Page 4 of The Case of the Curate

Much of an age with her husband, Mr. Newman was the youngest parliamentarian present. He did not figure in the tasks set her by both Gilbert, her husband, and Lord Chadbon, her host, since his influence was not yet great enough, but he had always been friendly to her and his eyes held a definite twinkle.

“I’m so very glad to see you at this party,” he said fervently. “We are otherwise lamentably short of youth and beauty.”

Which was hardly fair on his wife, who sat at the opposite side of the table, currently bearing up under the braying lecture of Sir Colin Nye. Nye was the “cuckoo” in their nest, the Tory member being courted to support Gilbert’s returning soldiers bill. Mrs. Newman glanced across the table, meeting Kate’s gaze for an instant. Kate smiled in subtle sympathy, but the other woman seemed not to notice.

“But we are not short of purpose, Mr. Newman,” Kate said lightly. “What is your impression of the bill’s support?”

“We’ll need more than Nye to get it through.”

“That is the whole point of getting him on our side. We expect him to work the same magic on his own party. He has a high degree of influence in both the Commons and the Lords.”

The pretty maid leaned between them, whisking away used plates and cutlery. Newman’s eyes strayed after her with considerable appreciation and yet returned to Kate as if he saw no one else. She wondered how serious he really was about politics.

*

Rupert Grande, temporary curate of Chadleigh Parish, was oddly disturbed by the sudden appearance of his childhood friend, Kate.

In recent years, when he’d thought of her at all, it had been as a laughing child in pigtails and a muddied dress. Somehow it was jarring to see her as a fashionable lady, resplendent in low-necked, high-waisted gown of rose silk, trimmed with blond lace at neck and hem, and ruffled little puff sleeves. She wore pearls in her ears and around her slender throat, and there was no sign of pigtails. Instead, her soft brown hair was brushed upward and held in place by a small pearl headdress, from which a riot of curls fell forward over her forehead.

What on earth was she doing alone and unescorted among these deadly serious political fossils? Surely Hynde couldn’t have married her to one of them? He doubted these people were her chosen friends, although he watched her move among them with friendly ease, a bright young butterfly among the old stones who seemed delighted by her sparkling company.

Only, the bits of conversation he overheard as he moved around the drawing room after dinner, refilling his own glass or someone else’s, were without humor. And Kate, the child who loved to laugh, not only held her own, she led, discussing manufacturing matters that she could surely never have seen, child labor, the care of soldiers still returning home after Waterloo without work or, in many cases, health. She even discussed foreign affairs and alliances with mind-boggling familiarity.

It might have had him metaphorically scratching his head, but she didn’t seem confused in the slightest, almost as if she were working to a plan. Intrigued, he resolved to speak to her later, if he could. He wondered how long she was staying here.

She certainly had a strong grasp of circumstances and arguments, but then, she had always mastered whatever skills were necessary for the childhood games they’d come up with, even though she was generally the youngest and smallest. This must be her absent husband’s game she was playing now.

Well, good for her. But he couldn’t shake off his original impression of…wrongness.

In the meantime, it was a slightly unnerving pleasure to observe her. The kind, fun-loving child he’d adventured with, teased, rescued, and no doubt endangered in the first place had grown into a rather dazzling young woman whose real interests in life did not include him.

How sad…

“Well, Grande,” Lord Chadbon said amiably, easing himself into the chair next to his, “I hope this evening hasn’t been too much of a penance for you!”

“Not at all, sir. I count it a privilege.”

“Always important to hear the opinion of the younger generation—and the church,” said His Lordship portentously, though he spoiled the effect with a disarming, conspiratorial grin. “Sorry, afraid we got rather into the habit of calling on the vicar at a moment’s notice to make up our numbers. We seem to be treating you the same way. Unexpectedly, Sir Gilbert sent his apologies with Lady Ambrose, so we were short of a man. Don’t see that it matters, myself, but these things are important to the ladies, what?”

Rupert vaguely recalled the issue infuriating his mother occasionally. Beyond that, he’d paid little attention. But his host’s gaze had found Kate, deep in animated conversation with two members of Parliament, Otteridge and Sir Colin Nye. Rupert looked too.

“Taking little thing, what?” Chadbon said, noticing it. “Clever, too. She’ll take Ambrose far.”

“Ambrose,” Rupert repeated, hoping for some information on the fellow, but Chadbon misunderstood him.

“The husband,” he explained.

“Lucky man,” Rupert said, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece. Still another hour until his appointment, but perhaps he could leave the company before then by appearing to depart. After all, he was the only guest not sleeping at Chadbon Court tonight. He was under no illusion that this company would miss the lowly curate.

Accordingly, around ten o’clock, he ambled over to his hostess, thanked her for a very charming evening, assured her he would enjoy the walk back to the village on such a fine night, and bowed himself from the room.

Downstairs, in the entrance hall, from where he could hear the chatter of servants and the clatter of crockery, no footman was stationed by the front door. It was simple to collect his hat and overcoat without disturbing anyone and then find the orangery.

Opening off the far end of the hall via double, half-glazed doors, the orangery smelled strongly of old earth, humidity, and enclosed plants, as such places usually did. Since the structure, built onto the back of the house, was made of steel and glass, it provided an excellent view of the courtyard garden beyond and the clear night sky above. The moonlight was so strong that Rupert didn’t need a candle to find his way toward the far windows. He threw his coat and hat on a bamboo chair and sank onto a comfortable sofa. Stretching out his legs toward a slightly droopy orange tree, he folded his hands behind his head and waited.

He was almost surprised when she came.

Hearing the soft footsteps padding across the floor, he glanced up and saw her.