surprise he was taken aside during an informal tea at the vicarage, and asked to accompany his lordship on a walk in the garden, or rather the grounds, for this was where fêtes and parish picnics were held. After a few questions about his curacy, the bishop surprised Mark by asking with a fatherly smile if there was any young lady in the parish that he particularly admired.
‘Such as a sensible, industrious young woman, Storey, not necessarily a beauty, but amiable and likely to make a good wife for a clergyman – somebody who would discreetly support you in your parish work, never causing embarrassment by injudicious talk. Tell me in confidence, have you met anybody who might suit?’
Mark Storey was speechless, and for one mad moment imagined himself answering, Yes, indeed, my lord, I am desperately in love with a girl of barely sixteen, and dream of her by day and night. She’s the daughter of a local tradesman, and is the sweetest, most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I’m willing to wait until she’s older, but please don’t send me away from North Camp, my lord, because if another man came and took her from me, I don’t think that I could… well, I’d join the China Inland Mission and leave this country for ever.
But of course he said nothing of the sort, and the bishop interpreted his silence as meaning that he had in fact got a suitable young woman in mind.
‘No great hurry, of course, Storey, but think over what I’ve said. A bachelor vicar can find himself in an awkward, even scandalous situation, there being many young ladies in every parish who are drawn to the cloth – and a few older ones, too,’ he added with a smile. ‘A good clergyman needs a good wife to look after him, that’s what I say to all you newly ordained men. Anyway, if there
is
a young lady in your sights, Storey, I won’t move you for the time being, though I don’t usually keep single curates in one place for longer than two years, because you need to widen your experience of parish life. What do you say, Storey?’
Mark took a deep breath. ‘Thank you, my lord,I-I’d prefer to stay in North Camp for a while longer if you will allow me.’
‘Good! Then I take it that you’ve answered my question,’ the bishop answered kindly. ‘Mr Saville speaks very highly of you, and if there were any, er, obstacles in your path, I know that you could safely confide in him. Right, my boy, let’s get back to sampling Mrs Saville’s delicious scones!’
Ernest’s last term at college was clouded with growing anxiety about his future. Since disappointing his father’s hopes that they would work together as partners, he had taken a good deal of money from that father, with no foreseeable prospect of paying it back. He searched the local and county newspapers in vain for a suitable opening, and began to think that he might, after all, have to go to London to find work, which would mean finding lodgings there, as Ted Bird had done. Ted had become a junior assistant with an exclusive London tailoring establishment patronised by the nobility, and in the course of time he would return to Birds’ Gentlemen’s Outfitters in North Camp, to be his father’s successor. Thinking about Ted led Ernest’s thoughts to Phyllis Bird, now working in the post office in place of Isabel, and quite unmistakably smiling in Ernest’s direction. It was she who had told him about the tennis courts, newly built beyond the North Camp cricket pavilion, and the jolly young people who gatheredto play tennis in the long, light evenings.
‘It’s such a beautiful summer,’ she said, looking up at him shyly, having learnt from Isabel that he played tennis at Guildford. ‘It seems a pity not to take advantage of it while you’re at home at the weekend. We’re a very friendly crowd, and you’ll know most of them – Cedric Neville’s home from Cambridge, and he came over from Hassett one evening last week with another fellow from his college, to play
‘Such as a sensible, industrious young woman, Storey, not necessarily a beauty, but amiable and likely to make a good wife for a clergyman – somebody who would discreetly support you in your parish work, never causing embarrassment by injudicious talk. Tell me in confidence, have you met anybody who might suit?’
Mark Storey was speechless, and for one mad moment imagined himself answering, Yes, indeed, my lord, I am desperately in love with a girl of barely sixteen, and dream of her by day and night. She’s the daughter of a local tradesman, and is the sweetest, most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I’m willing to wait until she’s older, but please don’t send me away from North Camp, my lord, because if another man came and took her from me, I don’t think that I could… well, I’d join the China Inland Mission and leave this country for ever.
But of course he said nothing of the sort, and the bishop interpreted his silence as meaning that he had in fact got a suitable young woman in mind.
‘No great hurry, of course, Storey, but think over what I’ve said. A bachelor vicar can find himself in an awkward, even scandalous situation, there being many young ladies in every parish who are drawn to the cloth – and a few older ones, too,’ he added with a smile. ‘A good clergyman needs a good wife to look after him, that’s what I say to all you newly ordained men. Anyway, if there
is
a young lady in your sights, Storey, I won’t move you for the time being, though I don’t usually keep single curates in one place for longer than two years, because you need to widen your experience of parish life. What do you say, Storey?’
Mark took a deep breath. ‘Thank you, my lord,I-I’d prefer to stay in North Camp for a while longer if you will allow me.’
‘Good! Then I take it that you’ve answered my question,’ the bishop answered kindly. ‘Mr Saville speaks very highly of you, and if there were any, er, obstacles in your path, I know that you could safely confide in him. Right, my boy, let’s get back to sampling Mrs Saville’s delicious scones!’
Ernest’s last term at college was clouded with growing anxiety about his future. Since disappointing his father’s hopes that they would work together as partners, he had taken a good deal of money from that father, with no foreseeable prospect of paying it back. He searched the local and county newspapers in vain for a suitable opening, and began to think that he might, after all, have to go to London to find work, which would mean finding lodgings there, as Ted Bird had done. Ted had become a junior assistant with an exclusive London tailoring establishment patronised by the nobility, and in the course of time he would return to Birds’ Gentlemen’s Outfitters in North Camp, to be his father’s successor. Thinking about Ted led Ernest’s thoughts to Phyllis Bird, now working in the post office in place of Isabel, and quite unmistakably smiling in Ernest’s direction. It was she who had told him about the tennis courts, newly built beyond the North Camp cricket pavilion, and the jolly young people who gatheredto play tennis in the long, light evenings.
‘It’s such a beautiful summer,’ she said, looking up at him shyly, having learnt from Isabel that he played tennis at Guildford. ‘It seems a pity not to take advantage of it while you’re at home at the weekend. We’re a very friendly crowd, and you’ll know most of them – Cedric Neville’s home from Cambridge, and he came over from Hassett one evening last week with another fellow from his college, to play
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