating the churchevery week with flowers.
Without even realizing that it was happening, she had found that a friendship was developing between her andthe vicar, over whose handsome person many a youngfemale heart was sighing. Several times they had talkedabout the need of a school for the village boys. It hadseemed like an impossible dream until one day he had toldher that he had contacted an acquaintance of his, a gentleman from London, and had been offered a dizzyingly largesum of money with which to set up a school. The onlyproblem was that they would not immediately be able tohire a teacher. The initial costs of a building and basicequipment would be too high. Rebecca had eagerly agreedto share the teaching responsibility with the ReverendEverett. It would mean teaching two days each week.
It had seemed almost natural a short time after that to receive Philip’s undemonstrative proposal of marriage. Shewould be a good helpmeet, he had explained. Not wife.Not friend. Not lover. Just helpmeet. Yet Rebecca hadcheerfully accepted. She was of an age when she mustmarry or resign herself to a life of spinsterhood. She waspast the age for love. Her one experience with that emotion had brought enough pain and disillusionment to last alifetime, anyway. She could do worse than be Philip’shelpmeet. With him she would be living the life that shehad always loved. And perhaps there would be a child ortwo. She would hate to think of going through life withoutexperiencing motherhood.
She looked ahead along the road to see how far she still was from the shortcut across the pasture. As she did so,she became aware of two female figures approaching acrossthe field to her left. The Misses Sinclair were also taking ashortcut from their father’s house a mile away. They werewaving to her and smiling.
“Well met, Miss Shaw,” Ellen, the older girl, called. “We are on our way to the house.”
“Indeed, it is a lovely day for a walk,” Rebecca called, and stopped to wait for the two girls to catch up to her.
Primrose climbed the stile first and jumped into the roadway. Dimples showed in both cheeks. Rebecca hadalways been somewhat aghast at the younger sister’s name.It was the sort of name that might sound very sweet for atiny baby but quite inappropriate for a sixty-year-old dowager. Fortunately Primrose was a pretty and a happy girland seemed to suit her name. She even favored, to anoticeable degree, dresses of yellow or lemon color. Butshe definitely did not suit the shortened name of Prim,which her family used.
“We are not going just for the walk,” Primrose said now, suppressed excitement in her voice. “We, have themost wonderful news to tell.”
Her sister came hurtling down from the stile. “You shan’t tell, Prim,” she scolded. “It was agreed that Ishould tell since I am eighteen and the older. Mama andPapa said!”
“But that is just at the house,” the younger girl complained. “You are to tell Harriet and Lord and Lady Holmes, Ellen. It is only fair that I tell now. It is onlyMiss Shaw after all.”
Rebecca smiled at the unintentional slight. “An agreement is binding,” she said. “I shall hear your news at the house.”
“No,” Ellen said, relenting now that her point had been won, “you can tell, Prim. But only here. Not a word atthe house.”
“Christopher is coming home!” the girl blurted, her extreme youth doubtless responsible for her inability tobolster her sense of importance by telling a story slowly.
Rebecca turned rather sharply in the direction of the pasture and led the way across the stile. “Indeed?” shesaid over her shoulder. “That is exciting news for you. Itis many years since he was here last, is it not?” Six and ahalf years, to be exact, she thought.
“Almost seven,” Primrose said. “I was only nine years old. I hardly remember his being here. He was away muchof the time even then, you see, at university.”
“Yes,” Rebecca said, waiting for the girls to join her in the pasture, “it must be that long. How time does fly!”
“He never did come home even once when he was married to Angela,” Primrose continued. “It always seemedstrange. You would have thought she would have liked tosee the place where he grew up, would you not? But theyalways stayed in London. We had to visit them there.”
“It was lovely for us, though,” Ellen said. “I hope that Christopher will not move permanently away from Londonnow that he is a widower. It would be most provoking justwhen we are of an age to take part in the social activitiesthere.”
“He is coming for a visit,” Primrose explained, “now that his year of mourning is over. He does not say howlong he plans to stay. But Mama and Papa are over themoon, and Julian. I think he likes the idea of having a richand fashionable brother to show off.” She giggled. “Andso do we. Christopher is most awfully handsome, Miss Shaw. We shall enjoy walking down the street in thevillage holding on to his arms. Shall we not, Ellen?”
“Maybe he will buy us some new bonnets and trinkets,” the older girl said. “It would be a shame if he didnot. He is very rich, you know.”
Primrose, walking—or rather tripping along—beside Rebecca, looked up at her with a bright smile. “You must have known Christopher when he lived here,” she said.“You are almost as old as he is, are you not?”
“He is three years my senior,” Rebecca replied. “And three years seems quite a wide span to children. I did notknow him well when we were very young.” She did notdefine whatvery youngmeant, but Primrose seemed satisfied with her answer.
“He was handsome even then,” the younger girl said. “I remember that at least. I’ll wager all the girls were inlove with him, were they not, Miss Shaw?”
Rebecca laughed. “I daresay he had his fair share of admirers,” she said. And she added lightly, “It was ablack day, indeed, for the female inhabitants of this countywhen he took himself off to London and decided never toreturn.”
“Well, fortunately he has decided to return again,” Ellen said. “The day after tomorrow, Miss Shaw. And heis single again. He surely will want another wife. He musthave got used to the married state and will feel lonelywithout Angela. We think perhaps he will like Harriet. Sheis certainly lovelier than Angela was.”
He had said never, Rebecca was thinking. He had said he would never return. And never had turned out to be lessthan seven years. She supposed it was only natural that hewould want to return to his parents’ home at least for avisit when he had recently lost his wife and the child thatshe was unable to deliver before her death. It was understandable. But very unfair. She had thought thatnevermeant not ever. She could have lived with that.
Primrose was nudging Ellen, and Ellen was giggling. “Is Mr. Bartlett at home this afternoon, Miss Shaw?” sheasked finally. “Or has he gone out?”
