The Keeper of Secrets Read Free Page B

demanded.
    ‘Nay, it’s the new rector!’ cried his companion, at last perceiving my white bands, tearing off his hat and bowing.
    I thrust out my hand. ‘Parson Campion it is,’ I declared, smiling.
    By now both men were bare-headed and ready to be servile, an improvement on truculence, perhaps. In turn each wiped his right hand roughly on his breeches before proffering it to me.
    ‘Begging your pardon, sir, we weren’t expecting you yet a while.’
    ‘And not so young, neither, not with so many fine men going for to be soldiers.’
    I said nothing.
    ‘We’re the churchwardens, sir. This here is Farmer Bulmer.’
    The red-faced man bowed again.
    ‘And I be Dusty Miller,’ the pale one added, laughing almost toothlessly at his appellation. He patted his coat by way of explanation. It rewarded him with a puff of white dust. He coughed, though more as a preface to a well-rehearsed speech than in response to the flour. ‘Welcome to your new cure of souls, Mr Campion. We hope you find all as you expect it to be, but if you do not, rest assured we will do all in our power to set it right.’ How many hours, how manyscribblings and crossings out had gone into that utterance before he conned it by heart?
    ‘Thank you, gentlemen. I’m sure we will work together very well.’
    ‘We hear you haven’t any furniture yet, Parson,’ Bulmer said.
    ‘Nay, nor any servants, neither,’ Miller added.
    I smiled. ‘Thank goodness the carter brought all my effects this morning. As for servants—’ I would rather trust Mrs Beckles’ advice than theirs, but listening would do no harm.
    ‘You’ll be wanting a good serving-wench,’ suggested Farmer Bulmer, with what I thought might have been the ghost of an unseemly wink.
    Sensing a trap, I added firmly, ‘My new housekeeper will select the staff.’ Thank goodness for the prescience of Mrs Beckles.
    They exchanged a glance. Miller sucked his few remaining teeth, the pressure putting them at imminent risk.
    ‘Were there no servants at the parsonage before?’ I pursued.
    ‘Bless your life, there was just the one. And she went with the last vicar to his new place near Bath.’
    ‘Such loyalty is commendable,’ I remarked, perhaps wishing that she had had stronger ties to her home village.
    My naivety produced guffaws of laughter, not soon enough suppressed. ‘Why, bless your heart, of course she’s loyal! She’s the old vicar’s wife, now, see. And they do say there’s like to be a new arrival in their family soon.’ This time his wink was unmistakable.
    ‘And him a man not seeing sixty again,’ Mr Miller added, his tone a mixture of admiration and envy.
    ‘And her not turned twenty-five, I dare swear. Yes, we must find such a housekeeper for you, Parson Campion. Likely you too will want to see if you’ve got a breeder before you tie the knot!’ His bawdy laughter rang across the green.
    ‘I understand that that is the way of those who know no better, but it is my belief, gentlemen, that it is not the way of a true man of God.’
    ‘Don’t ’ee go complaining of Mr Hetherington,’ Miller said sharply. ‘A fine man he was, the keenest after a fox you ever did see. Three times I saw him brought home on a gate, and like to breathe his last. But next season he was up and doing, just as a man should.’
    I bowed silently and coldly. ‘I believe my presence is needed at the parsonage. But I will be reading morning service again tomorrow, and hope for your presence. Good day to you, gentlemen.’
     
    Helplessness was a sensation quite new to me. At Eton I had gone well prepared with my elder brothers’ advice, and at Cambridge I had found my school friends ready to greet me. Here there was no one, and though I supposed that preparing a nuncheon with the contents of the kind Mrs Beckles’ basket should not be beyond my powers, I found myself waiting for a servant to unpack, to find me plate and knife, even to pull out my chair for me.
    Now my only servant was