Page 77 of The Case of the Curate

“He’s a soldier, invalided out after Waterloo,” Rupert said. “I’m trying to smarten him up in the hope that Lord Chadbon might give him a job. I hope you don’t mind if he sleeps in the stable and looks after old Matthew in the interim. Take his keep off my salary, of course. It’s hard for those who lost limbs.”

Mrs. Bancroft colored, as though she took the remark as an insult or a scolding in front of the vicar. She seemed to be the one person Rupert always said the wrong thing to.

For the remainder of tea, he confined himself to answering the vicar’s questions about the sick people he had been visiting, those recovering and those who never would. At last Mrs. Bancroft stood, signaling that tea was at an end, and Rupert rose with her.

“I’ll see you back up to bed, Theodore,” she said to her husband. “You have been up long enough for one day.”

“Oh, no, I’d like another hour,” Bancroft said with his sweet smile. “Just sitting in my study. I won’t work, my dear, but just sitting there makes me feel more alive.”

“I’ll sit with him, if you like,” Rupert said at once. “Make sure he doesn’t tire. He is looking much better, I believe.”

She glared at him in fury, taking him aback again. But the sudden dampness of her eyes made him follow her to the door and open it for her.

“I will look after him,” he promised her.

She sailed past him and out of the room. He thought she wasn’t going to respond when abruptly she turned on him, her eyes still wet and fierce, her skin mottled with anger. “Liar!” she said, her voice low and intense. “I know exactly what you’re doing. You want him to die, or at least be so ill that you can replace him permanently! And then what happens to him?”

Rupert had understood her hostility from the first, but it suddenly occurred to him that philosophical silence and hope might not have been his most helpful response.

“Nothing will happen to him,” Rupert said gently. “I believe he is well on the mend. But even were the worst to happen as you fear, I could never turn either of you out, even if I had the right. Which I don’t have and don’t want. I am only learning.”

Some of her ferocity faded into suspicion. “Nonsense. A young man wants preferment.”

Rupert smiled. “Then why would he wear yellow pantaloons?”

She made an odd noise, which might have been fury or surprised laughter. He couldn’t tell which, for she flapped one hand and stalked away. He walked thoughtfully back to the vicar.

“Forgive my wife’s hostility,” Bancroft said. “She is good at heart and she will come round. I doubt she has met anyone like you before, so she has her doubts that you are a good man.”

“I’m not,” Rupert said honestly. “Do you really want to remove to the study?”

“I do. Help me up, my boy.”

The vicar leaned on him, but only lightly as they walked across the hall to the study, then he lowered himself with a sigh of pleasure into his favorite chair by the fire. Rupert gave him time to recover from the effort and to appreciate his view of the garden beyond his window.

“Sir, might I ask you about the Chadbon household?” he asked when Bancroft seemed settled and comfortable.

The vicar’s brows lifted. “What is it that troubles you there?”

“In confidence at this stage, because of danger to the living… The death of a young maidservant called Dinah Fenn.”

“Ah. Barbara said she collapsed and went home to her family.”

“I suppose she did, after the somewhat rushed inquest. Something is very wrong at Chadbon Court and I can’t put my finger on what it is. Discretion should not be more important than a stolen life.”

“No, it shouldn’t.” Bancroft hesitated, a troubled expression on his face. “Chadbon is a decent man, who means well, but perhaps he accords too much importance to worldly appearance. For the best of reasons, I’m sure…”

Bancroft saw the best in everyone. Rupert liked that about him. But there were times when such good nature was shaded with willful ignorance.

“What reasons?” Rupert asked. “Political? To achieve his reforms and get his party into power?”

“Largely.”

“So all that happens around him is subservient to those goals…”

“Essentially, yes.” Bancroft grimaced. “I remember the girl, Dinah. Too young and vital to die. I am sorry for it. It is hard to understand God’s will sometimes.”

Rupert let that go. Instead, he sat forward. “Sir, what else has happened in the past that the Chadbons have covered up? For example, I heard that their son caused some trouble in his youth.”