To be in the parson’s mousetrap - to be married

- The 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, by Francis Grose.

 

“Not here?” Mr Formby repeated, giving the butler a look of such fury that a lesser man might have quailed.

Mr Grant, however, who during his first interview had revealed he’d been in the service of the Chartley family since he was a small boy - like his father before him and his grandfather before that - was made of sterner stuff. It was also abundantly clear that he was still nursing feelings of an unloving nature for the inspector for having slipped past him and into his grace’s presence without being properly announced.

“That is what I said, inspector,” Grant replied, looking somewhere above Mr Formby’s head as if it were beneath his dignity to meet the man’s eyes.

“Well, where the devil are they?” Formby raged, though his fury seemed to impress the stoic butler not at all.

“I’m sure I couldn’t say, sir,” the butler said with a quelling tone that made the inspector want to choke the life out of the stiff-rumped, pompous sly-boots. “Not being privy to all of his grace’s movements.”

“Well,” Formby said, taking a step closer and speaking in such threatening tones that his constable felt compelled to lay a restraining hand on his arm. “Do you think you could say when they might be back?”

The butler sniffed, but had apparently not been ordered to keep such information a secret. “His grace saw fit to inform me that they would likely be away for two or three nights.”

The sound of Mr Formby grinding his teeth may not have been audible from the butler’s lofty heights, but judging on the anxious looks his constable was throwing him, Mr Greenly was well aware of it. Without bothering to bid the butler a good evening, the inspector turned on his heel and strode away, leaving constable Greenly to follow in his wake.

***

Ash sat back against the squabs and watched the countryside roll past him. So far, things were going exactly as he planned. That the crux of his plan was yet to come, however, was not making it the most stress free journey he’d ever undertaken.

“But where are we going?” Keziah demanded for the fifth time.

“Just out of town for a few days,” Ash replied, hoping he sounded nonchalant, and avoided the eye of Keziah’s abigail, who knew exactly what his plans were and had been only too happy to help him achieve them. “I’m sick to death of Formby turning up at every moment of the day and night, and I think the change will do you good,” he said, striving for a light-hearted tone he was far from feeling.

Keziah smiled at him, and the sight of it made something tighten in his chest. “Yes, Ash,” she said, her words those of an adult trying to remain patient with a stubborn child. “So you said before, and I understand that, and I’m very grateful, too, believe me,” she added, laying a gloved hand on his arm. “But where exactly are we going?”

“To stay with my cousin in Trowbridge,” he said, looking away from her and trying to divert her interest towards admiring the scenery. He felt no need nor desire to inform her that his cousin was the rector at Trowbridge, and that at this moment a special licence was burning a hole in his pocket. All of this would be revealed soon enough, and he wanted her well away from any means of possible escape before that happened, as he had no doubt of her kicking up the devil of a dust over it. But he had made up his mind.

If he was going to keep her from trouble and ensure her future, the first step was to ensure that she was the Duchess of Chartley. His name would offer her respectability and security, and even if they were all plunged into a worse scandal than they were already enduring, as was looking increasingly inevitable going on the last colourful report in the gossip sheets, she would still have a roof over her head and no financial worries would ever plague her again.

For a moment, he considered what his grandmother would say when she discovered what he’d done, and had to swallow hard to quell the nausea that roiled in his stomach. But he was of age, a man in his own right, and she’d damn well have to get used to it.

His guts still felt uncertain, but having made the decision, he was not going to back out of it. If the old woman despised them both so much, Ash would take the greatest pleasure in returning to Chartley with his bride and allowing the old woman to enjoy the house in Bath for the rest of her days. They need not visit her again if she did not want them. The idea saddened him, for although she was a hard and fearsome woman, he knew she did love him, and as a boy he’d loved her better than his mother, who had been a fond but rather unreliable parent.

Trowbridge was a neat and prosperous village due to successes in the wool industry, and had a population of around six thousand souls. Situated about eleven miles from Bath, they made good time, arriving at around five in the afternoon outside a handsome, squarely built house, which lay at the farthest end of the village street beside a grand and imposing church.

After an indifferent morning of grey skies and drizzle, the sun had now come out, though a chill wind sent billowing white clouds scudding across the blue above them. Ash handed Keziah down and watched her smile as she took in the pretty rectory. “What a beautiful house,” she said with approval as her eyes fell on a garden riotous with spring bulbs.

“Glad you like it,” Ash replied, keeping hold of her hand as she was too distracted to yet release his. “For heaven’s sake, tell my cousin, too. Devilish prosy fellow, but if you admire his garden, you’ll have him eating out of your hand.”

Keziah laughed at this rather unflattering description, but allowed herself to be led to the front door.

Ash held his breath and prayed he hadn’t underestimated the awe in which his cousin, the Reverend George Barclay, held his title of Duke of Chartley.

The door was opened by a rather flustered-looking housekeeper, who had clearly only received notice of his intention to pay his cousin a visit a short time before their arrival.

The lady, who introduced herself as Mrs Chubbly, did not live up to her name, as she was a rather reedy and nervous-looking woman. She nonetheless greeted them warmly, but apologised for the fact that the Reverend Barclay had been called away early that morning, so did not know of their coming, but he was expected back within the hour.

This information being given over, she ushered them into a very cosy parlour and promised to return with refreshments as soon as she was able.

During this period, Ash had done his utmost to avoid Keziah’s eyes, and therefore the suspicion he knew was lurking there since hearing reverend attached to his cousin’s name.

“Pretty place, isn’t it?” he said, walking to look out of the window as he made a show of admiring the gardens.

“Lovely,” Keziah agreed, though she was staring at him and her voice sounded just a little impatient. “Now tell me what you’re up to.”

For a moment Ash toyed with the idea of denying he was up to anything, but if he wanted his cousin to marry them forthwith, he’d best have a bride who was prepared to say I do. That being the case, he turned back to Keziah and walked towards her, taking her hands in his.

“I know that you were not in the house last night, Keziah, and that you’re in trouble,” he said, deciding he’d best cut to the heart of it. “No,” he said, holding up his hand when she would have spoken. “I don’t need to know what you did, unless you feel you would like to tell me, in which case I’m happy to listen.” She shook her head, mute and miserable, and Ash took a step closer, his voice low and intimate now. “All I know is that … that whatever you did do, whatever trouble you are in, it was for my sake, and I will never be able to repay you.”

If he’d been in any doubt before, the pallor of her lovely face was enough to know how frightened she was, but at those words, she made an incredulous sound and shook her head.

“Oh, Ash, how can you say so?” she said, her blue eyes filling with tears as her voice trembled. “I’ve brought you nothing but trouble.”

“Nonsense,” Ash replied, his tone brisk. “If you hadn’t been courageous enough to tell me of your father’s plans, he might have put me in the ground by now and have married my mother.”

“Oh, don’t,” she said, clutching at his arm as her voice broke. She shook her head, blinking away tears, clearly deeply distressed by the idea.

He dared to step a little closer, encouraged by the idea of his demise being so painful to her and wishing he were brave enough to steal a kiss. “I can’t help but realise that your life would be a deal easier if you’d not come to me,” he said, taking her hands in his and giving her a crooked smile. “So at least let me do what I can to rectify that.”

She looked up at him, and in her eyes was an enquiring look that suggested that for all her suspicions, she still wasn’t quite certain of what he was saying. He took a deep breath, feeling his heart hammering behind his ribs, and reminded himself severely that even if she agreed, it wouldn’t be because she loved him.

“Marry me, Keziah. Let me give you the protection of my name, let me give you a home and security, and anything else you want or need.”

She stared at him and Ash wished she’d say something, anything, as he didn’t have the slightest idea what was going on behind those beautiful eyes.

“I know you don’t love me,” he said, forcing another smile to his lips though the admission tore at his heart. “But we are friends, good friends, I think, and … well, there are worse ways to begin a marriage, after all.”

Her mouth opened and closed, but still she said nothing.

“I’ll not … I wouldn’t …” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He did not want to make this promise, the idea of it was a further stab to his heart, but he needed to gain her acceptance of the marriage. There would be time enough to hope after that, and even longer to regret if she never turned to him. “I will need an heir at some point, Keziah, you must know that is true, but … but I won’t interfere in your life other than that if … if that is what you want. You have my word.” The words were honest and he meant them, and he prayed she could not hear the ache in his heart as he gave her his promise.

He watched her throat working, a tear trembling on the edge of her lower lashes that spilled over, sliding down her cheek. He reached out and wiped it away with his thumb.

“Please don’t cry,” he begged, not knowing what to do. He wanted so badly to pull her into his arms, it was like a physical weight pressing against his chest. “Just say yes.”

She gave a little huff of laughter then and shook her head as more tears followed the first.

Ash held his breath.

“You are a deal too kind, your grace,” she said, her voice thick. “And I … I don’t know what to say.”

“Yes, you do,” he urged, willing her to consent with all his heart. “Please, Keziah. Let me do this for you.” Though he knew that was dishonest, it wasn’t just for her, it was for him, too. The old phrase, better half a loaf than none at all, drifted into his mind, and some sense of foreboding warned him that it wasn’t true, that it would be torture to have her by him and know she didn’t love him. Worse still if she were to take a lover and there was nothing he could do, he had promised, after all. But if it was all he could have, if it was the only way to keep her safe, then it would be enough.

It would have to be.

“Yes,” she said, startling him out of his thoughts and making him exclaim with delight. Keziah gave him a shy smile that seemed rather out of character, but nonetheless genuine for that. “Yes, thank you, Ash. I will.”

***

To say the Reverend George Barclay was surprised by the appearance of his noble cousin would have been something of an understatement.

He was a large man with a kindly, if florid, complexion and girth that suggested his housekeeper was a very fine cook. His eyes were rather protuberant and a very pale grey which, combined with a pair of overly fleshy lips, gave him a rather vacant, fishlike expression. This was sadly heightened by the awe in which he held the duke. Ash himself was driven to the ends of his patience as the Reverend fussed about him in an obsequious manner that was enough to make the most mild-mannered of men a little sharp.

He bore it stoically, however, and was finally able to get to the point of his visit.

George blinked, his glassy eyes bulging more than usual. “You … you want me to marry you?” he stammered, his large hands clutching at an overstuffed chair as he leaned forward.

“I do,” Ash replied with some force. “Immediately, if you would be so good, please, George.”

“B-but, your grace,” the man said, reaching for a handkerchief and wiping his face on it. “This is most irregular. Not that I’m not immensely honoured,” he rushed on, holding out a placating hand in case his grace took offence. “But have you considered … there will be talk …”

Ash bit back the desire to shout and demand that the fellow damn well get on with it, and instead plastered his most charming smile to his face.

“My dear, George,” he said, earning himself a beaming smile at the condescension of having used his given name. “I am aware that I am putting you in a difficult position,” he said with as much gravity as he could muster. “However, I could think of no one else that I would want to turn to in such a predicament as my dear cousin.”

Ash watched with amusement as the fellow seemed to puff up visibly as he laid it on thick. “The thing is, old fellow, that my grandmother don’t like the match above half. No fortune, you see,” he said, grasping Keziah’s hand and hoping she understood what he was doing. “And I’ve no doubt you’ve heard the gossip about her father.”

“Well, your grace,” the man began, looking anxious in case he should unwittingly cause offence. “Of course, one does hear things, but I never put much store by gossip, only … if Lady Margaret objects,” he added, looking suddenly terrified.

“I will, of course, ensure that Lady Margaret knows that I left you with no option but to do as I bid you.”

“And then there is the licence …”

“I have it here,” Ash replied, tapping the pocket that held the all-important paper with a smile.

George fell silent, having run through his list of excuses. He didn’t look in the least bit happy, but it was good enough for Ash.

“Excellent,” he said, getting to his feet. “Shall we proceed?”