And then the new curate arrived and everyone had something else to talk about. Edith’s “elopement with the curate” was still a topic of conversation but not now of paramount importance. Mr. Godfrey Wilmot had replaced her.
Mrs. Rendall came over to Lovat Stacy to talk to Mrs. Lincroft and me about Mr. Wilmot. She was clearly delighted with him.
“What great good fortune! I am glad now that we rid ourselves of that—of that—well, no matter. Mr. Wilmot is here now. The most charming man, and the vicar has taken such a fancy to him.”
Poor vicar, I thought, obviously he dare do nothing else.
“Oh yes,” continued Mrs. Rendall, “I have no doubt you will agree we have a find in Mr. Wilmot. Such a charming young man!” She beamed on us both and whispered: “He is thirty. Such good family. His uncle is Sir Laurence, the judge. Of course he will have a very good living in time. The reason he hasn’t one already is because he made a late decision to come into the Church. We shan’t keep him very long, I fear.” She smiled rather coyly. “Though I shall do my best to make him so happy that he doesn’t want to leave us. You must come to the vicarage to meet him. He is delighted, by the way, to help in the instruction of the girls.”
Mrs. Lincroft said that she was eager to meet the new curate and it was most satisfactory that he should satisfy Mrs. Rendall’s requirements so completely.
“I believe,” said Mrs. Rendall, “that Mr. Brown’s desertion is going to prove a blessing in disguise.”
The girls brought back glowing reports of Mr. Wilmot from the vicarage.
“So handsome!” sighed Allegra. “He’ll never want to marry Sylvia.”
Sylvia flushed and looked angry.
I came to her rescue. “Perhaps Sylvia wouldn’t want to marry him.”
“She’d have no choice,” retorted Allegra. “Nor will he if he stays. Mrs. Rendall has quite made up her mind.”
“This is nonsense,” I said.
Alice and Allegra exchanged glances.
“Good heavens,” I cried. “The poor man has only just arrived.”
“Mrs. Rendall thinks he’s wonderful though,” murmured Alice.
“The arrival of a new personality at this place has turned everyone’s head.”
It was true that people were talking of the new curate. “Very different from that Mr. Brown.” “I hear his father’s a lord or something.” “He’s very good looking…and such nice manners.”
These were the comments I heard throughout the village in the days before I met him and by this time I was looking forward to making the acquaintance of this paragon. At least his coming took the limelight from Edith’s disappearance. Not that Edith was forgotten. When I saw the constable in the village I stopped and talked to him.
“The case is still open, Mrs. Verlaine,” he said. “Until it’s definitely proved she’s run off with this young man we’ll keep our eyes open.”
I wondered what they were doing about the case, but when I asked him, he merely looked mysterious.
“Come into the drawing room,” Mrs. Rendall greeted us. “Mr. Wilmot is with the vicar in his study.”
We all followed her into the drawing room where Sylvia was standing by the window.
“Pray sit down, Mrs. Verlaine, and you too.” She signed to the girls. “Sylvia, don’t stand there so awkwardly.” Anxious maternal eyes surveyed Sylvia. “How untidy you look! That hair ribbon is positively grubby. Go and change it at once.”
I saw Allegra and Alice exchange glances, and it occurred to me how observant—and critical—the young were.
“Don’t slouch so,” said Mrs. Rendall to the departing Sylvia who blushed uncomfortably. “And put your shoulders back.” She added in exasperation: “Girls!”
She talked desultorily of Sir William’s health and the weather until Sylvia returned wearing a blue hair ribbon.
“H’m!” said her mother. “Now go to the study and tell the vicar and Mr. Wilmot that Mrs. Verlaine is here.”
She watched her daughter speculatively, but perhaps I thought that because of the girls’ comments. In a few moments the vicar entered the drawing room accompanied by Mr. Wilmot, who was indeed an extremely personable young man—a little more than medium height with a very charming and candid expression. He had perfect white teeth, which were very evident when he smiled, and his manners were easy. He was a contrast to the meek Mr. Brown.
“Ah, Mr. Wilmot!” I had never heard Mrs. Rendall’s tone so cooingly gentle. “I want you to meet Mrs. Verlaine. You will want to talk about lesson times with her. She is teaching the girls the piano.”
He came toward me. “Mrs. Verlaine,” he said. “That’s a very famous name.”
He took my hand; his warm brown eyes looked into mine.
“You are referring to my husband,” I said.
“Ah, Pietro Verlaine…what an artist!” His expression clouded. He would be remembering that I was a widow. It lightened suddenly. “Why,” he went on, “I knew your sister. It was here…”
I was unable to control my expression. I was exposed. It had been bound to happen sooner or later. Pietro was too well known; and in her circles so was Roma. Someone would one day be bound to link me up.
He must have noticed my expression of fear for he said quickly: “Perhaps I am mistaken…”
“My sister…is dead,” I heard myself stammer.
Mrs. Rendall said: “How very sad!” She turned to Mr. Wilmot. “Mrs. Verlaine’s father was a professor. It is sad that her only sister died…not very long ago, I believe.”
Mr. Wilmot came gallantly and magnificently to the rescue. “Of course. I’m so sorry, Mrs. Verlaine, for introducing a subject which must be painful.”
I did not speak, but I think my eyes must have expressed my gratitude.
“Mr. Wilmot is very interested in our little village,” said Mrs. Rendall archly.
“Oh yes,” said our new curate, “I find the Roman remains quite fascinating.”
“They are, I believe, one of the reasons why you decided to come here.”
He smiled charmingly. “They are just an added attraction.” He turned to me: “I am an amateur archaeologist, Mrs. Verlaine.”
I swallowed and said: “How very interesting.”
“At one time I intended to make it my profession. Then…rather later than usual…I decided to go into the Church.”
“How very fortunate for us,” boomed Mrs. Rendall. “I do wish you could persuade Sylvia to show a little interest in our remains, Mr. Wilmot.”
“I can try,” he said smiling.
The vicar said: “Ah…very interesting!” and I could see he was pleased, for now that the curate showed an interest in the Roman remains Mrs. Rendall had discovered how fascinating they were.
“I don’t think our lessons are going to overlap,” I said, bringing the conversation to the subject we had come to discuss.
“I’m sure they won’t.”
I was immediately conscious of his interest and I was not surprised. He must wonder why I was so anxious that he should not betray the fact that I was Roma’s sister.
I had given Sylvia her music lesson and was crossing the vicarage garden on my way back to Lovat Stacy when I heard my name called, and there was Mr. Wilmot running after me, smiling his engaging smile.
“I’ve set the girls some work,” he said. “I had to speak to you.”