She read it, then looked at us. “My eyes are not what they used to be,” she said with a frown.
“What do ye call him?” Lily asked as she bent to pet the dog.
“What is that, you say?” Mrs. Hollings replied.
“He must have a name.”
The dog caught her scent and immediately began to wag his tail.
“He has a name—Otis. He doesn’t usually take to strangers. And you would be Mikaela Forsythe and Miss Lily Montgomery,” Mrs. Hollings commented with note in hand and apparently no difficulty reading our names after all.
“Sit,” she said then. “Annie will bring tea and then you can tell me what you want to know about St. Andrew and St. Mary’s.”
As before, I explained that we were looking for information about the man who was vicar in the early months of 1861, and the name we found in the church records
She nodded. “That would be the Reverend Chastain, and a dreadful time for the parish with the scandal that involved those boys from the university.”
Historian indeed, I thought. “What can you tell us about that?”
“It involved several well-placed young men, very nearly got themselves dismissed,” she added with a nod. “There were four of them, called themselves…”
“The Four Horsemen,” I provided.
“That was it! Some sort of biblical reference, caused quite a stir at the time. But not nearly as much as the scandal over that poor girl, the vicar’s daughter, no less. Mary was her name.
“Not that I was surprised,” she said with a knowing look. “She was a wild young thing, the mother passed on. But the worst of it was that night at the Rose and Crown, the tavern at the other end of the village near the university.
“Those young men closed the tavern down, some twenty odd of them, including the young prince. It was said the girl was there as well. As I said, wild, if you get my meanin’.
“There was all sorts of gossip that went on that night, and His Highness was removed from the university shortly afterward by his father. It was said that he was sent out of the country to protect him against any scandal.
“It was a short while after that Mr. Chastain put in a request to end his term so that he could leave with the girl. The bishop agreed, and they were gone shortly after. I felt sorry for them both. Mr. Jewett came in after, a good man, bless his soul.”
“Do you know where Mr. Chastain and his daughter might have gone?”
“St. Pancras Old Church at Camden, according to Emma Mayhew. Her sister was housekeeper at the rectory there for some time, though I’m certain she has passed on now. She was older than me.” She cackled with laughter. “If you can imagine.”
We now had more information than when we arrived—a name and where the vicar had gone at the time. No doubt to avoid a scandal that the bishop at the time hoped to avoid.
“What sort of person was the vicar?” I asked. She had spoken a great deal about Mary, but little about her father.
“A good man as well, he doted on the girl. Did his best, I suppose, to raise her without the mother about. Not an easy task, as I well know.”
“Was there any mention about either of them after they left?”
“It all quieted down afterward. Mr. Jewett, who came in after, was a single man and did not tolerate gossip that involved the church.”
We stood to leave.
“I appreciate the visit. You will be taking the train back to London then?” she commented.
“It’s a short walk from here to the village,” she added. “I go two, sometimes three, times a week to market. Though the weather is fixing to set in.”
I thanked her for the tea as Lily said good-bye to Otis.
“She walks there two or three times a week?” Lily commented as we left. “She reminds me of Lady Montgomery.”
We reached the rail station in good time and purchased luncheon at a restaurant as we warmed ourselves and waited for the afternoon train.
