The Tale of Oat Cake Crag - By Susan Wittig Albert Page 0,44
came out of the pub together.
“It’s too bad Baum wasn’t here to listen to village opinion,” Mr. Heelis said regretfully.
“Yes, indeed,” Miss Potter agreed. “Why do you suppose he stayed away?”
“Kittredge and I shall find out when we speak to him tomorrow,” promised the captain. He smiled at Miss Potter. “Now that you’re back in the village, I do hope you’ll join Mrs. Woodcock and me for tea one afternoon.”
Miss Potter returned the smile. “Why, thank you, Captain. I should be glad to.”
When the captain had gone, Will Heelis leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Earlier this evening, I heard from Captain Woodcock that Bertha Stubbs and Mathilda Crooke are opposed to Mrs. Lythecoe’s marriage to Reverend Sackett. It seems that they are offended because she was previously married to the vicar’s cousin. It crossed my mind that this might have something to do with those letters.”
“Well, if that’s their objection, it’s very silly,” Beatrix replied. “Thank you, Mr. Heelis. I’ll see what I can find out.” She held out her hand, quite properly. “Good night.”
He pressed her fingers with a quite improper passion, then raised his hat and smiled. “Good night, my dear Miss Potter. Good night.” (You and I know that these two are engaged, but I doubt if anyone looking on would have suspected a thing—and their secret is safe with us.)
Beside the road, Jeremy Crosfield was handing Caroline into her grandmother’s carriage. “I should like to come and see you in a day or two,” he said as she settled her skirts. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a chance to talk.”
Lady Longford frowned. “I do not see the need—”
“Of course you may come, Jeremy,” Caroline said, smiling warmly. “Grandmama, Jeremy and I will go out into the garden, so as not to disturb you. I’m sure it won’t be too cold.”
“Thank you,” Jeremy said, avoiding Lady Longford’s barbed glance. “Day after tomorrow, then? At four? I’m finished with school by that time.”
“Day after tomorrow,” Caroline promised happily. “At four.”
“Harumph,” her ladyship said, and raised her voice. “Drive on, Beever!”
Jeremy stood in the dark and watched the carriage drive off, the lantern swinging on its hook, casting swaying shadows through the dark. He was thinking—what is he thinking? He is surely remembering Caroline when they were both students at the village school: she a leggy, lonely young girl, longing for her native New Zealand; he shy and awkward and conscious that she was the granddaughter of the wealthiest woman in the district.
Or perhaps he has forgotten their shared past (how long ago? five years, six?) and is thinking only of the present, reflecting that this grownup young lady, with her clear gray eyes and sweet smile, her fair hair pinned up on her head, is the most charming girl he has ever seen, charming and utterly, utterly desirable.
He has asked permission to call—I wonder: is it just a friendly visit, for old times’ sake? Or is he actually imagining that he might court this lovely and accomplished young lady? After all, he now has a paid position. He is a teacher, which is a situation of some honor and standing in the village, especially when it is held by a man, even a young man. There is no reason why, if he chooses, he might not advance to headmaster, at Sawrey School or Hawkshead, or somewhere nearby.
But I am sure you are aware that Jeremy has no status at all in the eyes of Lady Longford, who still thinks of him as that runny-nosed urchin whose aunt resides in one of her farm cottages and earns a poor living spinning and weaving. No, not in the eyes of Lady Longford. If Jeremy has courtship in mind, I foresee complications.
But our young friend does not seem to be troubling himself with the thought of complications, at least not at this moment. Whistling softly, his hat pushed back at a jaunty angle on his head, Jeremy pushes his hands into his pockets and, with a little skip, turns to go across Kendal Road and up Market Street. He has been boarding with Mr. and Mrs. Llewellyn at High Green Gate since the beginning of the school year, for it is not nearly so far to walk from there to the school as it is from the outlying cottage at Holly How Farm, where his aunt lives. He enjoys boarding with the Llewellyns. Mrs. Llewellyn is rather a sourpuss and fault-finder, but Mr. Llewellyn is always cheerful.