Page 18 of Grasp the Thorn
After he’d received the reply he wanted and left for the Hall, she sat for a long time, watching the chicks and thinking about Mr Gavenor’s kindness. The gentle hands that had so carefully handled the chick would not now be touching her.
Rosabel Neatham, you should be ashamed of yourself, she admonished, trying to dismiss vaguely formed ideas of what those hands might do. Of course, a man of his experience would not want a dried-up old spinster who had none. She should be thanking God for her deliverance, not sitting here in the garden mooning over might-have-beens.
A list. Mr Gavenor had asked for a list. She stood with sudden decision, causing the chicks to scurry for the protection of the bantam mother. She would keep herself busy, and these indecent thoughts would fade away.
CHAPTER 13
Bear stepped out of the terrace door in Thorne Hall’s undamaged wing just as a buggy approached the large carriage circle in front of the hall. The driver was the village rector, Dr Whitlow. Bear hurried down to meet him.
“Good day, Dr Whitlow. I take it the bridge is up again?” And the rector out already, seeing to the care of souls. Bear would lay odds this visit had been prompted by the village gossips. What would the rector demand? Miss Neatham out on her ear? Bear would see about that.
“Yes, indeed, Mr Gavenor. A temporary bridge, and the squire is collecting subscriptions for a more permanent construction. I dare say he will be calling on you, sir.”
Bear nodded. “If you see him before I do, please let him know that I am happy to support the project.”
The rector nodded, then looked around. “You have your work cut out for you, Mr Gavenor, if you are to bring Thorne Hall back to its former condition.”
“I have been pleasantly surprised,” Bear said. Perhaps he was wrong about the rector’s errand. “My seller considered it a wreck, fit only for demolition, and certainly the library wing will have to go. The stables, too, though I have just been considering whether they can be made sturdy enough to provide sleeping space for my work crew during the rebuild. The rest, we can salvage. Would you like to take a look around?”
The rector nodded and descended from the buggy. Once the horse had been tethered in the shade, close to a trough of water, Bear led the way back toward the house, but the rector stopped after a few paces, a deep frown wrinkling his brows and eyes.
“You may wish to rescind your hospitality when you hear what I have to say, Mr Gavenor.”
Now they would have at it.
“I have come to discharge an unpleasant duty,” Dr Whitlow said.
“Then you had better get it over with, Rector,” Bear advised. “Unpleasant duties do not improve on keeping.”
Dr Whitlow swallowed, then lifted his chin, jutting it slightly. “It is about Rosabel Neatham, sir.”
“I see.” Bear offered no more. Let the man dig his own hole.
The chin jutted still further. “I have been given to understand, sir, that she is living with you in Rose Cottage without benefit of matrimony.”
That was clear enough, and something Bear could answer honestly and directly. “You have been given to understand a lie, rector, if by that you mean that Miss Neatham and I have been intimate.”
Dr Whitlow reared his head and raised his eyebrows. “I mean that Rosabel Neatham is known to be your mistress.”
Bear kept his face impassive and his voice calm. No point in shooting the messenger. “Miss Neatham is not my mistress, and anyone who has told you differently is a liar.”
“Do you deny that the woman is living in Rose Cottage, under your protection?” The rector’s reply sounded more like a question than an accusation, which helped Bear to keep his answer calm and factual.
“Miss Neatham and her father live in Rose Cottage, yes, as they have for a number of years. Miss Neatham has been kind enough to rent me and my valet a room so I will be close to Thorne Hall, which I plan to restore.”
The rector frowned. “But I am told that you own Rose Cottage, and that Miss Neatham was ejected to make way for you, at your instructions, but later insinuated her way into your household.”
Bear had heard enough. “That lying cur Pelman is your informant, I take it. I did not know of Miss Neatham’s existence, nor that the cottage was occupied. Pelman did, indeed, take advantage of my request for accommodation in order to remove the lady and her elderly, crippled father from their home, to place them in a hovel in Sunrise Lane.” He narrowed his eyes. “You might take the measure of the man who makes these accusations from the fact he promised to house them more suitably if Miss Neatham would consent to be his mistress.”
The rector paled as he rubbed his chin, then rallied. “It was both Mr and Miss Pelman. Yes, and not them alone, I can assure you, Mr Gavenor. Mr Pelman is a respected member of our community, and his sister is a stalwart of the parish. The things they have told me about Miss Neatham and the late Lord Hurley—I was not rector here at that time, but the squire supports their story, and he is a cousin of Miss Neatham’s, through the mother, who was herself a scandal in the parish in her time.” He frowned again, a note of doubt entering his voice. “Or so I have been told.”
A cousin? Miss Neatham had not mentioned the relationship.
“The Pelmans did not live in the parish when Lord Hurley was alive, so any stories they have must have come from someone else. Rector, I prefer direct evidence, and in this case, I am suspicious about the motives of those spreading the stories.”
Dr Whitlow looked concerned, which was a good step better than righteous.
Bear continued, “I have found Miss Neatham to be all that is ladylike. I would need evidence of any wrongdoing, Rector, and I have so far heard nothing but spite, gossip, and hearsay. As for cousins, family feuds can be terrible things. I would need to know a lot more.”
