Page 3 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine

“Oh, but they were charming,” Dotty protested.

Edith rolled her eyes. “I’m sure they are, dear, only—”

“Only?” Clementine asked, now thoroughly intrigued.

Edith threw up her hands. “Oh, Dotty is right, I’m certain. They were perfectly charming. Only—” She laughed and shook her head.

“Do you think they are not really brother and sister?” Clementine asked cautiously.

“Oh, no. I have no doubt of that. The resemblance is striking and, really, people are entitled to their secrets. I wouldn’t care a fig if they were unmarried and calling themselves Mr and Mrs, so long as it did not reflect badly on us. Dotty would be devastated, you see, and—” Edith looked increasingly agitated, for she was not at all the kind to judge others, and this suspicion of hers, whatever it was, appeared to be upsetting her deeply.

“I quite understand,” Clementine said soothingly. In a small-town, gossip flew from door to door at astonishing speed and could cause a good deal of damage whether or not it was true.

“It’s just that we do not want any scandal attached to us. You do see?” Edith pressed.

“Of course I do,” Clementine replied. “So, you would like me to make myself known to Mr and Miss Marwick and see what I make of them?” she asked, unsurprised by the demand.

She often found herself poking her nose into other people’s affairs, having discovered the hard way that it was better she find out the truth than let the neighbourhood speculate and think up their own unfavourable answers. Somehow, she had become the person people turned to for advice, especially on how to deal with their neighbours if there was a dispute, or how to resolve a family squabble. She supposed it had come about because she so often helped her father, and people had become as used to speaking freely before her as they did the reverend. Clementine Honeywell was sensible and level-headed and could be relied upon not to make an inflammatory situation worse. Of course, her sister Beatrice was known for being sweet-natured and beautiful, Clementine thought ruefully, but at least she was useful.

“Oh, would you?” Edith gave a heartfelt sigh. “I believe they will not arrive until the end of July, but it would put my mind at rest. You are such an excellent judge of character. Why, when everyone was accusing Steven Brown of having stolen money from old Mother Sendal, you were the only one who stood up for him. Well, he’s such a moody and unsociable fellow, it was easy enough to believe. I’m afraid I myself was quite convinced he’d done it, but you proved otherwise,” Edith said admiringly.

“Oh, yes, such a clever girl you are. I mean, who else would have thought to look down the back of the dresser? Mother Sendal is getting forgetful in her old age, sadly. I doubt she even noticed when it fell, so I suppose we cannot blame her for pointing the finger,” Dotty said doubtfully.

Clementine smiled. “Well, you just let me know when they arrive and I shall welcome them to the village and invite them to tea. How’s that? It’s no more than I ought to do, and then Papa can meet them too.”

“Oh, splendid,” Edith said, looking relieved. “That’s just the thing.”

Clementine nodded, pleased to have put the woman’s mind at rest, and finished her scone. Then she bade the two ladies a good day and walked back towards the village. As it was such a glorious morning, she detoured, taking a circular route so she could walk along the beach before heading home.

It was early yet, and few of the shops lining the main street that looked out to sea were open, but Clementine waved at Mrs Peacock, who ran the grocer’s shop with her husband, and determinedly kept her gaze directed away from Madame Auguste’s. They were fortunate indeed to have such a stylish and clever dressmaker as the elegant Frenchwoman in a small backwater town like Little Valentine, but no matter how much Clementine coveted the glorious cobalt blue silk that had been cleverly draped over a dressmaker’s dummy, she could not afford it. Any extra coins she might wrangle from the housekeeping, or from the sales of honey or goat cheese, she squirreled away for safekeeping, determined to hoard enough to give Beatrice a London season. Clementine had never possessed the necessary qualities nor desire for such an extravagance, but Beatrice, with her beauty and her sweetness, was a diamond who deserved to be seen and admired. She would make a splendid match, Clementine was certain, and she had determined her sister must have the opportunity. Yet as Bea was already twenty, she despaired of ever having funds enough to cover the costs.

Clementine took the stairs, making her way up from the beach to the road, and walked towards a series of smart seaside villas, the largest of which was an elegant hotel named The Mermaid’s Tale. From there she intended to follow the path that wended through Winsham Woods, not yet ready to return to the bustle and chaos of the vicarage. Lost in thoughts of selling embroidered handkerchiefs via Madame Auguste’s and wondering who in their right mind would hand over hard-earned money for such ham-fisted efforts as she might produce, Clementine did not see the carriage until it was almost upon her. The elegant equipage swept around the corner, the four matched bays gleaming in the sunlight, and she barely had time to give a little shriek of exclamation before throwing herself out of the way.

“Steady there, gel!” exclaimed a man’s voice, as hands steadied her.

Turning, Clementine stared at the man who had saved her.

“Major Hancock!” she said, breathless with relief as she stared up at him. He was an old soldier, perhaps sixty years of age, but still hale and hearty, as attested by the ease with which he had caught her.

“Should watch where you are going,” he told her sternly, but there was more concern than condemnation in his eyes. “And you, sir!” he shouted, turning his glare upon the driver of the splendid carriage, which Clementine could now see was embellished with a brightly painted coat of arms.

The coachman leapt down from his perch as the postillion took hold of the horses and a groom ran from the hotel to see to the magnificent beasts.

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, madam. Only his lordship was took ill, and I was told to get him here quick sharp like,” he said apologetically, swiping the hat from his head as he addressed Clementine.

Before either she or the major could respond, the carriage door was flung open.

“Don’t do that, ye daft bugger!” shouted an angry voice from the dark confines of the carriage, but whoever it was giving instructions was ignored, and a shock of blond hair emerged first before the rest of the man fell out. He landed awkwardly on his hands and knees, gave a heartfelt groan, and vomited over Clementine’s boots.

Clementine gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth in disgust as the major bellowed in horror.

“Good God! Show a little respect, you blackguard. How dare you arrive here in such a vile state of inebriation?”

As he spoke, a bull of a man climbed out the carriage. Hulking across the shoulders, he had a thick neck and a nose that had surely been broken on multiple occasions.

“S’cuse me,” he said, his expression forbidding as he hauled the groaning heap from the ground and dragged him bodily into the hotel. It was no mean feat either, for though the bull-headed fellow was undoubtedly the largest man Clementine had ever seen, his golden-haired companion was no lightweight either. She watched, appalled and astonished, as the two men disappeared without so much as a murmur of apology.

“My dear Miss Honeywell,” the major said, looking much discomforted by the situation. “I would invite you into my home and have Drummond clean your boots, but without a maid or one of your sisters—”