A New Dawn Over Devon (39 page)

 66 
New Resident in Milverscombe

When Terrill Langham appeared at the door of Heathersleigh Hall after Timothy had been in residence about a week, Catharine was the first to arrive to open it. He held an umbrella in his left hand and clutched a cane in his right.

“Hello, Miss Catharine,” said the lieutenant.

“Terrill!” she exclaimed.

“I hope you do not mind an unannounced visit.”

“Of course not.—But what happened to your leg!”

“A bit of an accident,” he replied, attempting to shrug it off.

“Come in.—Mother . . . Amanda!”

Lieutenant Langham lowered his umbrella, set it in the stand next to the door, and hobbled in after her. As they entered, Timothy was just coming downstairs with a book under his arm.

“Oh, Timothy,” said Catharine as she saw him, “meet Terrill Langham . . .
Lieutenant
Terrill Langham, I mean.”

“We know each other, Catharine,” said Timothy, approaching with a smile. “—How are you, Lieutenant?” Catharine looked on in surprise as they greeted one another.

“Fine, Rev. Diggorsfeld,” replied Langham as the two men shook hands, “except for the leg, that is. I didn't expect to see you here.”

“Actually, I am living here at present.”

“What about your church?”

“I am afraid I am no longer in the pastorate,” replied Timothy. “In fact, I was just on my way out to the village to scout about for more permanent lodgings.”

“Will I see you later?” asked Langham.

“I should be back in time for tea.”

“I would take your umbrella if I were you,” said Langham as Timothy walked toward the door. “It was raining just now as I drove up.”

“I appreciate the warning.”

Timothy left the house with happy sounds of welcome and greeting behind him as Jocelyn and Amanda now arrived from upstairs and the kitchen.

The brief rain had let up as Timothy walked away from the door and down the drive. The damp smell of autumn was in the air, and he breathed in deeply of its fragrance. He would take the long way to the village.

He reached the main road and turned left along the river. Tucking the crook of his umbrella over his forearm, he now opened the book he had brought along—as so befitting the occasion, one of his favorites, the Scotsman's
Annals
—and began to read the thoughts that so mirrored his own at this moment of life. Though he was not coming to a new parish as a minister as in the story, he was coming to a new home, and could not help wondering what the Lord might have in store for him here.

Timothy entered Milverscombe forty minutes later. His mind was still occupied with the fictional old Rogers and the carpenter shop of the tale. Would this village provide
him
such treasures?

He prayed as he walked that the Lord would direct his steps, and that if his future was indeed in this place, a home would be provided where he would be able to do whatever God had for him to do.

Here and there as he went, he poked his head into several of the homes and shops, greeting many of the friends he had made through the years during his many visits, finally approaching the large stone church, where he turned aside to spend a few minutes visiting his friend Vicar Stuart Coleridge.

 67 
News and No News

Adriane Grünsfeld suspected the worst.

Something must have happened to Ramsay. He should have been back weeks ago. She had no way to know for certain except by visiting his mother, and that she was not about to do. She never wanted to see that place in Vienna again. She could probably write the woman, but that was nearly as distasteful a thought as going to her in person.

She would continue to wait. If something had happened, no one would think to contact his mistress.

What else could she do? If Ramsay made an unexpected appearance, her fears would be put to rest. If he didn't . . . well, then she would know that he had either gone back to the English girl . . . or else was dead.

————

The telegram that arrived at Nr. 42 Ebensdorfer Strasse in Vienna was not entirely unexpected. Hildegard Bronislawgh Halifax knew things were getting dangerous and that the war was not going well.

She took the envelope from the messenger and went into the darkened sitting room before opening it. She did not exactly feel a sense of apprehension. In truth, it would have been difficult to tell what the woman felt. She had hurt so many lives for so long, and had ceased caring about the feelings of others so long ago, that now
when she needed to feel something for herself, she scarcely was able to do so.

Baroness Bronislawgh, as she now called herself, sat down and opened the yellow envelope.

She read the brief message.

No tears came.

Ramsay's mother had steeled herself against the natural emotions of her womanhood for so many years that she had lost the capacity to feel at all. She had grown cold and hard, and now must pay the price by her inability even to weep for the loss of her son.

 68 
Impromptu Meeting

Winter came early to Devon. Even in this southernmost part of England, by late November two storms had produced several inches of snow. The second had fallen just two days before, leaving Milverscombe, for the present, as picturesque as a Christmas card.

Lieutenant Langham, with his wounded leg, made several more visits to Heathersleigh, each a little longer than the previous. Jocelyn invited him, as his duties allowed, to use one of their many guest rooms and come for two or three days at a time.

Letters from Hope and Betsy began to arrive. Both seemed very happy with the new arrangement. According to Hope, Betsy's presence had injected the chalet with new energy and life. She and Sister Galiana were already the best of friends. Several letters came from Hope, forwarded from New Hope Chapel, addressed to Timothy. His lengthy replies took up a good deal of Timothy's time.

With Timothy's help, Amanda filed papers for her annulment application according to British law. The procedure was somewhat dubious, since the so-called wedding had occurred on foreign soil. The outcome was thus uncertain. The process made Amanda thoughtful and a little sad. She spent much time during these weeks alone.

Timothy occasionally took supply positions throughout Devon as word of his presence and availability spread. He had never been happier, and had already begun, as time between letters to Hope and his former parishioners permitted, to write some memoirs.
After five weeks at the Hall, what he declared to be the most perfect accommodation imaginable became available in the village.

Maggie continued to recover from her fall, yet did not seem altogether herself. Jocelyn could not help but be concerned that she now spent more time indoors sitting in her chair without the energy to prepare her garden for the winter. She appeared tired.

————

A knock came to the door of the three-room flat above Mrs. Feldstone's shop after Timothy Diggorsfeld had occupied it a week and a half. The former minister rose to answer it.

“Come in . . . come in, my friend!” he said enthusiastically to the visitor standing before him.

A tall young man in his late twenties, well shaped, lean but with muscular definition to shoulders, arms, and chest, entered carrying a book in his hand, limping slightly. “How do you like your new lodgings?” he asked.

“Wonderfully well,” replied Timothy. “I am already feeling very much at home. Now that I have my books reshelved, I am no longer alone. Indeed, I always feel in the midst of a great silent company of wise mentors, as the Scotsman said of the authors of his books, whose friendship I can call upon anytime I choose, but who will make no intrusion upon me when I wish to be alone.”

The visitor laughed. “A wonderful way of putting it.”

“Sit down. I will put on water for tea,” said Timothy. “—Tell me, what did you think of the third volume of the sermons?”

“Invigorating and challenging,” replied his visitor, “although in places too deep for my feeble brain.”

“Your feeble brain, indeed!” rejoined Timothy. “You are about to graduate, as I hear it, with honors.”

“We shall see.”

“Well, the sermons always require two or three readings for me as well,” laughed Timothy.

“The one entitled ‘Justice' was worth its weight in gold.”

“My favorite! It is one of the few spots I have discovered in the mines of his writings where the Scotsman seems willing to speak boldly and openly about the controversy.”

“How I wish some of my friends at the university could be introduced to his writings. Atheism is so prevalent in the Oxford environment.”

“Perhaps a few of your scholar friends will meet the Scotsman. One never knows where a book will find its way into a person's life.”

They continued to chat freely, and gradually the discussion moved in many directions.

After an hour Timothy's visitor rose to leave, another two borrowed books in his hands. “I will get these back to you soon,” he said. “I will have to read them before next session.”

“No hurry,” said Timothy. “A book being read is infinitely better than a book sitting closed on a shelf.”

The young man descended the stairs and turned absently into the sidewalk from the narrow stairway. Suddenly a young woman coming toward him from around the corner crashed straight into him.

“Oh, excuse me,” began Amanda, startled as she recovered herself. “I didn't—”

“Hello, Amanda,” said a deep voice.

Amanda glanced up into the face that went with the chest she had just ploughed into. She flushed, then hesitated momentarily.

The young man smiled. The expression was enough to take any girl's breath away.

“You don't know who I am, do you?” he said.

“I, uh . . . it's just that you caught me off guard,” she flustered.

“It's Stirling . . . Stirling Blakely.”

“Oh . . . Stirling—of course!” exclaimed Amanda, laughing. “I don't know what I was thinking. My mind was occupied and—”

She smiled as her eyes flitted about his face.

“—To be honest,” she said, “you're right, I guess I didn't recognize you . . . it must be the moustache.”

“An easy mistake!” laughed Stirling. “My mother says it makes me look atrocious.”

“No, it's very becoming,” rejoined Amanda. “I will just have to get used to it, that's all.”

“Well, you may be excused on account of not seeing me for some time.”

“That's right—I heard you were away tutoring someplace in the north between terms at the university.”

“I only just got back a few days ago. To tell you the truth, though I needed what the job paid me, I am relieved that the assignment is over. I don't think I am cut out for teaching—at least not the sort of youngsters I had,” he added laughing.

“But what are you doing here?” asked Amanda.

“Chatting with Rev. Diggorsfeld.”

“I was just on my way to visit him myself.—But do you know Timothy?”

“Oh yes, we are good friends. He supplies me with books.”

“Are you finished at the university, then?”

“Nearly. I have one more term. I will return to Oxford after the first of the year. I am greatly in your family's debt. I will never forget it.”

“What do you mean?”

“For my education,” replied Stirling.

“I still do not understand you.”

“Your father . . . he paid for my entire schooling at Oxford. I assumed you knew.”

Amanda smiled and shook her head slowly as the revelation dawned on her. “No,” she said, “there are a great many things about my father I am only now finding out.”

“Well, I must be going,” said Stirling. “It was nice to see you again, Amanda.”

“And you, Stirling. Come and visit us at the Hall when you can.”

“Thank you . . . I will!”