They bumped along a different, narrower lane, to the edge of a village, or perhaps it might more modestly describe itself as a hamlet. The parsonage was not hard to find, being the only building of substance amongst a scattering of labourers’ cottages.
This time Izzy got down from the carriage, too, glad of a reprieve from the rain, and hoping her bonnet, alreadybedraggled from Ian’s rough handling of it yesterday, might dry out a little after its drenching at the last posting inn.
Ian knocked on the door, which was opened by a boy of perhaps twelve.
“Lord Farramont to see the parson,” Ian said.
The boy goggled at him, then turned his gaze, awe-struck, on the mud-bespattered carriage. “You’s not there yet,” he said, after a minute, pointing to the north. “That way. Few more miles, is all. Find a smith — he’ll do it.”
Izzy burst into peals of laughter. “He thinks we are eloping, Ian.”
A voice from inside the house called out, “Who is it, Jamie?”
“’Tis a lord, Pa.”
The door opened wider, and a man’s face appeared. He was about forty, and shabbily dressed. He too stared at Ian and Izzy, and then at the carriage. “Um…” he began.
“I am Viscount Farramont,” Ian said helpfully. “This is Lady Farramont. May we come in?”
“Oh… of course, my lord… my lady. An honour. In here.Martha!Please to step this way. Excuse these papers… let me just… it will only take a moment…” He led them into an untidy little room, the rug threadbare and the furniture scuffed. As he scurried about gathering up scattered books and papers, heaping them onto an already laden desk, the chairs showed fraying covers. “Martha! Come at once!There, my lady… please to sit down. My lord. Ah, here is my wife. Viscount Farramount, Martha. And Lady Farramount.”
“Farramont,” Ian said. “And your name is…?”
“Hyde. William Hyde. This is Mrs Hyde. The boy is my son, James, for my sins. Martha, find the sherry for his lordship and her ladyship. I am sure there is some left. How may I be of service, my lord?”
“My wife and I would like you to marry us.”
That sent Izzy into peals of laughter again, and Ian laughed, too, and explained the circumstances to the Hydes, who listened with their mouths dropping open. In a small rural parish such as this one, Izzy supposed that they rarely saw the nobility at all, let alone one bearing so outlandish a tale.
At the end of it, Mr Hyde licked his lips nervously. “Are you… staying near here, my lord? Because… residence and so forth… banns…”
“I have a special licence,” Ian said.
Mr Hyde made a small sound that might have been a moan. “Aspeciallicence,” he whispered. “In seventeen years as incumbent of this parish, I have never seen a special licence. I marry dairy maids and labourers, mostly, when they bother to marry at all. Abishop’slicence, now — that has happened twice, once for the squire’s son, and once when Rosie Talbot married the heir to a baronetcy, but oh, aspeciallicence! May I… may I see it, my lord?”
Ian brought it out and the clergyman took it in trembling fingers. “Look, Martha! The seal of the Archbishop of Canterbury himself.‘Charles by Divine Providence Archbishop of all England…’”He sighed, a beatific smile on his face, running his hands over it reverently. “And here are your names… Ian Lambert Farramont, Viscount Farramont… Isabel Alice Atherton… When would you like to be married, my lord?”
“As soon as you can don your vestments and light the altar candles, Mr Hyde.”
“Oh!” He jumped up. “Of course! Right away! The altar candles… you would not prefer to be married here, in greater privacy?”
Ian looked around at the shabby little room. “In church, before God’s altar, Mr Hyde.”
“Of course, of course. Jamie, run and fetch Tom Mason from the farm. Tell him he’s to be a witness at a lord’s wedding. Atleast he can write his name. And Bob Sanders — he will still be sober enough at this hour. I shall just put on my vestments. Shall I meet you at the church, my lord?”
“Answer me one question first,” Ian said. “You are an ordained clergyman, are you not? Ordained in the Anglican Church? It is somewhat important to us.”
Mr Hyde chuckled. “Indeed I am, my lord. Ordained at Carlisle Cathedral these seventeen years past. Now let me see… where are my papers… they should be here… ah! There they are! You see, my lord? All is in order.”
“Then… to church!” Ian said.
Izzy abandoned the indifferent sherry with relief, and walked the short distance to the church. It was, like many small rural churches, plain inside, with whitewashed walls and little decoration. A few modest plaques on the wall gleamed golden in sun streaming through the windows. Here they waited, as Mr Hyde rushed in, followed by his wife and a string of children, and two or three servants. Then more people arrived as word spread, cottage wives and the old men of the village, a muscular smith or perhaps farrier, two or three servants, and the inevitable cluster of children, asking questions in loud voices and being shushed by their elders.
Jamie returned with Bob Sanders, an elderly man rather wobbly on his feet, and the news that Tom Mason was on his way but had gone back to the farmhouse to remove his smock and put on his Sunday coat for the occasion.
That made Izzy laugh again. “For once you are not waiting for me,” she murmured to Ian.
Ian gave her a small smile. “That gives you time to change your mind.”
