preview of my writing

Sunday, August 11, 2024

the village vicar 15

Chapter 15 Turn the other cheek does not apply in cricket

“Oh, Vicar! Someone has bought the meadow!” cried Mrs. Hadley.

“Yes; it was me,” said Chaz. “I’m going to cut just enough grass for a wicket, and put up a hut for the Church cricket club, which the scouts can use for water if they want to camp there, and otherwise I’m leaving it as it is, stream and all. But it’s a bit hush-hush; we need to practise on the Q.T. before I challenge Sir Tarleton.”

“Oh, that dreadful man!” said Mrs. Hadley. “He has it in for poor Ross, and poor Lucy. You should have heard what he said about her entrapping you when you read the banns on Sunday!”

“It’s my Christian duty to feel sorry for him,” said Chaz, blinking slightly to hear Sgt Blake referred to as ‘Ross’ by one who had criticised him.

“People like that Sir Tarleton do not invite sympathy,” said Mrs. Hadley. “I am not as good a cook as you, but Lucy and I can combine to make sandwiches for cricketers.”

“Excellent!” said Chaz. “I might need her to bat at the moment, though. Summer is running for Ross Blake. Wendel has not played cricket since he was at school, but hands that can catch excited animals trying to flee without hurting them should be safe hands for a cricket ball.”

“Would you exclude people like... you know, Catholics, Methodists, and so on?”

“Not in the least, so long as they’ll bat for God in their own way,” said Chaz.

“Well, the Roman Catholic priest has been heard to say he wouldn’t mind a game of cricket if it wasn’t for having to play with the godless. He meant Sir Tarleton,” she explained, unnecessarily.

Chaz brightened.

“An all-churches team? That would be worth doing. And religion a banned subject, but taking turns to lead pre-match prayers,” he said.

“Oh, dear, what have I started?” said Mrs. Hadley.

“A drubbing for the Ungodly,” said Captain Cunningham, escaping briefly from the reverend.

“Well, when you put it that way....”

oOoOo

With the chubby, but enthusiastic Catholic priest on board, and two elders from the Methodist chapel, the All-Churches Cricketing Club, or the Triple-C was born.

There were a few clashes of personality, but Chaz went with the advice Wendel gave him; treat them all like disobedient dogs at dog training classes, keep the loudest on short leashes, and reward good behaviour with treats.

So far, it was working.

The group was not a team yet, but they were getting there. And if there was an underlying sense of purpose of trouncing Sir Tarleton Rickett, that Unchristian and Uncharitable thought was at least unspoken. And acknowledged as unlikely; Sir Tarleton’s team had been playing together for years, and one of them had once been a Household Name, at least, to those who were glued to the commentary of Richie Benaud on Radio 4 in their misspent youth of smuggled transistor radios during revision periods of school exams.

This did include Chaz.

He was accosted by Sir Tarleton in the village shop.

“What’s this I hear about you putting together a scratch eleven to give us some practice, reverend?”

“Oh, I think we’ll give you more of a challenge than just some practice, Sir Tarleton,” said Chaz, sitting firmly on the captain within who wanted to find a glove to strike Sir Tarleton across the face.

“Well, well, I hope your lads won’t make a mess of our pitch, when you come to bat; but it’s a date. What about the twenty-seventh?”

Chaz made himself smile brightly.

“So long as it’s in the afternoon; I’m getting married in the morning. It will be a lovely celebration of teamwork as epitomised by marriage. I’ll give a sermon on it. And we can convene to the church for after-match eats combined with the reception.”

“Haw haw, the bridegroom wore whites, eh? Maybe you’re entitled to it.” The joke was heavy; Sir Tarleton knew fine well when Chaz and Lucy were getting married and had hoped to make Chaz look disobliging, by failing to accept. Being let down on that, he could not resist the dig at Lucy.

“Oh, I can’t claim virginity,” said Chaz. “I lost that to Matron’s daughter when I was sixteen. I was a bit of a bad boy in those days; it drove the women wild. And I had the sort of moped which looks like a real bike, full leathers, long hair, and a tattoo of Betty Boop on my bicep. I could make her wriggle.”

“Very fine tattoo,” put in Ajit Patel. “Do you still have it?”

“Alas, no; the Bishop said it had to go,” said Chaz. “Still, making Betty dance was one of party tricks in the army. I’m sure Sir Tarleton knows the sort of high jinks young men get up to.”

Sir Tarleton, who had never been through the usual channels made the sort of noise usually spelled as 'harrumph’ and left in a hurry.

“My love,” said Chaz to Lucy, “I lost my temper a bit with Sir Tarleton and we’re playing the match on the day of our wedding.”

“Before, or after?”

“After.”

“That’s not a problem, then, I won’t have to worry about wedding photos with a husband limping , or with a black eye from taking what should have been a six in the face.”

“You’re a wife in a million,” said Chaz.

“Get married in your whites,” said Lucy. “Just to remind us in future years.”

“I will, then,” said Chaz. “He suggested it and cast aspersions on you not being able to.”

“I’m wearing blue. Mrs. Hadley has a nice blue dress with subtle clouded white flowers on, with matching jacket in plain blue and white piping, and she helped me make Summer a dress in a colour very close to her own, and it has layers of daisies around it,” said Lucy. “I confess, I let her take me over rather.”

“She is a bit of a force majeure,” said Chaz.

oOoOo

The day of the wedding dawned, and Chaz rose bright and early, along with the Bishop, who had arrived the previous evening, to stay over and do the job properly, as he had cheerfully said.

He had also been roped in as twelfth man for the cricket match. It was being refereed by the local radio commentator, but the bishop did not mind playing on the side of God.

He had heard of Sir Tarleton.

The campanologists gave it their all, and Chaz sighed happily on his way into church to hear the mellow sound ring out across the countryside.

He could not have told anyone the highlights of the ceremony later, even though it was one he knew by heart; but when the Bishop told him that he might kiss the bride, he swept Lucy into his arms, and did just that.

Dave and Lily-Kate had come, of course, and the rest of the group ‘Apocalypse’ and were to organise the music at the reception. They presented Chaz with the group’s first CD, ‘Apocalypse – Pending,’ and Chaz laughed.

“That sounds like any children’s party,” he said.

“Well, we’re hoping to flog a few copies as well as entertain your parishioners,” said Dave. “Thank goodness you didn’t rope us in for the cricket; I’m a cricket muppet, as you know, and Lily’s dangerous with any kind of bat.”

“I heard she routed some hoodlums at the church where she’s serving as curate,” said Chaz, smiling at the diminutive newly-ordained Lily, whose hair was pink in honour of the wedding, as she had explained to a slightly bemused Lucy.

“I had an old hockey stick I was using to reach with my duster,” said Lily. “And I asked them to go nicely first, but they thought they might have what they called some ‘fun’ with me, and then spray up the church. So I whacked ‘em, and whacked ‘em, and whacked ‘em. They were very glad when the fuzz arrived to take them off to the safety of jail.”

They all dined in the vicarage on a chicken salad which Chaz had prepared earlier, and Lucy and Summer changed in what was now their rooms. The bishop was wearing whites under his cassock, just in case, and Summer had whites to run for Sgt Blake.

oOoOo

Chaz won the toss, and elected to field first. It would steady his team down. The former professional went in to bat first, opposite Sir Tarleton, and Chaz opened the bowling with his accurate fast bowls. The professional chalked up a respectable twenty-five runs before Chaz added a googly to his bowling, and the professional went down, caught behind, by Wendel.

A wicket change had Chaz facing Sir Tarleton. Chaz, aware that Sir Tarleton was not above gamesmanship, appealed LBW whenever it might be feasible, with a ‘howzat?’ to the referee.

This made Sir Tarleton hopping mad, and he swiped hard at the ball, which was caught at silly mid-off by old Charlie.

Chaz let the next pair settle to slugging it out against his fast bowling, and put Charlie in, and four wickets fell quickly. Alternating, the final four were despatched with despatch, for an overall score of fifty four all out.

Chaz stood opposite Blake for their opening in bat, Summer eager to run. The old sergeant would tell her when to run, at their turn; and the opening pair notched up twenty runs.

How close the match might have been, had not Sir Tarleton been a vindictive man, is debateable. But he managed to get a ball to bounce and hit Chaz in the box, still a painful thing to happen even with the protection.

“Haw haw, sorry, reverend, spoiled your wedding night there, a bit,” said Sir Tarleton. “Better turn the other cheek... and retire hurt.”

“I’m fine,” said Chaz, fighting nausea. “I’ll keep playing.”

The captain inside won the battle for supremacy, and Charles Cunningham, capped for Eton and Oxford for his batting as much as his bowling, thrust aside the reverend, and his nausea, and sent the next ball for a resounding six.

Thereafter he placed all his boundaries into random, and different, locations, inspiring Blake to bat almost as well, and the score stood at three hundred and two when the professional managed to bowl a deceptive curve ball which took Chaz’s bails off. He retired gracefully to watch the rest of his team struggle on for a further fifty all out.

Tea was welcome, and then Sir Tarleton’s team were back in to bat.

Sir Tarleton was flustered, it had to be admitted, but to be caught out, and by Summer, first ball was the end of his tether.

The fact that several people were quacking at his duck was not helping.

He threw his cap on the ground.

“Damn you, Cunningham, where did you get them? Did you hire professionals to help you?”

“The only pro is on your team, Rickett,” said Chaz. “You know all the team members; they all live in the village. Our bobbies are new, but you should know them. You might not have met the Methodist church wardens or Father Michael from the Catholic church but my team are all locals.”

“I... you must be cheating!” cried Sir Tarleton.

“I will anticipate an apology for that infamous suggestion,” said Chaz, coldly. “Now stop being childish and let your next player in.”

The match was won by two hundred and four runs and eleven wickets, as the established team did not manage to match the first innings of the Combined Church eleven.

“Most entertaining,” said the Bishop.

“Well, there’s a feast in the church, but I’m going home with my wife and relying on Summer to steal us a basket of food to eat later,” said Chaz.

Summer giggled, being more than equal to doing just that; and Rev. and Mrs. Cunningham retired to the vicarage to explore their marital vows.

Friday, August 9, 2024

the village vicar 14

Chapter 14 The greatest of these is Love

Chaz was having tea with Sergeant Pete Noakes and Constable Timothy Cotton.

“So, how is it working out with Vivienne?” asked Chaz.

“We’re engaged,” said Pete, grinning broadly. “And she loves the idea of getting married in a country church with a nice peal.”

“It’s certainly decent, now,” said Chaz.

“You look tired, Vicar,” said Timothy.

“I am. Rachel had me in and out of bed half the night,” said Chaz.

Timothy raised an eyebrow.

“New girlfriend?”

“Well-established cat,” corrected Chaz. “Normally, she rides on my shoulder to bed, comes down the duvet and settles. Zebulon goes ratting with my shoelaces for a while, and then settles on the end of the bed. But last night, Madam got restless, and demanded out, and then sang outside the window until I let her in, and then repeated the performance an hour later.”

“And you’re a sucker?” said Pete.

“Last time I refused to let her out when she asked, she crapped in my socks,” said Chaz. “I wasn’t about to let her make a smell of all smells if she had an upset tummy.”

“I see the dilemma,” said Pete.

“So, any news on the policing front?” asked Chaz.

“Depends what you call news,” said Pete. “You know that the big hardware store was losing money and couldn’t figure out where the thefts were being committed?”

“Yes, and I’m glad they kept the name Sanders & Michaels, and didn’t go for initials like so many of them seem to these days,” said Chaz.

“Well, I figured it out,” said Pete. “It helped my promotion to Sergeant on strength of figuring it out. Well, we set up a presence to watch, and there were still losses. I searched the wheelbarrow of the staff member who has permission to take away odd broken slabs for his own use; and he doesn’t seem to be breaking stuff deliberately, and there was nothing underneath it. Can you guess, though?”

“Nicking wheelbarrows by filling them with what he’s allowed and wheeling them out,” said Chaz.

“You ought to be a ruddy detective sergeant,” said Pete. “We managed to get a lot of the wheelbarrows back that he’d nicked, but there he was, wheeling them out under the eye of whichever constable was watching him, and the bugger was laughing up his sleeve at us.”

“You do appreciate sin when you’re in my job,” said Chaz. “Did he come quietly?”

“Did he, hell!” said Pete. “He tries the ‘I identify as a wheelbarrow, officer, and I was looking for a lover.’”

“What did you do, nick him for running a wheelbarrow brothel?” asked Chaz?

“Not quite, though if he makes a fuss, I’ll keep it in reserve,” said Pete. “I said, ‘I identify as a police officer, and I’m nicking you for public lewdness with your girlfriend.’”

“He caved, then,” put in Timothy. “He called us the sort of names The Captain wouldn’t tell The Reverend.”

“How shocking for those poor, innocent wheelbarrows,” said Chaz.

“So, when are you marrying your Lucy?” asked Timothy. “Here’s Pete and me, about to embark on matrimony, and you’re still hanging her about.”

“When Matrimonial duty’s to be done, to be done, a policeman’s life is quite a hectic one,” sang Chaz. “I... uh, haven’t asked her yet.”

“Well, whyever not?” demanded Pete.

“Inertia,” said Chaz.

“Get over it,” said Pete. “You sorted us out; we’re sorting you out. Now! Go on – we’ll take care of your house.”

“And your iced lemon biscuits,” said Timothy.

“The other batch are hidden, so no detecting,” said Chaz.

He took the dog, Adam, with him, for moral courage. And a small box which had been burning a hole in his pocket for a while.

He went round the back, as usual, and found Summer doing somersaults on the lawn.

“Hello, Rev Chaz! Hello, Adam!” said Summer.

“What are you doing out of school?” asked Chaz.

“I developed a rash and they sent me home,” said Summer. “I told them it was only a grass rash from cutting the grass but they made like I was a leper and the deputy head had forty kinds of fit about Mummy sending me in with a rash, and I said I hadn’t had a rash until I got to school because they’re cutting the field for its last haircut of the term, and when there’s cut grass, it’s too tempting not to have a grass fight. Only it makes me come out in spots. It doesn’t itch much,” she added.

“You want to watch out for ticks,” said Chaz, absently. “They can give you Lyme disease which is seriously nasty. Though on a frequently trimmed school field you should be safe enough. Even if not treated to a number two skinhead like Sir Tarleton’s cricket ground.”

“And that goes bald round the stumps,” said Summer. “I play cricket at school; can we have a church team, and knock the spots off Sir Tarleton?”

“You know how to poke a Reverend to let out the Captain, don’t you?” said Chaz, ruefully.

“Of course; I’m practising for when you marry Mummy because girls are supposed to wind their daddy round their little fingers,” said Summer.

“Well, then, the question I was going to ask you is superfluous as you seem keen on the idea,” said Chaz. “Well, in that case, perhaps you will keep Adam company?

“Of course; we’ll go and visit Sergeant Blake next door, and see if he wants to join the cricket team.”

“He’s a handy bat, but you’d have to run for him.”

“Oh! I can do that.” Summer skipped off through the hole in the hedge with Adam. Chaz went in the back door. Lucy was in the breakfast room which she used as her studio for the north light, drawing a black labrador dog diving down a hole.[1]

“Tea’s in the pot, Chaz, pour me one while you’re at it, I made one and then got an idea. There are some of your biscuits left, but please keep them away from my end of the table, I don’t want to smear chocolate chip on Harvey here.”

Chaz made tea and helped himself to a biscuit, and moved fast to stop Lucy from washing her paintbrush in her tea whilst picking up the chipped cup with water in to drink.

“Oh! Thank you, Chaz,” said Lucy, blushing. “I’ve got that sorted now; a bit of a rush job.”

“How would you like the chance to make art a hobby?” asked Chaz.

“Depends what the catch is,” said Lucy. “I’d love to make art a hobby, but it does cover the bills.”

“The catch is being a vicar’s wife and letting him do most of the cooking,” said Chaz.

Lucy’s mouth fell open.

“Chaz! Was that a proposal?”

“It was a piss-poor one for a man who is accustomed to Corinthians chapter 13, wasn’t it?” said Chaz. “Lucy, will you do me the honour of being my wife? And moreover will you be afraid to keep the Church cricket team in order?”

“Oh! Yes, Chaz! I... I thought you wouldn’t ask me because of my irregular past.”

“You’re a widow in my book; and even Mrs. Hadley thinks it’s about time I married you.”

“She’s not a bad old trout when she stops being judgemental,” said Lucy. “Do you think she’d like to be the matron of honour?”

“She’d love it,” said Chaz. “I’ll have to get bellringers in, though as two of our team will be tied up getting tied up, as you might say.”

Lucy laughed and blushed; she had been an enthusiastic volunteer in learning change-ringing now the church had a peal of five decent bells.

“And what’s all this about the church cricket team? I didn’t know we had one.”

“We have you, me, and Summer, and I am relying on her to persuade Ross Blake if she will run for him. I heard Wendel is accounted a useful bat and tolerable wicket keeper; any man who can field cats who didn’t want to go to the vet has to be a born wicket keeper.”

“Five, almost half a team. Young Evan Queave can throw straight,” said Lucy. “Now the police are part of the village, you might ask Pete and Timothy. Charlie Wilkes used to be on Sir Tarleton’s team but he got thrown off for saying you were a proper Christian.

“I had no idea; I’ll ask him, and the fuzz,” said Chaz. “Now! Don’t distract me, Mrs. Cunningham-to-be; I have a ring for you.”

He retrieved the box from his pocket and slid the blue diamond and diamond ring onto her finger.

“Chaz! That’s a ring for someone out of my league!” gasped Lucy.

“No, my love; it’s the ring for a woman I value above any other, because I want to demonstrate to the idiots who put you down how much I value you,” said Chaz. “Which is not in the least proper behaviour for a vicar, but I am human too.”

“It’s lovely! Is that a sapphire?”

“No, it’s a blue diamond, from the mines of Kimberley. I wanted to match your eyes, and sapphires are too dark.”

Lucy blushed again.

“It’s lovely,” she said.

“I’ll put up the banns then,” said Chaz. “May I kiss you?”

Lucy went to his arms, and the kiss was long and tender.

“It feels like coming home,” said Lucy. “Why am I crying?”

“Because sometimes tears are bright diamonds of joy as well as the raindrops of sorrow,” said Chaz.

“I love it when you are whimsical,” said Lucy. “I have no idea how good I may be at cricket, but I’ll stand my ground with grim determination to thrash Sir Tarleton.”

“Attagirl,” said Chaz. “I’m going to go and enlist Pete and Tim and Charlie whilst I might.”

oOoOo

“A second cricket team? Count me in, reverend,” said Charlie. “I ain’t no good at fast bowling, but I can do slow ones which break to the offside.”

“Nice,” said Chaz. “Ajit Patel is their fast bowler, isn’t he?”

“Yes, and he’s a steady bat as well, but he can be rattled by slow balls,” said Charlie. “Most of the team are what Sir Tarleton calls ‘county’ and the ones who go to church usually go somewhere posher than a little village church.”

“Well, I shall look to you for a run down on all of them,” said Chaz. “I’m going to buy the meadow which was up for sale for development, and keep it for cricket, dog-walking, and leisure. We may need housing, but we need nice green spaces too, and turning a stream into a sewer I will not have.”

“Hear hear!” said Charlie. “I thought that’d be a right shame if the meadow was turned into ticky-tacky boxes, which won’t be housing for the poor nowise, but shoddily-built expensive five-bedroom places for them as have more money than sense.”

“Just what I thought,” said Chaz.

[1] ‘Harvey And the Black Hole’ and ‘Harvey and the Big Red Bus’ are charming stories by my friend Heather King, illustrated by yours truly. I do recommend them for 5-8 year olds.

Friday, July 19, 2024

The alternative bride

Alternate Bride

Chapter 1

“I suppose I shall have to have Jane as a bridesmaid; it will look strange if I don’t,” sighed Madelaine Daubrey.

“Such a plain child, but she could wear a veil, I suppose,” sighed her mother. “She’s no real relation, of course.”

“But she is Papa’s stepdaughter,” said Madelaine.

Jane might wish her stepsister and her stepsister’s mother did not speak about her as if she was not there, in the manner they discussed things in front of servants. But she was no real relation of anyone except little Tommy. Her mother had married her stepfather, Henry Daubrey, and after a series of miscarriages had finally brought Tommy alive into the world, and had quietly slipped out of it herself. Henry Daubrey had remarried rapidly, to a widow with a daughter two years older than his own stepdaughter. Helen, his new wife, had made it clear that she had no intent to breed herself to death, but would raise Tommy as his father’s heir. She doted on Tommy, and found Jane an embarrassment. School had taken care of ‘that tiresome child’ for a while, but at nearly seventeen, Jane had nothing more to learn at the admittedly very good school where she had spent the last six years.

“I don’t mind being in the background,” she said.

“No, of course you don’t, Jane, dear, but it will look odd to your father’s friends if you are not part of the wedding,” said Helen.

“Stepfather,” murmured Jane. It was her mild rebellion.

“Well, I am sure he considers himself your father,” said Helen.

Jane doubted this, but said nothing.

Madelaine had snared – her own words – the season’s big prize, in Gerard, Lord Wintergreen, known to many as Lord Winterheart for his cold and haughty manner. Jane, however, knew that the soubriquet was unjustified. Lord Wintergreen had come upon her crying over being unable to persuade the servants in the house they were visiting to give her Madelaine’s choice of drink, which was not commonly available. He had swiftly intimidated the servants to obtain ratafia, and called Jane a ‘little mouse’.

“You should learn to be a more aggressive mouse,” he said, patting her kindly on the shoulder.

Jane wished she might learn to be a more aggressive mouse, and had lost her heart to the tall, dark, handsome viscount in that moment. It was an agony to know that he had picked Madelaine as a suitable bride, and to see her beautiful step-sister’s blonde curls the perfect foil for Wintergreen’s dark, crisp locks. And she doubted he had even known who the little brown-haired, brown-eyed mouse had been.

She was wrong, here, and Gerard knew exactly who the other stepsister was. However, he was under the impression that Jane was considerably younger than Madelaine, and a sweet child, but too gauche to be a viscountess.

“I suppose you will have to give up seeing Mr. Vane,” said Jane, timidly.

“Give up seeing Freddie? Why should I?” said Madelaine. “I am making a marriage of convenience, and Gerard is an excellent catch. I will have to provide him with an heir, of course, before I let Freddie bed me, but there’s plenty one may do without risking pregnancy. And Freddie is Gerard’s best friend, so there will be plenty of opportunity to see him.”

“I don’t think it very much the act of a best friend to carry on with a man’s bride behind his back,” ventured Jane.

“If you’d stopped after three words, you would have been correct,” snapped Helen. “Marriage à la mode has nothing to do with love.”

“I was thinking more of courtesy,” murmured Jane; but she did not murmur loud enough for her stepmother to hear.

It bothered Jane that her sister was having an affaire with Freddie Vane whilst being betrothed to Lord Wintergreen. She wished she could warn Lord Wintergreen, but it seemed a mean, underhanded piece of spite to tell tales on her stepsister. But she was angry on behalf of the groom.

She did manage to slip out to speak to him when he had come to pay a courtesy visit.

“My lord, I... I know that my behaviour must seem strange and can but cause offence,” she whispered, “But you were kind to me, and... and I hope you do not think that my stepsister is in love with you.”

“Why, little mouse, did you suppose I entered a betrothal supposing her affection to be engaged with my person more than my title and bank account?” asked Gerard.

“Well, yes,” said Jane. “Everyone falls in love with Madelaine, because she’s so beautiful, and she has witty conversation.”

“How sweet you are to say that without the appearance of jealousy,” said Gerard.

“A mouse is a little afraid of such things as would make her noticeable,” said Jane.

“I suspect that’s habit,” said Gerard. “But do not fear; I consider your sister a suitable wife, and my heart is no more engaged than hers is.”

“Oh, how sad,” said Jane.

“I need an heir, and I cannot afford any sentiment,” said Gerard. He patted her cheek. “Go back inside, little mouse, and do not worry about me.”

Jane dropped a curtsey and fled.

oOoOo

The day of the wedding dawned, and Jane was run off her feet running errands for Madelaine.

“Madelaine, if I don’t have time to dress, I’ll shame you in having to support you in my old calico, and my hair in braids,” said Jane, at last. “I’ll barely have time to scramble into the bridesmaid’s dress and brush out my hair as it is. Or was that the idea, because you don’t want me there?”

“Whatever gave you the idea that I don’t want you there?” said Madelaine. “I need someone as plain as you to help me look more beautiful. But you are right, you must dress properly, and do your hair. Having you in rags like Cendrillon is not seemly. Go! Go! I will manage.”

Jane fled to put on the new gown which matched Madelaine’s in style. It was fortunate that Madelaine had decided that she and her supporters would be in apple-blossom pink, as pink was a colour which flattered Jane sufficiently that when she looked at her image in the mirror, a rather fly-blown old thing, but good enough for the poor relation, she could almost fancy herself to be beautiful. Her cheeks held a touch of colour, doubtless from having run about all day from the time the sun rose, and nothing to do with the chance of seeing Lord Wintergreen.

After all, after today, he would be her brother.

Not that he would be her brother, being only a step-step-brother-in-law and as closely related as if he were he some Irish nobleman of long, but well-buried bog pedigree.

And it did no good to wish she had a real relation to look after her.

Well! It was nice for this Cendrillon to go to the ball, even if she must watch Prince Charming marry her sister. And Madelaine was thoughtless, but not unkind, and things could have been worse.

When they reached the church, Madelaine looked out of the coach window, and pressed her kerchief to her lips.

“Go on in, Mama, Jane, I... I want to compose myself,” she said.

“Oh, Madelaine! How will you climb out with that train without help?” said Mrs. Daubrey.

“I’ll call for someone to help me,” said Madelaine. “I... I need to be alone with my thoughts for a while.

Jane was not sure what made her look back at the coach as Mrs. Daubrey hustled her into the church; but look back she did, and saw the coach rock as if someone was climbing in on the other side. The leather curtain on the door window was pulled firmly down. Jane had a bad feeling about this.

“Don’t dawdle, child,” said Mrs. Daubrey.

Jane turned, and found that Lord Wintergreen was waiting.

“Madam, Miss Jane,” said Gerard. “My bride?”

“Oh, Madelaine merely has wedding nerves, she wished to compose herself,” said Mrs. Daubrey.

Jane hesitated. Should she speak out? Or not? She did not want to be disloyal to the nearest thing she had to family, but on the other hand, it wasn’t fair to Lord Wintergreen.

“My lord, perhaps you ought to go to her; after all, it is the middle of town, a young girl alone in a coach might be at risk,” said Jane.

“Oh, Jane, what an idea, in the middle of all these people,” said Mrs Daubrey. “It’s bad luck for the groom to see his bride in her wedding finery before the wedding.”

“Well, madam, I believe it is time for the wedding,” said Gerard, who had seen pleading in the younger girl’s eyes. Jane felt it was important to see Madelaine, and Gerard, for some reason, trusted her feelings.

He strode out of the church, nodding to Henry Daubrey, who was hovering near the door of the church, looking somewhat vexed that his daughter had not joined him to go up the aisle on his arm.

Madelaine had paled to look out of the coach window into the haunted eyes of her beloved Freddy Vane.

She sent her mother and stepsister on and opened the door a sliver.

“Oh, Freddy! I wish you will come and say goodbye properly,” she whispered.

Freddy Vane climbed up into the coach and twitched down both curtains.

“The hell!” he said. “I cannot give you up; but if I must think of Gerard in your bed, I’ll be damned if I let him be first with you.”

“Freddy!” gasped Madelaine, who had not yet permitted Freddy to do more than heavy petting. She was nothing loath, however, and folded the heavy train under her as he laid her down on the floor and dropped his trouser fall.

Gerard pulled open the carriage door to be confronted by a pair of heaving buttocks. The buttocks were surmounted by a good quality superfine coat, and were supported by legs clad in satin knee-breeches, so there was no question that this was some chance brigand. Madelaine’s voice happily mewing ‘Freddy! Freddy!’ was also something of a clue to the identity of her lover, and the fact that she was not unwilling.

Madelaine’s first session of lovemaking was rapidly terminated with her first coitus interruptus, as Freddy, breeches round his knees, was precipitated forcibly backwards and out of the coach, where he sprawled in the mud.

“Make yourself decent, madam, and have the goodness never to speak to me again,” said Gerard, coldly. “Freddy, I’m too furious to call you out yet, but I suggest you take yourself abroad. You can take your whore with you; I’ll not marry soiled goods.”

Freddy gaped.

“At least I love her, an emotion of which you are incapable,” he managed.

“You poor fool, I wonder how much love she will retain for you when your allowance is cut off as it assuredly will be when I tell your father,” snarled Gerard. “Daubrey! I am going to do you the courtesy of assuming you knew nothing of this betrayal, and the planting of a cuckoo into the nest of my family.”

“I knew nothing, my lord, nothing,” said Henry Daubrey. He turned to Freddy. “Young man, you will marry my daughter having ruined her. And you can buy a licence to do so straight away. I... I can only apologise, my lord....”

“I’ll marry the other one,” said Gerard. “I’m to marry Miss Daubrey, but I’ll marry Miss Jane Daubrey.”

“It... she kept her father’s name,” said Henry Daubrey.

“She can be married with both as you have adopted her,” said Gerard. He strode up the aisle and grabbed Jane by the arm.

“You knew.”

“I suspected only,” whispered Jane. “I... I said she should give up her dalliance with your friend.”

“Former friend,” snarled Gerard. “I caught him planting a cuckoo in my nest.”

Jane gasped.

“I did not know they had gone so far!” she said.

“No, your sister seems to have been a sly piece all told,” said Gerard. “But I know who your father was, and I’m as happy to have one as the other. You have a better complexion than your sister, and I suspect she’ll be fat inside a decade. You’ll be married as Jane Henderson Daubrey, it will upset the clergyman less.”

“And do I get a say?” asked Jane.

“Were you going to refuse when you have the chance to escape and have the things I am pretty sure you have been denied?” asked Gerard.

“I might,” said Jane, putting up her chin. “Being picked to be a bride because ‘I’ll do’ is scarcely flattering to me.”

“The hell!” said Gerard. “It’ll be a dreadful scandal if no marriage at all goes ahead.”

“I don’t care,” said Jane.

“What must I promise you?”

She frowned in thought.

“You must promise me that you will court me as if we were unmarried, and persuade me that I want to be your wife, and you will not expect marital rights until you have made sure that we know each other, and I have accepted your suit,” said Jane.

“The mouse has roared,” said Gerard. “Madam lion-mouse, I bow to your will.”

The rest of the day passed in a whirl for Jane; the clergyman told that a mistake had been made because the older of two sisters had only just made up her mind to wed. And Madelaine must suffer seeing her step-sister married to her matrimonial prize whilst she was married unexpectedly to her Freddy, who was wondering how he was to keep so expensive a wife when he could no longer rely on Gerard to touch for a loan.

It was not until she was in Gerard’s carriage, seated beside him, that it started coming home to Jane that she was married to Gerard, Lord Wintergreen, and that he had agreed to court her.