The Vicar's Frozen Heart (5 page)

The proprietor, Jonas Tompkins, a squat, jolly man, hurried out the front entrance to greet him, wiping his large hands on his apron. “Well now, Vicar. Didn’t expect you in the village so soon after the storm. Unless poor Ruth Payne has taken a turn for the worse.” Tompkins snapped his fingers toward the young lad standing nearby and instructed him to care for the horse and gig.

“That is my next stop.” Tremain followed Jonas through the front entrance. Thick pipe smoke hung heavy in the air. Warm, boisterous laughter filled his hearing and the odors of beer and baking meat pies filled his nostrils. His mouth watered. Removing his hat and gloves, he passed them to Jonas, who set them on a shelf. “If I could have a quick word with you and your good wife?”

Jonas’s bushy eyebrows furrowed in question, and after showing Tremain into his small office he hurried away to fetch his spouse. The innkeeper returned with his wife and they closed the door behind them. “Good day, Vicar. What can we do for you?” Mrs. Tompkins smiled. She was a plain woman whose bright, friendly personality made her the ideal hostess for The Rusty Cockerel.

The Tompkinses never acted put out by Tremain’s brusque manner and treated him with kindness regardless of his moods. Because of it, he allowed the granite mask to slip a bit when he was alone with the couple, and treated them with as much warmth and benevolence as he could muster. “I am hoping you might have a position and a small room for a young lady. I found her two nights ago at the height of the storm. She’d been beaten, robbed, and thrown from a carriage.”

Mrs. Tompkins gasped, raising her flour-covered hand to her mouth. “Good heavens. How terrible. Jonas and I were just speaking about needing an extra hand in the pub. There be a wee room in the attic she could use, consider it part of the employment.”

“Excellent. Miss Eliza Winston was previously a governess.”

The couple exchanged dubious looks. “Well now, Mr. Colson. Pulling pints in a pub is a bit of a step down from a governess,” Jonas said.

“To some, but considering her dire situation, I do not think Miss Winston would look down her nose at an honest job.”
Damn his damned leg.
Wincing in pain, he leaned on his cane to alleviate the agony caused by sitting too long. Tremain walked back and forth, hoping to loosen the knotted muscles. “Now that she is recovered from her attack and the storm has passed, she cannot stay in the vicarage another night,” he said through clenched teeth.

Mrs. Tompkins nodded in agreement. “I see your quandary. Bring the lass here later this afternoon and we’ll get her settled. We’ll pay nine shillings and sixpence a week to start.” Jonas nodded in agreement.

“More than generous. When the lad is done seeing to my horse, I’d like him to run to Cranbrook to send a telegraph for me. I will confirm her employment. She stayed at my place the past two nights. Let us keep it between us three, shall we?”

Jonas gave a brisk nod. “Aye, no one’s business. Take a load off, Vicar. Sit in my chair a while.”

With a sigh of relief, Tremain lowered himself slowly into the oak desk chair. It wasn’t as if he needed to sit again, but it did take pressure off his wretched leg. Carrying in the voluptuous Miss Winston, then dragging in her large, heavy trunk had taken its toll.

“Stay for lunch, Mr. Colson. Meat and potato pie with fresh cottage loaves hot from the oven. On the house for you.” Mrs. Tompkins smiled.

“Charitable as always. I will take you up on the invitation after I return from visiting with Ruth Payne.”

“A pint of bitter as well?” Jonas winked.

“Yes. That I will pay for.”

Jonas laughed, touched his forelock and followed his wife from the room, closing the door behind him. Alone, Tremain groaned in agony, and with both arms moved his numb leg until the tingling abated. Well, at least he would be able to eliminate the temptation of Eliza from his immediate proximity. He was not sure how she would take to hearing the news about working at a pub, but Tremain did not find her particularly haughty, so perhaps she would be grateful for the position, however temporary or permanent.

Yes, the sooner Eliza was gone from his proximity, the better. He held up the hand she’d clasped this morning. It still burned. The light scent of jasmine clung to his skin. Raising it to his nose, he inhaled deeply. Yes, still there. To tease and tempt. Especially after last night. He wanted her. All the more reason to push her away.

* * * *

After relaxing in Jonas’s office for more than a half hour and sending the young lad to the nearby town of Cranbrook, Tremain limped through the few streets to the edge of the village where the ill and dying Mrs. Ruth Payne resided. Rumor and gossip traveled fast in Hawksgreen, more rapidly than a brush fire, and many of the residents doubted the ailing woman was ever married, but they allowed the tale to stand for the sake of her young son, Andrew, better known as Drew.

Ruth and Drew lived in a ramshackle bottom flat on one of the more run-down village streets. Since becoming seriously ill, Ruth could not keep her job as a laundress and ironer and had to rely on the good graces of her neighbors for food, rent, and the care of her nine-year-old son. Ruth lingered, the cancer inside her spreading in a slow and deadly manner, insidiously attacking her internal organs one by one. Doctor Edwards, who tended to patients in both Cranbrook and Hawksgreen, declared she neared the end, merely a matter of days now.

Upon entering the small flat, the smell of sickness and death assaulted his nostrils. He would never get used to this part of his job. Reminded him too much of the army, the battlefields, and the sick and dying soldiers who lay upon them.

Drew Payne greeted him, his wide and worried blue eyes staring up at him, unblinking and beseeching as if Tremain held the power to save his mum. Which he did not. All he could do was offer hollow platitudes of sympathy and compassion in his wooden way. Yet, the young lad’s heartbreaking misery did thaw his heart a little. Without thinking, Tremain reached out and cupped Drew’s flushed cheek and gave him a brief smile. “Good afternoon, Drew.”

The boy’s lower lip trembled. “She’s not good, Vicar. And we be runnin’ out of wood and food.”

Tremain stepped back, removed his hat and gloves, and placed them on a rickety three-legged table. No wonder it was blasted cold in there. He would keep his coat on. “Take me to your mother, Drew.”

Drew reached for his hand and grasped it, shocking Tremain. The boy’s touch warmed him much like Eliza’s, but in a different way. Drew pulled him along to the sick room. Inside, Ruth lay in her bed as pale as a ghost, her breath ragged and wheezing.

Nearby, her neighbor, Mrs. McKinley, sat, knitting. She stood. “Thank God you be here, Mr. Colson. If you hadn’t come today I would have sent word. Things be dire...”

He held up his hand to interrupt. “Drew already filled me in. You may go, Mrs. McKinley, and I thank you for your continued kindness toward Ruth and her son. If you could send your husband along in about thirty minutes. I will pay him to fetch food and firewood for the Paynes.” His voice was firm and commanding.

Mrs. McKinley clearly received the message. She quickly gathered up her knitting and with a shaky nod of her head scurried from the flat.

“Drew, be a good lad and allow me to speak to your mother alone?” he asked gently. Drew bit his lower lip and nodded, closing the door behind him. He pulled up a wobbly chair and sat by Ruth’s bedside and took her hand. It was cool to the touch, thin and wasting.

“Won’t be long now, Vicar,” she whispered hoarsely.

“No, Ruth. Not long at all.”

“Promise me you will see Drew goes to a loving home?” Ruth coughed. “Though the neighbors have been kind, none of them want the boy, and...and I don’t want him to wind up at one of those awful places. A workhouse or orphanage. Promise me?” She clutched his hand weakly, her voice raised in worry.

“I have already spoken to Viscount Hawkestone’s steward, Mr. Jonathan Dibley, and the wheels are in motion to find Drew a loving home. Lay your worries to rest. I give you my word I will care for the child and see him well settled.”

A great sob left her throat. “Both you and his lordship have been a blessing. I’ve no family. What would have happened to us...?” A bout of fierce coughing interrupted her words. Blood trickled from the corner of Ruth’s mouth.

He reached in his pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and gently dabbed the blood away. “Though the viscount is an absent landlord, he is well aware of what goes on with all his tenants and the villagers under his domain. He has instructed me to see to your comfort in particular. And to that of your son.” He laid his hand on her clammy forehead. “Eternal God, grant your servant, Ruth Payne, your peace beyond understanding. Give us faith and the comfort of your presence.” Ruth closed her eyes, tears escaping the corners and trickling down her cheeks. “I go and prepare a place for you. And I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. Let’s deliver the Lord’s Prayer...Our Father...”

They recited together. Ruth’s voice shook and trembled, but the benevolent smile she gave him when they finished told him he gave her a modicum of peace. At times like this, Tremain believed he did some good in the world. That was the entire reason he became a clergyman in the Church of England.

He sat with the poor woman a while longer until she closed her eyes and napped fitfully. A while back, he’d questioned Ruth about Drew’s father, but she merely said he was dead and there was no family to turn to. Then last week Ruth revealed the circumstances of Drew’s birth, and Tremain promised to keep the secret and never reveal the tragic details to the lad.

McKinley arrived and Tremain passed him the coin, barking out orders to fetch food and firewood. He shouldn’t be so gruff, the neighbors did what they could as they had their own lives to lead and mouths to feed. But seeing a good woman suffer needlessly turned his bile. So much for a sympathetic God.

Tremain would make damned sure Ruth Payne’s final days were calm, peaceful, and devoid of worry. He would send word to Mr. Dibley to hire someone to stay with Ruth and Drew until the end, tending to their needs as he would tend to their souls. The viscount did promise his assistance.

Then he would fulfill his promise and find a home for the boy. As soon as possible.

Eliza was not sure what to do with herself all morning and part of the afternoon. How long would the vicar be? She still could not believe her frosty, handsome rescuer was a man of the church. There were no sacred artifacts about, nothing to indicate his religious way of life. How could such an emotionally detached man offer prayer and sympathy to the masses?

Since she probably would never understand the machinations and inner thoughts of the vicar, she tried to keep herself busy by unpacking her trunk. A good deal of moisture had seeped in. Eliza dried her clothes by the fire, changed into a new blouse, and then repacked the garments. She also managed to wash herself to an extent, and when she glanced in the mirror, gasped in horror at the state of her bruised face and body. Mr. Colson had tended her cuts and her broken nose. Tentatively, she touched it and hoped it would not be too crooked. Why did the thought of those large, warm hands moving across various parts of her body cause another roll of desire to shoot through her? Enough improper thoughts about a proper man.

Looking back, the incident with those two horrid men could have had a much different and more dire outcome. Silently she remained thankful that she still lived and, though it may be difficult, made a promise to herself not to dwell on the fact she’d nearly been raped.

Once she made her way to the kitchen, she puttered about and managed to find a bite to eat by heating up a bowl of stew. Two hours later, she sat in the parlor and waited. Then waited some more, trying not to reflect on what had befallen her in the last thirty-six hours.

Finally, at about two in the afternoon, a jingle of horse harnesses caught her attention. Eliza ran to the window and her gaze followed Mr. Colson to the small barn. Knowing he would need to see to the horse, she made her way back to the sofa and sat, her hands clasped in her lap. Fifteen minutes later he walked through the front entrance, the sun shining on his raven black hair, so dark in places the shade appeared almost blue. Leaning on his cane, he held his hat in his gloved hand. “Good afternoon, Miss Winston.”

She stood and smoothed her skirt. “Good afternoon, Mr. Colson. Would you care for a cup of tea?” She acted as if she were the mistress of the house and he the visitor. However, it was the polite thing to do, as he’d been travelling out-of-doors and would be more chilled than usual.

“I thank you, no. Sit.” Eliza gave him an incredulous look at his command. “If you please,” he added. Sitting opposite her, he leaned forward, both hands resting on the top of his cane. “I found you employment and a place to stay.”

My, that was quick. Grass didn’t grow under this man. “I am deeply grateful.” And she was. The vicar was under no obligation to assist her, yet he did despite his outward coolness.

“It is good, honest work for good, honest people. The Tompkinses need assistance in their pub and inn and graciously offered you a position. It will temporarily suffice until you decide what you wish to do next. They have a small room upstairs you can stay in, free of charge. The salary is nine and six a week.”

In a pub? A bloody barmaid?
Pulling pints while flouncing about in a low-cut peasant blouse while fat, sweaty men pinched her bum? She struggled to hide her disappointment. Perhaps the vicar thought this all she was good for, considering her past.

“I know it is not ideal for someone with a governess background,” he continued, “but I did say there is not much in the way of jobs in the village. I could take you to Cranbrook, a town of some two thousand. It is about four miles away. There would be more positions to choose from.”

“No. I will accept the situation at the pub and thank you for it.”

Mr. Colson reached in his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. “I sent a telegraph to your housekeeper and she confirmed your employment. It is good enough for The Tompkinses. They are kind, generous people and discreet. They will not tell anyone you spent two nights here and neither should you.”