The Miser's Sister (2 page)

As he watched his beloved enter the church, Mr Vane thought to himself, not for the first time, that it was a pity that she had not more “presence.” That was how he put it to himself, for it would have been highly unseemly in a man of God to wish for a pretty wife, and being somewhat below middle height himself, he could not bemoan her lack of inches.

Originally attracted to her by pity, Mr Vane had found himself regarded as a fount of knowledge, an epitome of the Christian virtues. Ruth had had few acquaintances with whom to compare him, and with those he could not but compare favorably. She was, besides, simply grateful for his kindly interest, a trait she had not met with, except in the untutored and uncritical Annie, since her mother’s death.

It cannot be said that Mr Vane was unaware of the material advantages of marriage with the daughter of an earl, who would moreover bring a dowry of ten thousand pounds. Such considerations, he was sure, would not have influenced him had he not felt a sincere devotion to her. However, it was gratifying to reflect that “to him that hath shall be given,” as the Scriptures put it. A curate with four hundred a year and a wife of noble birth might expect to be invited to spread his ministry beyond the obscure Cornish villages, and Mr Vane was ready to heed the call.

Beaming with satisfaction and delight, Mr Vane welcomed his betrothed with a chaste kiss upon the fingertips.

“My dear, you are looking remarkably well,” he offered.

“Walter, it is glorious outside. Could we not take a short stroll?”

“What can you be thinking of, Ruth?” he chided gently. “I must be at all times available to my parishioners. I could not possibly justify leaving the church until it is time for luncheon.”

“But Walter, we so rarely have days like this at this time of year. Only for half an hour, I beg of you. It is chilly in here.”

“You must allow me to know best, my dear. Let me place my cloak about your shoulders, and you will feel warmer. Come now, is not that better?”

“Thank you,” she said submissively. He was her only anchor; she was suddenly terrified of giving offence.

In spite of her capitulation, Mr Vane thought it well to read her a brief homily on duty and obedience, laying particular stress on the hierarchy of parents, husband, king, and God—to all of whom both obligations were owed. Ruth suppressed her rebellious mood and listened in patience.

They then discussed the books he had lent her on his last visit. His comments were as always judicious, weighty, and carefully considered, and if his views were uniformly conservative, Ruth was unfamiliar with any others. Even so, she was beginning to be a little irked by his pedantic condescension, though she was not certain what was causing her restlessness, when he pulled out his silver watch.

“Why, my dear Ruth,” he said with a deprecatory smile, “our debate has been so interesting that we have quite passed the usual hour of our mutual repast. Should you wish, my love, to eat
al fresco
? I confess myself unable to see the harm in an occasional indulgence of the sort?”

Touched by his solicitude, Ruth eagerly agreed.

“There is a bench outside the inn that I have often thought appears exceptionally comfortable,” she proposed.

“Lady Ruth!” he exclaimed, shocked. “Can I believe my ears? It must be considered totally ineligible for a gently bred female to be seen in the vicinity of a common alehouse. Do not I always fetch our modest meal to you? Only the most absolute ignorance of the world can excuse such a proposal!”

Cowed, Ruth waited for him in the church porch, and they sat in its shade, almost as chill as the interior, to consume their bread and cheese and cider.

Even so, it was a pleasanter meal than she would have had at home. Mr Vane forgave her
faux pas
and discoursed knowledgeably on the ways of the Fashionable World and the sights of London, with both of which he had an admittedly meagre acquaintance. She ventured to ask a question or two about his travels to the Lake District and the Welsh Mountains, and was rewarded with a promise that they should take a bridal trip “at least into Gloucestershire,” where he had relatives they might stay with.

“It is indeed a pity,” he continued severely, “that his lordship, your brother, has not seen fit to keep in touch with the other branches of your own family.”

“My uncle writes every Christmas,” pointed out Ruth. “Indeed, I believe he wrote a fortnight since to recommend a young man who is visiting Cornwall. It is evident that he has not been to Penderric Castle for decades or he’d not expect Godfrey to open his doors to a stranger,” she added with asperity, and then dejectedly, “When I turned eighteen he offered to accommodate me for a season in London, but papa did not think the expense justifiable.”

While they were talking, clouds had approached from the west. Meeting higher ground, they enveloped it in a heavy fog. Ruth jumped up in alarm.

“Walter, I must hurry home before the mist grows any thicker. The track is well marked, but it is near an hour’s walk.”

“You shall ride Dapple, my dear, and I will lead him. You cannot go alone in this.”

“But I have not ridden a horse in ten years.”

“He is a quiet pony, you will come to no harm. I shall then return here and claim a bed from one of my flock. I’ll not be expected in Camelford in this weather. Come, Ruth.”

The moorland track seemed sinister in the all-pervading mist, and Ruth noticed that her betrothed, walking ahead, started visibly every time a sheep bleated or a pile of granite boulders loomed suddenly beside them. They reached the point, not a mile from the castle, where the track branched left toward Brown Willy.

“Walter,” called Ruth, “you must go back now. I am almost home now, and you might easily miss your way here if you come farther.”

“If you are quite sure,” he agreed, stepping back to her, “I daresay it would be wise. Keep my cloak, my dear. Your dress is very thin, and your pelisse not much thicker.”

“Thank you, you are very kind. It was so warm when I set out, but you’d think I would know the weather’s tricks by now. It was foolish of me.”

Mr Vane helped her down from Dapple’s sturdy back, mounted in her place, and set off with a wave. Warmed by his consideration as much as by his cloak, Ruth watched him out of sight, then turned to her own upward path.

The fog was patchy now and blowing around her. The track was clear in front for fifty feet, while to either side she could scarcely see the crumbling wall. Five minutes’ walk brought a group of ancient stones looming on her right, then the damp greyness closed in all about her.

A stone clattered behind her as though beneath a hurrying foot. Telling herself not to be silly, Ruth swung round nervously and peered into the mists. A heavy cloth descended suddenly over her head and strong arms grasped her roughly about the waist. Struggling for breath, she kicked as hard as she was able. There was a grunt.

“Her been’t no bigger nor a minnow, but a game one zhure enough,” said a muffled voice. “Us’d better put her out or her’ll cause problems.”

“Not too hard then,” cautioned another voice, which seemed to advance and recede in a most curious fashion. “Her be gentry, not zome thick-skulled tavern wench.”

Head whirling, Ruth wanted to explain that she did not intend to cause problems, she simply wished to breathe. An unseen cudgel fell, her mind exploded, and she sank into merciful darkness.

Chapter 2

Mr. Oliver Pardoe awoke in near darkness and wondered where he was. The tiny room he lay in was unfamiliar, and his feet were icy where they stuck out of the bedclothes, a not uncommon occurrence for a gentleman of six foot two.

There was a clatter outside the window, and a woman’s voice shouted, “Jerry! Jerry! Ye’ll miss tide if ye don’t run, boy! Grab a pasty and git!”

“Aw, ma,” replied a sleepy voice, and the cobbles resounded to Jerry’s heavy-footed departure.

Oliver smiled drowsily and curled up under his quilt. Port Isaac. He had arrived very late last night after losing his way thoroughly in those interminable, high-hedged Cornish lanes. This was Robert Polgarth’s chamber, and doubtless Bob was attempting to snooze on the ancient sofa in the room below.

Silence had descended on Dolphin Street once more, though distant sounds could be heard from the harbour. Oliver tried to return to his dreams, but the urge to be up and doing gained the upper hand when he heard his host’s aunt moving in the next room.

A shuddering splash with water from the rose-painted ewer on the washstand, and he threw on his clothes. He looked doubtfully at his boots, which had visibly suffered from four days of travel. Having no idea how to remedy the damage, he pulled them on. Bob would certainly never notice the state of his blacking; nor was Mr Richard Trevithick, the engineer he was going to see today, likely to cavil at less than glossy footwear.

Opening the door onto the minuscule landing, he came face to face with a tall, elderly, bespectacled woman, draped in miles of blue woollen shawl. She inclined her head regally.

“Good morning, Mr Pardoe, and welcome to Cornwall. I am Auntie.”

“Good morning, ma’am. I am happy to make your acquaintance.”

“Not ma’am, not ma’am!” said the old lady sharply. “I am Auntie, young man. Surely at eighty-five I can choose what I wish to be called? How can I possibly request assistance of a personal nature from a gentleman who ‘ma’am’s me?”

“I beg your pardon, Auntie,” replied Oliver, his sleepy blue eyes lighting with amusement. “Pray inform me in what manner I may assist you.”

“I cannot think how it comes about but my shawl is pinning my arms to my sides. If you would be so kind, sir, as to hold one end, I shall turn myself about until I am free.”

“Auntie, I cannot possibly render such a personal service to a lady who ‘sir’s’ me.” The words were accompanied by a wicked twinkle. “My name is Oliver.”

“Hoist by my own petard,” sighed Auntie. “Oliver, dear boy, be so good as to untangle me from the embrace of this pythoninic garment.”

Chin in hand, he studied the situation.

“I fear this will be an engineering problem of no small complexity,” he confessed. “I cannot find an end. Will you step into my chamber? The light is better and there is slightly more space.”

“I’ll wager you say that to all the girls, and not many refuse you, eh? Good-looking young fellow, though a trifle oversized. I always fancied a blond.”

In spite of himself, Oliver blushed.

“My father calls me a galumphing clodhopper,” he offered, “and at Cambridge I was known as ‘Elephant.’”

“And what does your sweetheart call you, dear boy? Well? Are you going to deliver me from durance vile?”

With considerable difficulty, he extricated the old lady from her wrappings.

“That’s better,” she said, eyeing the blue monster with dislike. “I think I shall give it to Martha. It will make her a gown and a cloak to match, I daresay. Wherever did I come by it? Shall we have breakfast? I declare I am quite famished after that struggle.”

Oliver admitted to a certain emptiness in his middle region, and in perfect amity they descended the narrow stair.

A folding table had taken its place in the centre of the small, square room, and delightful odours were issuing from the minute kitchen to the rear. Martha had arrived, it seemed. Kedgeree, fresh baps, and homemade marmalade made their appearance, and silence reigned as three hearty appetites set to.

Bob Polgarth finished first, having less bulk to keep up. A small taciturn man, he had greeted his friend and his aunt with a nod; now he spoke.

“Don’t want to rush you, Oliver, but ye’ve a long way to go. ‘Tis a full day’s drive to Camborne though ‘tis only thirty-five miles by balloon. And after yesterday, you know our Cornish lanes.”

“I do indeed,” said Oliver, grinning, “and I am not at all surprised that you are a flying enthusiast. I think myself that Mr Macadam’s improved roads are the answer, though ballooning is certainly more exciting. My father does not object to investing in it to a small extent. I’ll discuss that with you and look over your equipment on my return. There is no hurry, is there? The voyage is planned for the spring? Trevithick expects me today, you know.”

“Nay, no hurry. How did you come to meet Richard?”

“It was at Manchester, shortly after you left. Sooner or later one meets everyone at Dalton’s lectures, if not at Davy’s. My father has asked me whether he should put his money on Trevithick’s engines or Stephenson’s, and he is in a hurry, so I am sent down to your western wilds to consult the great man at home. Very convenient since I am able to visit you and to make the acquaintance of your charming Auntie.” He winked at her, and she lowered her lashes coquettishly behind an imaginary fan.

“You said you’re going to visit Penderric Castle?” asked Bob. “I’m amazed you have acquaintance there.”

“I’ve none, indeed. The maternal uncle of the present earl is a good friend of my father, and having received no news in some time, he begged me to call and report on the well-being of his nieces. He is not much concerned, I think, with his lordship.”

“And a good thing, too,” declared Auntie roundly. “A miserly rogue, as bad as his papa or worse. Fit for Bedlam, some say. The elder girl is a little brown thing, engaged to that funny little curate from Camelford. I believe the younger is a pretty child, though she is seldom seen.”

“Castle’s said to be crumbling away,” added Bob. “Don’t go near it if you are not obliged to.”

“I daresay I should drop by, for Sir John particularly requested it and informed Lord Penderric of my itinerary. In fact, he apologised to me for using my father’s wealth as an inducement to his lordship to receive me! However, it can wait until I come back. Auntie, I must be on my way. You’ll give me a kiss to wish me safe journey and safe return?”

“Rogue!” she beamed, as he planted a smacker on her upturned cheek.

The night before, he had left his curricle at an inn on the outskirts of the village, and a boy had led him through a dark maze of alleys, passageways, and stone stairs to his friend’s cottage. The sun shone as Bob led him back.