Page 33 of Needs Must
Cal could think of no reason why Harte would choose to look for her in Arndale. Even so his unease prevailed. Harte would probably be aware that she had returned to England, and he could easily have bribed a port official to tell him where she had headed once her ship had docked. Despite dressing down, she would not find it easy to fade into obscurity and would definitely have been noticed. The conversation at his dinner table two nights previously had confirmed that supposition.
Cal thought of his vacant gatehouse. It would be a perfect bolthole for Donna, far more secure than a tumble-down cottage, but if he offered it to her, he knew she would decline and misinterpret his motives. Even he could see how it would look to outsiders, and she had a reputation to maintain. Besides, his mother would have apoplexy. Not that her feelings would prevent him from persevering, but Donna’s stubborn determination to do things her way undoubtedly would.
Time hung heavy on his hands, seeming to pass at a snail’s pace. That situation was not improved by a tedious number of engagements with local dignitaries, including the vicar, who took every opportunity to call at Arndale Hall and ingratiate himself with the family. His mother and sister approved of him, perhaps because he was a sycophant, agreeing with their every word and flattering them at every turn. Cal had little time for the chap, and none whatsoever for his self-righteous wife.
‘A ride?’ Arthur asked, putting his head round Cal’s library door.
‘I wish I could, little brother, but Graves is due imminently and apparently has urgent matters to discuss with me. I dare say the soul of the entire village is in imminent danger of corruption.’
‘Bad luck,’ said Saul, looking over Arthur’s shoulder. ‘Never was a clergyman more aptly named, if you ask me. Not that anyone did, but still.’
‘You are aware that your widow’s residence at the Shipis causing quite a stir,’ Arthur remarked, stepping into the room. ‘Her name is on everyone’s lips, and they’re running a book on who will be the first to breach her defences.’
Cal scowled. ‘The devil they are!’
‘Seems she’s a vision,’ Arthur added, sharing a look with Saul and chuckling.
‘Get out of here, both of you,’ Cal replied, making shooing motions with his hands. ‘If all you can do is indulge in local gossip then I am obviously not giving you enough responsibility. I shall have to see what I can do about that.’
Cal’s brothers groaned and made a sharp exit.
Still smiling, Cal returned to his papers, but was interrupted a short time later by Metcalf, who informed him that Graves had arrived and was taking tea with his mother and sister. It was Cal’s turn to groan. He had hoped to avoid that situation by having Graves come directly to him. Whenever his mother got him to herself, she always managed to make commitments on Cal’s behalf that he would prefer not to honour.
‘Very well, Metcalf,’ he said, sighing. ‘I suppose I had better show my face.’
He knew without being told that his mother would have received Graves in the formal drawing room, keen to put on a show for reasons that escaped Cal, when a smaller parlour would have suited the occasion much better.
‘My lord.’ Graves stood and bowed low the moment Cal entered the room, setting Cal’s teeth on edge before he even took a chair.
‘Graves,’ Cal replied curtly. He was aware of his mother and sister looking put out by his curt greeting. Celia had clearly recovered from Cal’s trimming the previous evening and was in full flow once again.
Cal accepted the cup that his mother handed to him with a nod of thanks.
‘What’s on your mind, Graves?’ Cal asked, seeing no reason to prolong the distasteful interlude.
Graves blinked like a myopic owl at Cal’s abrupt tone.
‘Mr Graves has concerns,’ his mother said before Graves could open his mouth.
‘Then I shall be glad to hear them.’
‘There is a woman, my lord, a woman of loose morals residing alone at the Ship,’ Graves said in a serious tone that made Cal want to laugh in his face.
‘I would assume that you refer to Mrs Harte, but for the fact that she is a respectable widow, and as far as I am aware of sound moral character,’ Cal said, his tone aloof, dismissive. ‘Not like you to listen to gossip, Graves.’
The vicar’s thin face paled. ‘I can assure you that I have my information from a reliable source, my lord. I would not have bothered you with the problem otherwise.’
‘Really. Is the lady’s presence enough of a problem to bring it to me? In what respect?’ Cal leaned back in his chair and submitted the clergyman to an exacting scrutiny. ‘And who, pray, is your reliable source?’
‘Listen to Mr Graves, Cal,’ Celia said, using the bossy big sister tone that had ceased to have any effect upon Cal long before he was out of short coats. ‘His concerns carry some weight.’
Cal ignored the interruption and kept his gaze focused on Graves, whose sunken cheeks had now turned scarlet. This was obviously not the reaction he had anticipated. Cal wondered if inviting Donna to dine had already reached his ears and he was attempting to influence Cal into cutting the connection. But if so, how had he heard about it?
He doubted whether Donna would have spoken of it. In fact, he had been left with the impression that she would have preferred to decline the invitation in question, which was one of the reasons why Cal had quit her company so abruptly, preferring not to give her that opportunity.
His mother could have told Graves, but he doubted whether she would have lowered herself to seek his intervention in family affairs. Besides, Celia’s gleeful expression led him to suppose that this was the first time she and their mother had learned of the precise reason for the vicar’s call. They would be aware of it below stairs, no doubt, and that would have created considerable speculation. But his servants valued their positions and knew better than to speak out of turn.
Having run through all the possibilities in his head and dismissed them, Cal was obliged to concede that Graves may well be speaking the truth. There was a first time for everything, he supposed.
