Rebecca Stubbs: The Vicar's Daughter by Hannah Buckland Page A

was pleased to see you at the Sunday evening service,” he said.
    “Yes, I try and attend as often as work permits, sir,” I replied.
    “How long have you been working here?” he asked.
    “Since April, sir.”
    “Have any of the church members befriended you?”
    The congregation’s freeness with him gave me courage to treat him in a less stilted manner, and we were soon talking about the church and the congregation. As the minutes passed I began to get restless and finally said, “Excuse me, sir, but if I tarry any longer talking, I will get into trouble with Mrs. Milton.”
    “Of course, how silly of me!”
    “But I could dust and talk at the same time, sir.”
    “What an excellent idea, then I will continue to tell you all I know about the Crookshanks.”
    This brief exchange of observations was enjoyable and gave me something to think about for the rest of the day.
    I hoped that we would get another opportunity to talk. I was annoyed with myself that an insignificant conversation, which he had probably forgotten by now, could be mulled over so much by me. I clearly lacked interests and excitement in my restricted, monotonous life.
    Sunday evenings now gave me a two-fold pleasure: First, I enjoyed attending the church service, and second, afterwards Master Edward would often catch me up as I walked back to the manor and we would have about twenty minutes to chat. The footpath from the village to the manor was secluded, leaving the village at a stile and then crossing a small wood that was carpeted with bluebells in spring. The path then crossed a corner of the estate’s park before climbing steeply up to the gardens. The hedge that surrounded the garden gave privacy to the path, so we could walk with very little fear of being seen. Walking seemed to make us feel freer to talk, and it was not long before we were sharing with each other stories from our childhood.
    We had both known what it was to love and lose both our parents and could sympathise with each other in a way very few people can. Master Edward’s mother had been weak with consumption as long as he could remember. She had been a God-fearing woman, and her religious persuasions caused friction between her and her family. They were further alienated from her when she met Master Edward’s father, who was a highly skilled engineer working for the railways. His Christianity and station in life made him a very poor choice of partner in her parents’ sight, and she married without their blessing or money. Master Edward’s parents (Mr. and Mrs. Thorpe) lived happily and comfortably in Hampshire and were delighted when young Edward was born. From very early on in life, Master Edward was taught Bible knowledge and doctrine, and this was matched with the consistent lives of his parents. When Edward was ten, his mother finally succumbed to the illness that had beset her all her adult life. When Edward was twelve, he embraced Christianity for himself. Mr. Thorpe and Edward muddled together the best they could without Mrs. Thorpe, but tragically Mr. Thorpe was killed by an explosion at the railway, along with five other men. Master Edward had previously had very little to do with his mother’s sister’s family, apart from the occasional visit at Michaelmas, but within days of hearing of his double loss, they came to fulfil their guardianship duties toward him, and thus he had come to live at Barton Manor.
    The walk from the church to the manor now seemed far too short, and we sometimes lingered along the way, but I was always very conscious of needing to be back in time to fulfil my evening duties.
    Our “accidental” meetings in the library on Tuesdays also became a regular occurrence and one that filled me with great pleasure. Master Edward often had an amusing cartoon from Punch or an interesting article ready to show me. One Tuesday, Emma decided that she needed to help me in the library, and I could hardly conceal my disappointment. Was I flattering