Indecently Daring by Emma V Leech
Chapter 5
Dearest Torie,
Thank you so much for your letter. How happy you sound, and how wonderful your description of your new home. I cannot wait to come and visit you and Barnaby. Do give him my best wishes.
As delighted as I am for your marital bliss, I wish you were here. I am sitting upon the horns of a dilemma, and I do not know what to do. I know what I wish to do, what my heart tells me to do, but we both know my heart is a fickle creature, and two weeks from now I might realise I’ve made the most awful mistake. Yet if I do not act, I am afraid of what might happen, just how deep my regret would be if anything—But I cannot write more, and I ought not to worry you so, only I must say something to someone. I could tell Evie of course, but since she’s become pregnant, she’s the most dreadful worrier and weeps at the slightest upset. I cannot disturb her peace of mind and fear she will tell mama.
Never mind. I shall figure this out and decide for myself what to do. I have a brain in my head and it is about time I used it for a purpose. Perhaps there is another solution I have not seen yet. I just need to put my mind to it.
―Excerpt of a letter to Lady Victoria Godwin (daughter of Robert and Prunella Adolphus, The Duke and Duchess of Bedwin) from Miss Emmeline Knight (daughter of Lady Helena and Mr Gabriel Knight)
12th January 1845, Holbrook House, Sussex.
With the exception of coolly polite greetings in passing, Alana avoided the vicar successfully until Sunday, when there was no other choice but to attend church.
“Do stop dragging your feet,” Cat chided as they walked along the lane. It was gloriously bright again, though still freezing. The lingering cold snap had frozen all the lakes and ponds in the area, and the idea of sitting in a draughty church listening to the Reverend Martin sermonise was not putting Alana in the best of spirits, despite the sunshine. “Come along, we can feast our eyes on your gorgeous vicar and we won’t notice the fact our toes are numb.”
“He’s not my vicar,” Alana protested in alarm.
“Perhaps not, but you didn’t deny he’s gorgeous,” Cat teased her.
Alana huffed, but was too honest to contradict her. The vicar was gorgeous, which was a terrible waste of a fine-looking man if he insisted on being so blasted difficult. Grudgingly, Alana considered why her aunt thought so highly of him if he was as difficult as he seemed and was forced to allow the possibility it might not have been entirely his fault.
Perhaps she had provoked him, at least to begin with. If she’d not been so quick to judge him, this animosity might never have arisen. Cat was right; Alana had been out of society for too long and had forgotten her manners. Her life at Marcross Manor had been rather idyllic but, with hindsight, she ought to have returned home instead of lingering for so long, or returning so often. If she had, she might have realised that Ollie was only a friend, and she might not have forgotten how to interact with anyone who wasn’t close family, or of the four-legged or feathered variety. Mama had suggested as much, had told her it was time to come out and experience society, but Alana had ignored her, and Mama was far too lenient to insist. Alana rather wished she had now, but that was unfair. She’d made her bed, and now she must tidy the sheets.
“Do stop looking so glum,” Cat said impatiently as they followed her aunt and uncle up the path to the church. “I’m reasonably certain you won’t burst into flames the moment you step inside these hallowed walls.”
Alana gave a forced laugh. “Haha. Oh, stop it, you’re hysterical,” she grumbled, though her lips were twitching too hard to make it entirely believable.
Cat snorted and the two of them were sniggering by the time they entered the church, which naturally meant Reverend Martin was there to see it. Cat sobered at once, somehow adopting an angelic expression in the blink of an eye. Alana, by contrast, felt her face freeze in what she suspected was an unattractive smirk, and could only hurry to take her place next to her aunt. Seeing as they were sat in the front pew, it did not afford her an escape for long, and Alana decided it was prudent to examine her toes for the duration of the service.
There was no opportunity to doze off, however, as the reverend launched into a rousing sermon about the dangers of gambling and drinking. He was remarkably passionate on the subject. Unsurprisingly, she supposed, as there had been a rowdy incident in the village Friday night which everyone had been gossiping about all day yesterday. Apparently, the postmistress had been celebrating the birth of her first grandson and had got roaring drunk with Jane Smith, the blacksmith’s wife. Their neighbours on both sides had complained about the noise and a fight had ensued between the women, which quickly escalated once the men got involved. There had been considerable property damage—as the blacksmith was an enormous fellow with an excitable nature—not to mention several sore heads.
Finally, the ordeal was over, which was just as well as the entire congregation had red noses, their breath blowing clouds in the dim interior of the church. Alana was frozen to the marrow and could not wait to get back to Holbrook so she might defrost in front of a good fire. Of course, there was one final hurdle as everyone had to share a few words with the vicar on their way out. There was no way her aunt and uncle could avoid doing so, even if they’d wished to, and they seemed to like the reverend very much. Her aunt seemed almost fond of him. Alana knew this ought to be proof enough she had no business taking the fellow in dislike, but something stubborn niggled inside her at the thought of letting him off for his rudeness.
“An excellent sermon,” her uncle said with an amused glint in his eyes. “I’m sure it fell on fertile ground, going on the rather battered and left over appearance of some of your flock this morning.”
Alana kept her head down, hovering behind her uncle whilst the two men chatted. Glancing around, she could not help but feel amused by the sight of the women in the congregation sending wistful looks in their direction. Her uncle, the Earl of St Clair, was universally agreed to be the most handsome man in these parts, or had been before the Comte de Villen and the vicar turned up.
“Strange, isn’t it? St Clair looks so angelically handsome, he makes the vicar look rather wicked by comparison,” Cat mused under her breath, regarding the two men with a critical eye.
Alana smiled at the observation. “Yes, that’s true.”
“Perhaps it’s just their colouring, the light and the dark? What do you think?” Cat added, pondering this.
“No,” Alana replied, studying the vicar a little closer before turning back to Cat. “It’s more than that. Something in his eyes. I bet he was a right little devil when he was a boy. A shame he’s grown into such a dull fellow. His aunt said as much, too, didn’t she? ‘He’s forgotten how to live,’ she said. Forgotten how to crack his face into a smile, I’d say. I’ll just bet he’s a poacher turned gamekeeper. He’s far too intent on making everyone behave themselves and avoid anything resembling fun. Honestly, I know there was a bit of a scene, but was such a scolding upon the perils of drink really necessary? I mean, Holbrook village is hardly the Seven Dials, is it?”
Too late, Alana saw Cat’s eyes widen with warning, and Alana winced inwardly as she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he’d heard what she said. Drat and botheration.
“Lady St Clair asked me to escort you ladies home, as I’m dining with you this afternoon. If I might have the honour.”
His voice was cool, scrupulously polite, and Alana vacillated momentarily between running away and brazening it out. Well, she was her mother’s daughter, after all.
“How kind of you, Reverend,” she said, smiling brightly as she turned to face him.
To give him his due, he showed no sign of discomposure or displeasure, and offered her his arm. Alana looked around to see Dr Haysom was escorting Cat, who sent her a sympathetic expression, mouthing sorry in her direction.
Alana sighed. She was doomed to put her foot in it with Reverend Martin, it seemed. They were about to leave when Jane Smith, she of the drunken fight, came up and begged a word with the vicar. Alana let him go with relief. She toyed with the idea of walking on with Cat and the doctor, but that seemed rather churlish, and so she stood waiting for him, stamping her feet to get some feeling back into them. A bitter, icy wind had blown up.
On the far side of the graveyard came the sound of children’s laughter. Alana moved towards it, leaning upon the stone wall around the churchyard, seeing shapes moving through the trees. There was a pond down there, no doubt frozen and… yes, the children were messing about, skidding up and down on it. Alana felt a stab of alarm. She had swum in that pond one summer, and it was far deeper than it looked. Though the weather had been cold for some time, the ice might not be as thick as it appeared out in the middle.
Alana called out to the children, but they were too intent on their game to heed her. Too worried to walk all the way around to the gate, Alana hiked up her skirts and climbed over the wall. Sliding on the icy grass, she made her way down the slope and into the trees.
“Get off there!” she called as she went. “Hey, you daft creatures! Get off, it’s not safe!”
An ominous crack echoed through the trees.
“Get off!The ice is—”
A scream rent the air before she could finish the sentence.
Alana ran, bunching up her skirts in one hand as she flew towards the frozen pond.
“Jeb! Jeb!” screamed two boys, who looked too terrified to know what to do, whether to move or to stay still.
“Get down, get low, hands and knees!” Alana shouted at them, trying to keep calm though her lungs were bursting with terror, for there was a black hole in the ice and no sign of the little boy who’d been standing there. Gingerly, the boys got on their hands and knees. “Get off the ice and fetch help,” she said, fighting to sound calm and authoritative when she wanted to gibber and weep with panic. She wanted someone else here now, but no one was, and she couldn’t ignore the boy in the freezing water.
Carefully, she did as the boys were doing, but crawled onto the ice on the opposite side of the hole in the middle. Getting onto her belly to spread her weight, Alana sucked in a breath as the shock of ice and freezing water seeped through her clothes as she inched out onto the pond. Moving as fast as she dared, Alana dragged herself over the ice until she was at the edge of the hole. Just as she looked into the horrifyingly black water, a hand emerged, followed by another, thrashing madly. She reached out, firming her grip around the sickeningly cold, slippery flesh and holding on with all her might. The other hand reached out, grasping at her arm, pulling so hard she cried out with fear that she too might be pulled in. Digging her toes into the ice, she firmed her position, praying the ice would hold her weight as tugged the boy up. Jeb emerged, gasping and choking, eyes wide with terror.
“I’ve got you, I’ve got you!” Alana cried, though she was not entirely certain she had. “Hold on.”
Jeb could do little more than that, too shocked and cold to make his limbs work. Behind her, Alana heard a deep voice shouting, but she could not make out the words. All her focus was upon the boy, who was not quite so little as she had supposed. How such a scrawny fellow could be so heavy she did not know, but pulling him free of the water took all of her strength. Finally he was out, flat on his back on the ice, but she knew the battle wasn’t over yet. The cold would kill him if he didn’t get warm soon. Trying hard not to move too much, she tugged off her cloak and wrapped it around him. Only then did she look up, feeling a surge of relief upon seeing Reverend Martin skidding to a halt at the edge of the pond. He looked desperate, but there was no way on earth the ice would hold his weight and she knew he dared not move forward.
“Well done, Miss Cadogan. Well done,” he said hoarsely, such approval in his voice Alana might have blushed if she wasn’t so perishing cold. “Come now, Jeb. I know you’re tired, but you must crawl to me now. Miss Cadogan can’t help you, the ice is cracking. If you don’t want another dunking, you had best come now.”
His voice was calm, his demeanour likewise, but Alana saw the tension in his shoulders. He lay down across the edge of the pond, keeping the bulk of his weight on the bank but leaning his long arms out to reach for Jeb as the boy made his painful progress towards him.
Alana did not dare move until the boy was safe, stiff with anxiety as she listened to the ominous snapping and odd cracking noises the ice made beneath her. Finally, Jeb was close enough for the reverend to take hold of his hand and, with one swift tug, the boy was lifted to safely. Jeb wrapped his arms about the reverend’s neck, sobbing piteously.
“It’s all right, my boy,” Reverend Martin soothed, holding him tight, his voice not entirely steady. “It’s all right, Jeb. You’re safe. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”
For a moment the sight of them struck Alana with a sharp pain in her chest, like being shot with a dart. The obvious affection the man held for the child was enough to melt the stoniest of hearts, and Alana was far from hard-hearted. She thought perhaps the reverend was praying as he closed his eyes, holding the boy’s head against his shoulder. It was such a tender scene she looked away before she was caught blubbering, which would not do at all. More to the point, she was so cold she could no longer feel her hands, and her teeth were chattering. She needed to get off the blasted ice. Cautiously, she began sliding her way back to the bank. As she glanced up, she noticed the reverend had wrapped Jeb in her cloak and his thick black coat and had laid down once more, reaching for her. Alana opened her mouth to tell him she was perfectly fine and to get the boy into the warm at once, when there was an awful sound, like breaking glass, and before the words could leave her mouth, she plunged into the icy darkness.
