Page 3 of A Foolish Endeavor

“Yes, Frederick explained the process to me. What did you say was next, darling—an examination with the bishop?” Charlotte popped another cream puff into her mouth, closing her eyes in satisfaction. “Oh, my—Cook outdid herself with these. If I were not so afraid of gaining even more weight than I have already while expecting this baby, I should clean the platter entirely and leave not a one for the rest of you.”

Everyone laughed, and Frederick patted his wife’s hand. “I should not care a whit if you did eat them all, my dear. You had so little appetite during the first few months, it gladdens my heart to see you enjoy your food again.”

“Tell us, Frederick,” Evan said. “What must Gilbert do to obtain his position as your curate?”

“Well, as Charlotte said, he must make an appointment with our bishop and be examined on his proficiency of Latin, his knowledge of Scripture, and his familiarity with the liturgy and all of church doctrine. In addition, Bishop Martin may well have him read a sermon or two to assess his speaking ability—rather a critical portion of the job.”

“Oh, Gilbert should pass that portion with little problem,” said Miles. “For he was always our first choice to read aloud to us all in the evenings. He has an exceptional speaking voice, in my opinion.” He turned to Charlotte. “Do you not recall how well he acted out the parts in that dreadful novel about piracy you insisted upon hearing one evening?”

Charlotte laughed. “Indeed, he made a most frightening pirate—it quite gave me bad dreams. And while Gilbert has a good and strong voice, a sermon might dictate using a little less of a theatrical rendition than a novel might. We must not shock the more elderly parishioners,” she said with a wink at her husband.

Miles rose and went to the window. “Where is he? Gilbert is missing out on all this cheerful talk and good food.”

“How did he seem when you picked him up in Doddington, Miles?” Evan asked.

Miles turned back to the others, frowning. “To tell the truth, Father, he was not the happy Gilbert we all know. Indeed, now that I think on it, whenever I asked him about school, he seemed ill-disposed to speak of it. I put it down to his feeling tired from the long journey, but now, I wonder. Could he be keeping something from us? You do not think he left Oxford in a manner not of his own accord, do you? Might he have been… asked to leave?”

A chorus of no’s came from the room’s occupants. “I cannot imagine that is the case,” Charlotte said. “Likely you were correct in your assessment, Miles. He is only fatigued from all the work he has undergone these past few months completing his education. I suggest we give him plenty of time to regain his equanimity these next few days. We must not make him feel so pressured to begin the next stage of his life that he regrets coming home to us, after all.”

There was general agreement to her suggestion.

“Excellent idea, my dear. We should not bring up any issue regarding his taking orders for a week, at the very least,” Evan said. Turning to Frederick, he added, “I know you are eager to share with him the exceedingly generous offer to make him your curate, Frederick, but let us all give him some time to feel more at home. Indeed, I am most confident it will be only a few days before he informs us entirely on his own of all his hopes for his future.”

Chapter Three

Knowing he was being nearly unforgivably rude to his family, Gilbert strode away from Clayton House as swiftly as he could. The spring wind felt brisk at first, but within a few minutes, he was warm enough. Perhaps he might walk as far as the village, Doddington. It would give him time to think on his situation. Not that he wished to dwell upon it.

Oh, his situation felt most grievous, indeed. How could he possibly tell his family the truth—that he had left Oxford before taking his final exams? That he had not even completed all his classes, because he simply could not bear it another week? The pressure he had felt as his last days of schooling approached had utterly overwhelmed him. He knew his family fully expected him to enter the church. Indeed, that had been his intention, as well, when he went to University. However, the further he delved into the classes he knew were necessary for that career, the more dismay he felt. Latin? Necessary, but a complete bore. History was somewhat interesting, but philosophy all but put him to sleep in lectures. The only subjects he truly took pleasure in were mathematics and rhetoric. In truth, he was ranked at the top of his fellow students in those areas. The other classes? He managed to barely scrape by, which is why he had not taken his final exams in them.

In addition, the entire structure of the student body at Oxford had caused him dismay. Gilbert counted himself lucky to be admitted in the Gentleman-Commoner class, thanks to his father owning a decent estate. It allowed Gilbert to sit at the higher tables at meals in the dining hall, along with the elite Nobleman Commoners. Both classes were well away from the next status down—the Commoners. Those men were appreciated for their scholarly attributes, but were often looked down upon for being only the sons of wealthy tradesmen, rather than of the landed gentry. Gilbert, himself, felt no disdain for the Commoners. In fact, he had actually made a very good friend from that class—Carter Milbourn—who had often helped him study Latin.

Lowest of all were called the Servitors students—those unfortunates who had to work for their education, were housed in the coldest, smallest rooms, and were often treated poorly—even cruelly—by those in the upper classes. While Gilbert never did so, if pressed, he would have to admit that neither did he stand up for those young men or stop others from conducting their harassment. Gilbert understood how things were, but it still bothered him to see the separations of classes, recognizable at a glance from the distinguishing caps and gowns each group wore. The gowns of the nobleman students were of finest silk with gold lace, and their caps were decorated with gold tassels. Even Gilbert’s class enjoyed silk robes trimmed with rows of black pom-poms, while the Servitors wore plain gowns of the cheapest black cloth and a plain black cap. Yes, it was easy to immediately note a student’s status and comprehend the privileges that went along with it.

No, Gilbert was glad to be done with his education, even as he dreaded his family’s learning the truth of his failures. Their disappointment would be lessened if he might soon assure them with confidence of his next steps. Then, all would be well. But Gilbert was at an utter loss to ascertain his new direction for himself and dreaded having to reveal his secrets.

As he walked towards Doddington, his spirits very low, Gilbert barely took notice of a young woman sitting on a low, stone wall alongside the road. So intent on his musings, he walked past without any acknowledgement of her. Then a voice called his name and he halted.

“Gilbert, is that you?”

He turned to see Nancy Slade, whom he had often played with as a child. She was the daughter of a successful businessman in Doddington. Her mother had died when Nancy was about eight, and her father, intent on building his businesses, had hired a governess for his daughter. The woman had often enjoyed a long afternoon nap, giving her charge free rein to run wild when her morning studies were completed. Indeed, the first time Nancy and Gilbert had met, she had challenged him to see who could climb up higher in a large oak tree and—all these years later he still hated to admit it—she had won. He had always admired her fearless nature, and would run off from Clayton House to meet up with Nancy after his own tutor released him. The two would scamper about the countryside for hours. He had seen little of her since going away to school, yet looking at her now, he thought she had not changed much from when they had played together. She still had the sweet, heart-shaped and lightly freckled face, red curly hair, and dimples.

“Nancy,” he said, coming back to stand before where she still sat, swinging her legs freely, and grinning up at him. “Excuse me for walking past you with no greeting. My mind was otherwise occupied.”

“I could see that,” she said, jumping down from the stone wall. “My, such a serious countenance I saw upon you. No wonder I was all but invisible to you.”

“Again, my deepest apologies,” he said, making a teasing bow to her.

She laughed, and dropped a deep curtsy. “Oh, such the gentleman you are now that you have been to University. I suppose I ought to address you more properly than Gilbert now. Shall I call you Master Gilbert? Or Mr. Kendall?”

“Mr. Kendall is my father, as you well know. I hope to always just be Gilbert to you.” He exhaled loudly and looked up the road. “I was just walking into Doddington. Will you join me?”

“And risk my very reputation?” Nancy placed a hand over her bosom and threw her eyes up towards the sky. “Why, sir, how can you ask such a thing of me?” When Gilbert stood, unable to reply, she laughed and said, “Of course, I am teasing you. I am no highborn lady, after all. Everyone knows you and I are old friends, therefore, I do not anticipate any scandalous gossip will ensue from being seen alone in your company.” She winked at him and added in a serious tone, “I believe I may safely walk alongside you as a friendly companion.”

“I hope we always shall be friends, Nancy. I thought of you often when I was at school.”

“Oh, now you are teasing me.” The two walked up the road. “Tell me, Gilbert, did you enjoy Oxford?”

“It was… it was….” He took a deep breath and shook his head. “I do not know how to properly answer your query, Nancy. Some of my classes were fascinating and others were agony to endure.”