Page 19 of Grasp the Thorn
The rector considered this, and then nodded. He had begun to walk again, his hands now clasped behind him. Bear kept pace as the man began, “I have been told—mind you, I was not here—that the late Mrs Neatham and her younger sister grew up at Threxton Grange.”
Daughters of the squire? Near relatives, in any case.
“The two girls were nieces of the squire of that time, father to the current squire’s mother. The current squire’s father was a distant relative who married his predecessor’s daughter when he inherited, as is only proper, though I have heard he was betrothed to the late Mrs Neatham before the scandal. But I am telling the story out of order.” The rector stopped and bowed an apology.
“The old squire had no sons, you see. Just the one daughter, and the other two little girls who were the offspring of his sister. He doted on his nieces, particularly Lillibelle, the younger. The villagers tell me that the older niece, Rosemary, was pretty as a picture, but Lillibelle was a true beauty. Yes, and she knew it, by all accounts. Her niece is just her image. Indeed, many people believe… But I am leaping ahead again.”
Bear could guess what came next. The village beauty and the passing rake. It was a story old as time. He began walking, and the rector fell into step beside him.
“It was the usual story, of course,” the rector continued. “A spoilt beauty. A military man who made who-knew-what promises. A runaway marriage that proved to be not a marriage at all, and another young woman lost to the great sewer of London. The squire took an apoplexy. He did not die for a year, but he was never the same and his heir came to live with them and to take over the reins.” Dr Whitlow sighed, though whether for the lost girl or the dead squire, Bear couldn’t tell.
“So, how did the younger daughter’s disgrace affect the older sister?” Bear asked.
“Ah, that is an interesting question. There was a breach; on that, all are agreed.” The rector slipped back into storytelling mode, “If the heir had indeed been betrothed to Rosemary, someone broke the engagement, for the next thing the village knew, banns were being read for her and the librarian at Thorne Hall, Mr Neatham, who was at least a decade older than the bride, and had not—to anyone’s knowledge—previously shown an interest, though he had been teaching French to all three girls.”
“And the squire’s heir—whose son is now squire himself — did not take the new betrothal well?”
The rector nodded thoughtfully. “You make a good point. Even the squire himself dates the breach in the family back to Rosemary’s marriage. They did not approve. Rosemary was of age, and the squire’s family could not stop the wedding, but the families have ignored one another ever since.”
The rector frowned again, clearly considering the stories he had heard. “I am told Neatham and Hurley were both solicitous of the new Mrs Neatham, especially when she was found to be with child. They took her to Liverpool for her lying in, and many think that the baby she brought home was Lillibelle’s, and not hers, at all. Certainly, Rosabel was the only child the Neathams produced.”
They reached the stable yard as the rector talked, and Bear stood looking up at the damaged weathervane crowning the highest point of the roof.
Dr Whitlow followed his gaze. “So that is Miss Neatham’s history, Mr Gavenor, and it is, as you say, mostly old stories—with the support of the squire and his mother, mind you, whom I am inclined to believe.”
What a load of old codswallop. Miss Neatham had been made miserable as a result of such smoke and mirrors? Bear allowed an edge to enter his tone, “I have not met the squire or his mother, but I have met Miss Neatham. I have no intention of condemning her on the basis of a story that might be no more than a family falling out plus an ancient scandal.”
“She does behave in a most acceptable manner,” the rector conceded, “but what about the stories she was the mistress of Lord Hurley himself?”
Bear thought it all too likely. From what the current Lord Hurley said, the man was a satyr, a connoisseur not just of rare books but of tidbits to sate the physical appetites. A beautiful child with a neglectful father growing up in his very house? Still, he didn’t see why anyone should blame her for it, especially without proof. He’d cast doubt on the story if he could. “A man of her father’s age, I believe?”
“Perhaps a trifle older,” the rector admitted.
Bear confined himself to one lifted eyebrow, letting Dr Whitlow do his own thinking.
“He was a wealthy man, Mr Gavenor,” the rector pointed out. “Women think of such things when accepting a protector.”
Bear presented his best defence of Miss Neatham’s essential innocence, “Miss Neatham has been living in this village in dire poverty, Dr Whitlow. Does that sound like a calculating woman to you?” He pressed his point, “Tell me. When did the stories about Miss Neatham and Lord Hurley first surface? During the baron’s lifetime?”
“I would not know, sir. As I said, I arrived not long after the baron died.”
“When such rumours would have been aired, I would think. Were they?” If the rumours predated the Pelmans’ arrival, they were more likely to be true.
Dr Whitlow shook his head. “Not in my presence. It is only in the last two years that I have been told… You understand, this does not mean the rumours had not been rife for years beforehand. Often, the rector is the last to know.”
Having met the Pelmans, Bear could think of another credible explanation. “Or you didn’t hear because those who wanted to spread rumours waited for Miss Neatham’s father, her only protector, to become crippled in mind and body before they launched their attack.”
Dr Whitlow was horrified. “What you suggest is outrageous, sir. Why, that would be malice beyond my understanding. Do you really think… I cannot believe it.”
“I can,” Bear said, “very readily.”
“But this is terrible.” Dr Whitlow took a hasty step as if he would abandon the field and hurry back to his buggy. “You say that Miss Neatham…? And Pelman really tried to force her to be his mistress?”
“He told me so himself.”
“I am shocked. I will need to consider this, Mr Gavenor.” The rector contemplated the ruin before him, though Bear rather thought he was seeing the gossipers of the village, instead. “If the lady is innocent, then my errand becomes more urgent.” His voice became stern. “The whole village is preparing to shun Miss Neatham. While I accept your word as a gentleman that relations between you have been chaste, she has been compromised beyond any hope of recovery, except through marriage. I trust you know your duty, Mr Gavenor.”
Bear had won more than he’d hoped and would be satisfied. The rector was a fair-minded man and would not condemn Miss Neatham without better evidence than old family gossip. “Whatever evil minds might think, Miss Neatham has not been compromised. She has been chaperoned throughout her stay, and no one shall attempt to force her hand. Do you hear me, Rector? No one. But yes. I know my duty, and if Miss Neatham would consent to marry me, I would consider myself greatly privileged.” That should give the rector enough ammunition for some undoubtedly difficult conversations with the village’s most influential residents.
