Page 31 of Indecently Daring

“I disagree,” she said firmly, taking his arm and guiding him around the table, where she pulled out a chair for him. “Sit.”

It was an order, not a suggestion. Harry almost balked, but then his legs gave out and he sat heavily. In something of a daze, he watched as Miss Cadogan went to the stove and ladled out a generous bowlful of something that sent perfumed steam curling into the air as she carried it to him.

Harry stared blissfully down into a bowl of beef stew. It was thick, rich, and smelled of herbs. There were large chunks of potato and carrot, as well as onion, and little bits of bacon too.

“Well, eat up,” she chided, pressing a spoon into his hand. “Or are you that tired I need to feed you?”

Harry gave a soft huff of laughter and helped himself to a heaped spoonful. Flavour exploded on his tongue, and he gave a happy sigh of pleasure. Satisfied he could feed himself after all, Miss Cadogan went to the counter and uncovered the loaf of bread Harry had bought that morning, which now seemed like a lifetime ago. She cut off two thick slices before slathering them with butter and setting them on a plate. She returned to him, setting them beside the bowl of stew. Harry ate in silence, and Miss Cadogan sat with him, apparently content not to chatter and to let him eat in peace. He was grateful for that, needing time to gather his thoughts after the events of the day.

Once he had eaten the bowlful, Miss Cadogan got up and put another ladleful of stew in and gave the bowl back to him. Harry didn’t bother to protest. It had been sometime since he’d been looked after, and it was rather wonderful. His old housekeeper had been perfectly efficient, but not the nurturing sort. Her cooking had kept body and soul together, but had not been exactly inspiring. Harry felt so moved by the hearty stew he suspected he could write an entire sermon about it. He was lucky enough to be invited to eat with some of the wealthier parishioners on occasion, but to come home to such a delicious meal was something he could not remember enjoying for a very long time.

Once he’d finished, Miss Cadogan took the bowl away and cut him an enormous slice of cake, and made a fresh pot of tea. She placed the tea and the cake in front of him and sat down again, regarding him with sympathy.

“Tell me,” she said.

And, rather to his surprise, Harry did. He told her about Betsy White, who had answered the door looking worn to a thread. Her husband was snoring on the kitchen floor, having had a skinful last night. The children clustered about her, the smallest clinging to her skirts, ragged and all skin and bone, and the stench in the house had made Harry want to retch, but he had stayed and taken the baby whilst Betsy saw to the little ones. He’d got the older children to practise their letters with a bit of charcoal from the fire, drawing on the big hearthstone. He had chopped wood and given the children their breakfast while Betsy took a nap before she fell down from exhaustion, and all the while her lout of a husband snored. Harry had listened while she talked about her fears for the future, for the children, for another mouth to feed, and he’d promised to find work for the oldest child, who was only ten but needed to earn his keep. Harry had wanted to get the boy into school, but with his father drinking away what little coin they had…. Fury had been a living thing inside him as he’d stared down at the sleeping man. Betsy must have sensed it, for she’d come to stand beside him.

He ain’t a bad man, Vicar. He’s just sad, is all. Life crushes the spirit from him, and it gets all sour in his guts, he don’t know what else to do but drink it away.

Harry still wondered at the love, forgiveness, and fortitude he’d seen in the woman’s eyes. She was far stronger than her husband, far stronger than Harry had ever been. Disgust had curled in his stomach, and he’d felt a surge of revulsion so fierce he’d had to get out of the house that minute. Harry had pressed a handful of coin into her palm and ordered her to hide it from Mr White, and left Betsy to her lot, feeling wretched and angry with everyone, himself most of all. Then he’d visited Mr Figges, who had restored his good humour for the man was wise and wry in the way of a fellow who’d not had much in the way of schooling but had seen every foolish and wonderful thing life had to give, and had remained good-hearted.

Mr Figges had taken one look at Harry and told him to sit down and spill the beans before giving him some pertinent advice.

Reckon you don’t need to fix the world, Vicar, just give them an ear to unburden themselves, and a bit of advice so folk can fix it themselves if they want to. Else you’re on a hard road full of disappointment. Can’t live other people’s lives for em, can you now?

Harry had thanked Mr Figges for his wisdom and felt much restored as he’d gone about the rest of his day. That had consisted of visiting Mother Babbage, who swore she was one-hundred-and-two, and Harry wasn’t about to argue. She was a wicked old woman who had been loose with her favours in her youth, had a dozen living children, and swore like a navvy. Harry rather adored her. Then Mr Johnson, who’d lost his arm in an accident last summer and was struggling to find work, then young Master Brant, who was recovering from a nasty bout of the measles. Then over to the church at Golden Cross, which was a good four-mile walk, to meet Mr and Mrs Clayton and arrange the christening of their new daughter, and then Mr Smith and Miss Fanshaw, who’d asked him to read the banns for them. Then back to Mr Figges, and to spend the hours of darkness watching a man who had been a good friend to Harry slip away peacefully, leaving him bereft and unaccountably lonely.

Harry talked and talked, and Miss Cadogan listened, occasionally asking a question, or offering an opinion—with which Harry was pleased to discover he agreed—but mostly she listened, and Harry felt the relief of being heard. Mr Figges had been quite right, of course. Sometimes giving someone an ear to unburden themselves was the greatest gift you could offer.

“I’m sorry,” he said, humbled by her goodness, by her generosity in everything she had done today, and the risk she was taking in still being here.

“Whatever for?” she asked in surprise.

“For maundering on so.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “That’s what Mrs Maby said, you know. She said it wasn’t natural for such a handsome fellow to be preaching and ‘maundering on about God,’ but you don’t do that, do you? I admit, I thought you were a pompous, preachy sort, but I was wrong. You just try to help people as best you can, and I think that’s admirable. You’re rather a good fellow, Reverend Martin.”

He laughed. at the genuine surprise in her eyes. “Thank you, Miss Cadogan, and as we’re being complimentary, I must observe that you are rather a good-hearted, kind and lovely sort of girl.”

The words were wrong, or at least, they were entirely correct, but he’d said them wrong, somehow conveying something far more intimate than he had intended. The atmosphere shifted, and Harry was suddenly aware of everything, of the glow of the dying fire and the tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway, of an owl calling far off in the darkness, of his heart beating, and the taste of vanilla that lingered on his tongue. His gaze settled on the little hollow at the base of her throat, the place where he’d feel her pulse beneath his lips if he kissed her.

“I ought to be going,” Miss Cadogan said, the sound of the chair legs scraping on the flagstone floor breaking the spell. “I dread to think what time it is.”

Harry leapt to his feet too, horrified by the road his thoughts had been travelling down, by the temptation that had slid beneath his skin and wormed its way into his brain, making him think of things he had no business desiring.

“Of course. I ought never to have kept you for so long. You ought to have stopped me instead of listening to that litany of complaint, and—”

“It was nothing of the sort,” she said, sending him an impatient glare as she fetched her coat. Harry took it from her and helped her into it, irritated by the sweet, warm scent that rose from her, stirring his senses into restless agitation as he settled the coat in place. “You’d had a long and difficult day and you needed to talk about it. It’s only natural when people have been filling your ears about their problems from morning till night. You ought to get married, you know, then you’d have someone to discuss it all with.”

“I have no intention of getting married anytime soon,” he said, regretting his tone immediately as she bristled.

“Well, there’s no need to take a pet. I’ve already told you I’m not considering the post, so you needn’t get all prickly. Can you seriously see me married to a vicar?”

There was such a mocking glint in her eyes that Harry’s temper flickered to life.

“No, I suppose an earl is more in your line, or is it a duke you’re after? Your sisters got a viscount and a baron between them, didn’t they?”

She went very still, staring at him in shock, and Harry wanted to cut out his tongue.