Chapter 16
James James walked into the Running Buck, to find a lively game of dominoes in progress, and the marquis as involved as anyone. He suppressed a sneer.
“Arternoon, reverend; are you our new vicar?” asked Simeon Pigeon.
The bar fell silent as everyone turned to look at James.
James considered lying, and saying ‘yes,’ but then, if they were expecting a new vicar, who might turn up any time, he would be caught out in a lie.
“No, indeed,” he said, hoping that pedantically mincing would set the right tone. “I was taking a repairing lease in the countryside, not too far from the sea. But if you want me to stand in as a locum tenant…” he fondly hoped he had remembered the term correctly.
“If you’re volunteering as a locum tenens, I am sure we would be pleased,” said Geoffrey. “I thought that there was a custom that men of the cloth were clean-shaven?”
Damn! Thought James. I never thought of that.
“Custom, yes, but if I shave, I have a nasty skin condition,” said James, who had come across it in a fellow footman, who had had to change careers in order to keep his neat, but definite, beard. “My name is Matthew Marks.”
It was easy to remember.
“I hope you’ll remember that the congregation like a good singsong with hymns they are familiar with,” said Geoffrey. “You’ll want to go and talk to Miss Gooding; she plays the organ.”
“Indeed, that sounds like a good idea,” said James. “In the meantime, I was looking for somewhere to stay.”
“I’ve got a spare room, bor, nuthin’ fancy-loike,” said Pigeon. “Now the marquis here is bedding down with them ow ghosties at the Priory.”
“Ghosts my foot,” said Geoffrey. “No worse a haunting, I wager than Gaffer Keeble; I expect, nightly, to hear a ghostly ‘Goo’blarst’ when he drops some ‘run’ brandy on his foot, but we don’t mention it when the preventatives drop in for a drink.”
“Most reprehensible, er, my son,” said James.
“I’m against the trade, myself, and have made my position clear,” said Geoffrey. “But I’m not going to take active steps to reduce the income of the poorest here, and I strongly advise you should not interfere, either; especially as you are only passing through. And please don’t call me ‘son.’ They aren’t dissenters here, but they aren’t high church either, and that sounds decidedly Roman.”
“I, er, I see,” said James, who had very little idea, not being a regular communicant, and using the time the servants were expected to spend in church as an opportunity to read novels, slipped inside the jacket he had taken off a Bible. “Perhaps it would be politic just to wait for the new incumbent, and stick with my original plan of a repairing lease.”
“Perhaps it would,” said Geoffrey.
“Ar,” said Pigeon. “Laarst ow fule was we hid weren’t no better nor a Margery-prater, so du yew be sanctimonious an’ orl that, we kin du withowt ut.”
“For shame, Sim!” said Geoffrey, who was on good terms with Pigeon now. “The UnReverend Coot was not half a man as Black Scots Charlie.”
This raised a guffaw, and Geoffrey took pity on the newcomer to explain that Black Scots Charlie was a rooster.
James James was installed in Geoffrey’s old room, and wondered that the marquis would put up with it. He recognised Simon Endicott, and assumed, correctly enough, that if the Marquis had a place of his own, Mr. Endicott probably stayed with him. Mr. Endicott also spent a considerable amount of time visiting the Misses Congreve and their charge, but mostly the older Miss Congreve. He was on good terms with Sarey, who would amble in his direction if he called her, in the hopes of a bribe.
None of this was known to James James, and he would not have considered that Mr. Endicott might be courting, considering the man of business to be too interested in learning and figures to be man enough to know what to do with a woman. This prejudice regarding men of learning was held by a few of the gentry, but it was more the attitude of those classes unable to aspire to higher learning, and would mark James out, if he let his feelings be known. James, fortunately for himself, was determined to say little, and listen much, to find out whether the marquis really had got a doxy stashed here, something James thought more unlikely than Geoffrey’s own mother, having a more realistic assessment of his former master than the possessive dowager. He might well, however, be courting some bucolic beauty.
“It must be quiet, here, not many gentry,” he said to Jinny Pigeon as she showed him his room.
“Well, of course, there do-ant be no centre of society, with the squire bein’ as he is,” said Jinny. “O’ course, there’s his lordship, sortin’ out Mr. Seward’s by blows an’ arrangin’ eddicaertion for un,” went on Jinny, who enjoyed tales of high life. “Agreed to be a judge in the fayre he did, along o’ the doctor, and not havin’ a vicar roight now, we was glad tu git two judges! Especially with the doctor’s sister winnin’ her prizes, an’ nobody bein’ able to say the marquis was partisan.”
“Oh, no romance there, then?” said James.
Jinny went into a paroxysm of laughter.
“Poor Miss Gooding! Her oon’t see five-and-tharty agin,” she said. “Mr. Endicott, wass his lordship’s friend, he’s arter courtin’ Miss Congreve; the older Miss Congreve, that is, wass raisin’ her niece an’ one o’ Philip-Paul Seward’s by-blows wass his lordship wants learned to be a laerdy, wass oony right an’ proper.”
“Indeed,” said James, losing all interest in a pair of older spinsters and a couple of little girls, having painted in his own mind both the doctor’s sister and this Miss Congreve as a pair of bracket-faced, butter-toothed spinsters, and doubtless Endicott unable to do any better for himself; maybe she could cook. He had a vision of the younger Miss Congreve and Miss Seward being children at that awkward age where girls giggle at everything.
James was to be glad on the morrow that he had not pretended to be the new incumbent, when a Norfolk wherry put in at the staithe and put off a passenger, who appeared to be a clerical man. News spread to the Running Buck, and further, and everyone turned out to see the grey-haired, weatherbeaten man, followed by a couple of sturdy watermen, assisting with bringing his baggage. The Reverend Timothy Feltham stared at the rectory.
“Bugger me, it’s a bleedin’ mansion,” he said.
“Sir!” cried James. “Surely no man of the cloth would swear?”
“I don’t blaspheme, cully, so stow your whids,” said Feltham. “I’m not some mealy-mouthed puritan, I say it as it is, and if the Bishop of Norwich don’t mind, well I don’t see that it’s any of your business. And who the blazes are you and what are you doing here?”
“Oh! I am on a repairing lease in the country,” said James. “I am Matthew Marks.”
“Well, I’m Timothy Feltham, and I’m here officially. Where’s that there markiss?”
“I’m her, Mr. Feltham,” said Geoffrey.
“This pile is more than I need for me and my man; what do you reckon to turning part of it into a school?” asked Feltham.
“I think Miss Gooding assists in teaching the youngsters,” said Geoffrey
“Miss Spalding and Miss Congreve and I take a morning each, in Farmer Suckling’s barn,” said Miss Gooding. “A dedicated schoolroom would be absolutely wonderful, vicar, if you are prepared to offer it.”
“I’ll see to ordering a chalk-board, and a globe, and proper desks,” said Geoffrey. “It’s very important that everyone should learn to read.”
“Splendid!” said Feltham. “I’m of yeoman stock myself, and without education, I should never be here. Come, Miss Gooding, show me over this pile and tell me which room you wish to commandeer; and be ready to commandeer a couple, so that you can have an upper and lower class. Abel Backs will stow my dunnage.”
“I think I like him,” said Geoffrey, to Pip and the Congreves. “He’s an original.”
“I cannot like his language,” said Effie.
“I’ve heard worse,” said Geoffrey. “And at least he doesn’t blaspheme.”
“Well, I expect the fisherfolk will like him,” said Alethea. “He’s a bit scary, but not in the way Reverend Coot was. He was awful.”
“I did not feel drawn to him, but how can you call him awful?” said Effie.
“He was always saying ‘When I marry your aunt, I will teach you how to behave and how not to be so vain and sinful.’ And I told him that Effie would never marry him, and he said that yes, she would, as she was at her last prayer, and women needed to be married to control their baser instincts and that he would find me a ‘suitable’ husband.”
“Well! I wish you had told me, my love, for I would have…” Effie paused.
“Planted him a facer?” suggested Pip.
“Well, possibly, but do not use such terms,” said Effie. “I would most certainly have slapped his face. My darling niece does not deserve to be treated like that!”
“Quite so,” said Geoffrey. “And I do not like to think of him in the lives of either of you.”
“You’ll marry me, won’t you, Miss Congreve?” said Simon.
“I… yes, Mr. Endicott, I believe I should like that,” said Effie.
“Famous! We can live in London and go driving in the park,” said Alethea.
Simon laughed.
“I will have to get my own place in London,” he said.
“You can have a wing in the town house,” said Geoffrey. “Now we have a vicar here, we can set up the bans; you’ll have fulfilled the residency requirements by the time they have been called.”
oOoOo
Reverend Feltham was very pleased to have a set of banns to read out, as one of his first offices. Farmer Yarrow stopped by to give his respects.
“Reckon yew won’t be buryin’ moi mother yet awhoile,” he said. “Her said tu me as how she oodn’t want tu die with that Coot in charge, as she oodn’t hev him doin’ the buryin’ of her, but she’s chirked up considerable, and hev stopped rehearsin arter dyin’.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” said Feltham. “I will drop in to pay her my respects.”
“Reckon her’ll be whoolly pleased,” said Farmer Yarrow.
“Now, do you know who owns a brown and white goat?” asked Feltham.
“Ar, thass Poppy, wass belongs to Widder Spalding,” said Yarrow. “Yew du hev part of a fence in common, though strictly speakin’ she du live other side o’ the Priory. Her an’ Marigold an’ Marigold’s kids du loike to wander.”
“She’s asleep on a sofa in my parlour,” said Feltham. “I wasn’t going to disturb her until I knew where to take her.”
“Ar, well, yew du tearke that very well, wass that fule Coot did not,” said Yarrow. “I’ll tearke that dratted nanny back for you.”
“Thank you,” said Feltham, not about to turn this favour down.
oOoOo
James was relieved not to have to pretend to lead a church service, and was glad that the Rev. Feltham had arrived. He planned to sit back, and watch the habits of Geoffrey and Simon, ready to kill them both, and take Geoffrey’s place.
This would take him several days, and a lot of walking about, as the marquis seemed indefatigable.
One thing James did realise was that Geoffrey had taken up painting watercolours. Geoffrey had not painted since he was a little boy, when everything he presented to his mother met with her criticism couched as praise. ‘Yes, dear, it’s lovely, but don’t you think the this is wrong?’ or ‘Yes, dear, how lovely. What is it?’
Geoffrey had taken to rising early to watch the dawn over the estuary, and then going back to bed for a while. It was his desire to capture the vista which led to him trying again to get the scene down on paper, and whilst keeping to a loose style, capturing the colours, and adding touches of detail, he felt that he was doing reasonably well. He was joined at times by Ragged Robin, who was well-enough behaved if bribed with a carrot or a pod of peas. Geoffrey was keeping his new avocation secret, afraid of being criticised, but he felt he was learning from his efforts.
oOoOo
“We’re opening with ‘Soldiers of Christ Arise’ to get you awake,” said Feltham, from the pulpit on Sunday. “If you want to sing ‘Sailors of Christ Arise,’ it’s all one to me. I want to hear you all, so don’t be shy. Let’s wake the dead in the churchyard and make them realise what they’re missing by not being here. Let’s wake them up in Ibsidge.”
He got a good sing song going, and the congregation sang heartily.
He nodded to them.
“You’re in good voice,” he said. “My first duty is to call the banns on Miss Euphemia Congreve of this parish and Mr. Simon Endicott of whichever parish the markiss requires him to be in, by his own admission, but residing here long enough to answer the residency requirements. If any man hath any just cause or impediment to these nuptials, let him speak up. No? good. On to my reading today, which I’m vain enough to take from Timothy, that being my name, One Timothy, six- twelve, Fight the good fight of faith, lay hold on eternal life, whereunto thou art also called, and hast professed a good profession before many witnesses. I chose this text because of announcing wedding banns. Ar, thass a good one to have with a wedding in the offing as a married couple without disagreement has something wrong with it, because one of the members is a doormat. But dew yew fight a good fight, respecting each other and listening as well as speaking, with faith in the Lord to sustain your love, and then fighting the good fight of sheets and blankets to make up afterwards, that’s a healthy marriage. Aye, I’ve been married, and I lost my Ellen and our boy the night he was born. And we had healthy discussions, I can tell you! Her hed a good faith, and me, I were little short of bein’ a pagan. I drank, and cussed, and I wus a smuggler. Ar, and I know some on yew foller the same profession.” His cultivated accents had slipped as he spoke earnestly. “An’ I know that du help when toimes is bad, so I do-ant condemn. But I adjure yew not to take vi’lence in your hearts when yew be out; fight the good fight with yourselves not to act vi’lent to them ow preventatives. And them wass are preventatives, du yew go gentle on them as do-ant fight back. I know wass thass loike, bors, all, so I be-ant jus’ saying. Ten year ago, I was shipwrecked in one o’ them storms wass come all the way from the frozen north, ar, clingin’ to a piece o’ wreckage, froz an’ plum tuckered out, an’ I thought my Ellen spook to me. Well, I do-ant rule out the Good Lord usin’ her tu reach me with his voice. ‘Tim!’ she say, ‘Tim, I’ve asked you to give up this life. How’s about it, then?’ and I thought she meant I was to give up and die. Which I’d hev willingly done, with her face afore me. But then, she say, ‘Tim! Yew gotta live, bor. There’s people need yew, yew duzzy owd fule.’ And then I knew what I had to do, and I prayed to God, and said that if I survived, I’d put my life in his service. An’ then, bless me, if I do-ant fetch up on a sandy shore, where folks took me up, and nursed me through sickness and fever; and when I was up, I enrolled in Univarsity tu take orders. An’ yew needs tu know about me, an’ who I am. An’ yew wimmin, stop with the weepin! We’ll sing again, ‘Rejoice, the Lord is King’ to that wonderful tune by Handel.”
The congregation managed a good sing, despite many being moved by his story.
He was generally reckoned to be a good man of the people, and the marquis was watched covertly to check he approved as well.
Geoffrey shook hands firmly with Feltham after the service.
“Right to the heart,” he said. “The bottle fishing community’s loss is our gain.”
“I be roight glad the bishop wasn’t wrong about yew bein’ happy to accept me,” said Feltham. “It being a living wass in yor gift.”
“Well, I didn’t know that; as they say around here, goo’blarst!” said Geoffrey. “You’re worthy of your hire.”
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