by the woman’s sudden change of manner, knelt but did not pray. Instead he watched her in fascination. In fact he’d been watching her for over an hour now, though she could not have known it. He had just left the house this morning on his way back to Cambridge, when he’d caught a glimpse of a young woman meandering through the meadow that lay just beyond the Abbey. The wind whipped her wrappings and her hair as she walked, and as she occasionally stopped to take in the view, or to examine the flowers that grew wild. It was, he was not ashamed to say it, a rather romantic picture. He was intrigued. A woman, an attractive woman at that, and a stranger… These were rare sights, to be sure, in Manchelsea.
Curiosity persuaded him to follow her, and when her destination became apparent, he tied his horse and entered the chapel, at a safe distance, and keeping to the shadows. From a remote corner he watched her, and observed, in time, a sort of metamorphosis take place. Others had begun to watch her too and, as she grew aware of it, her confidence waned, her manner became more agitated, less sure. She had grown pale, had begun to look about her as though she wished only to take flight.
It was then he had stepped forward. No one would dare assault her in look or word if he were by her side. And he was happy to place himself there, even if his desires were not entirely altruistic. She had seemed grateful for it, comforted. He was encouraged. With some added effort, he had managed to draw her out just a little from that chrysalis of self-awareness. But now, with her hands folded before her, her eyes tightly closed so that her lashes rested against the fair skin of her cheek, she seemed to be folding herself back into that safe, dark place. And he regretted it.
Many of those who had followed the parson’s invitation to pray were looking up now, peeking over their folded hands, commenting surreptitiously to their neighbours on various aspects of his agreeable person. Still others took up once more their former curiosity and turned to examine the stranger, and perhaps wondered at the connection between herself and the gentleman beside her. Let them presume what they might. He did not care.
The irritation Archer felt for the insincerity and hypocrisy he saw all about him was halted as he returned his gaze to her, consumed in her devotions. He looked at her lovely face, the tip of her nose just touching her forefinger as she held her hands in prayer. She was terribly pretty. Distractingly pretty. Any moment she would raise her head, and he would try once more to draw her out. One more smile was all he needed. Such would last him the week, would buoy him through his last exams at University. And perhaps, with any luck, she would still be here upon his return. And then…?
He began to search for some witticism he might offer, some humorous and charming quip to bring the spark back to her eyes and colour to her face. Having seized upon just the thing, he smiled, satisfied with his own cleverness. He turned to her in anticipation and was suddenly brought up short. All light-heartedness, irreverent now it seemed, was struck dead by the sight of a tear slipping down her cheek, rolling along the soft lines of her finely gloved fingers as they now covered the greater part of her face. What he had needed from her, indeed! As usual he had thought of nothing but his own desires. And as if that tear had been meant expressly to awaken his conscience, he arose. Cut to the quick by the sight of so much unexpected sincerity, by the sight of a beautiful woman sorely grieved, and by the guilt of his own persistent cynicism, he found he could remain no longer. He was gone before “Amen.”
He placed himself beside the churchyard gate.
Chapter eight
RCHER STEPPED OUT into the churchyard to find the weather changing, and changing fast. The cloud-darkened sky and blustering winds reflected his mood as he set out, somewhat
Curiosity persuaded him to follow her, and when her destination became apparent, he tied his horse and entered the chapel, at a safe distance, and keeping to the shadows. From a remote corner he watched her, and observed, in time, a sort of metamorphosis take place. Others had begun to watch her too and, as she grew aware of it, her confidence waned, her manner became more agitated, less sure. She had grown pale, had begun to look about her as though she wished only to take flight.
It was then he had stepped forward. No one would dare assault her in look or word if he were by her side. And he was happy to place himself there, even if his desires were not entirely altruistic. She had seemed grateful for it, comforted. He was encouraged. With some added effort, he had managed to draw her out just a little from that chrysalis of self-awareness. But now, with her hands folded before her, her eyes tightly closed so that her lashes rested against the fair skin of her cheek, she seemed to be folding herself back into that safe, dark place. And he regretted it.
Many of those who had followed the parson’s invitation to pray were looking up now, peeking over their folded hands, commenting surreptitiously to their neighbours on various aspects of his agreeable person. Still others took up once more their former curiosity and turned to examine the stranger, and perhaps wondered at the connection between herself and the gentleman beside her. Let them presume what they might. He did not care.
The irritation Archer felt for the insincerity and hypocrisy he saw all about him was halted as he returned his gaze to her, consumed in her devotions. He looked at her lovely face, the tip of her nose just touching her forefinger as she held her hands in prayer. She was terribly pretty. Distractingly pretty. Any moment she would raise her head, and he would try once more to draw her out. One more smile was all he needed. Such would last him the week, would buoy him through his last exams at University. And perhaps, with any luck, she would still be here upon his return. And then…?
He began to search for some witticism he might offer, some humorous and charming quip to bring the spark back to her eyes and colour to her face. Having seized upon just the thing, he smiled, satisfied with his own cleverness. He turned to her in anticipation and was suddenly brought up short. All light-heartedness, irreverent now it seemed, was struck dead by the sight of a tear slipping down her cheek, rolling along the soft lines of her finely gloved fingers as they now covered the greater part of her face. What he had needed from her, indeed! As usual he had thought of nothing but his own desires. And as if that tear had been meant expressly to awaken his conscience, he arose. Cut to the quick by the sight of so much unexpected sincerity, by the sight of a beautiful woman sorely grieved, and by the guilt of his own persistent cynicism, he found he could remain no longer. He was gone before “Amen.”
He placed himself beside the churchyard gate.
Chapter eight
RCHER STEPPED OUT into the churchyard to find the weather changing, and changing fast. The cloud-darkened sky and blustering winds reflected his mood as he set out, somewhat
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