“If he does really think that there is no distinction between virtue and vice, why, sir, when he leaves our houses let us count our spoons.”
--- Samuel Johnson

CAST OF CHARACTERS:

The Parsonage at Godwin:

Frances “Fanny” Fairangel - Heroine - Age 20

Daughter of Filbert Fairangel
Dark eyes & hair, rosy glow to her cheeks, picture-of-health, medium height. Perfectly groomed, ever polite, thoughtful, and pleasant

Filbert Fairangel - Father of the Heroine - Age 52

Short, balding, with a round little belly; addicted to classical literature. Also, well-groomed, excellent rector at Godwin but had lived ‘in the world’ before responding to his calling; has amassed a small fortune of his own

The Park at Godwin:

Sir Hugh Goodpenney - Owner of the living at Godwin - Age 77

Old friend to Mr. Fairangel; kind, gentle, little prune of a man

Lady Alice Goodpenney - Wife of Sir Hugh - Age 69

Also kindness-itself; loves to eat

Colin Malforce - Nephew to Sir Hugh - Age 26

Groomed to inherit Godwin at the death of the Goodpenneys. Handsome, egocentric; will do anything to promote his own interests, a poor loser; fancies himself passionately in love with Miss Fairangel

The World-at-Large:

Adam Hero - The Hero of the story - Age 30

Independently wealthy, extremely handsome, engaged in a lengthy Grand Tour (lasting years) because he is always stopping to help others; the height of fashion, manners, and sensibilities

Various & Sundry Others too numerous to mention - those who cross the path of our Heroine at home and abroad.


Introduction:

I hold before you, Ladies and Gentlemen, a coin....not just any coin, but a token, a symbol, of your life. On one side, behold ye “Vice” and on the other, “Virtue.” Now, I ask you, my friends, is your path chosen with the simple toss of a coin? Or is it driven by Lady Fate?

Our story tells the tale of a heroine unlike any other. Perfection, thy name is “Fanny Fairangel,” a woman of unsurpassing beauty, gentleness of spirit, and a nature all sweetness and light, well-read, fluent in many languages, accomplished in all the homely arts which are the occupation of a lady, with a voice to rival the rarest songbird, and agile fingers to lend wings to pianoforte and harp alike, dutiful daughter, faithful servant of our Lord, beloved of children and animals (both wild and domestic) and with true depth of feeling for all of humanity who cross her path.

But I warn you now, dear people, that upon this young woman's head befall terrible things of such magnitude as to cause you to shed copious tears and rent your clothes... But, I outpace myself. Will our heroine, Miss Fairangel, be buried in the dust of tragedy, or rise valiantly out of the ashes of her despair?

Let us begin...

Part One

Chapter 1

“Tell me one of your stories, Father,” Francis beseeched from the window seat. The last rays of sunlight danced across her features, giving them a heavenly glow and reminding her pater exceedingly of his late and beloved wife. She rose to sit beside him on the settee and placed a gentle hand fondly upon his sleeve.

Filbert Fairangel enveloped her slender fingers within his grasp, hers smooth as marble in contrast to his own large, angular hands which were careworn and stained by many years of service in the military. “What shall it be, Child? Corunna or Waterloo? or would you prefer that I start at the very beginning... on our sail to India in ‘97...the shipwreck off Madagascar and our near disaster in shark-infested waters?”

“Oh, not yet, Father...start with the first time you met Mama.”

Filbert’s eyes softened with thoughts of Bernessa and how she had looked those many years ago...the lily white skin, the long auburn tresses that lay in curly confusion about her shoulders... “Aye, your mother was a sight to behold, Frances. The red hair attracted me at first, of course. Our entire family had red hair and I wanted to continue the tradition; but it was her cheerful manner and tender heart that truly captured me. Sigh... She was a wonder, Child....always doing for others...and she had a knack for encouraging people to feel good about themselves. When she died, many there were who came forward to tell me they were saddened by her passing...the headmaster over at Briarwood, the horse trainer at Selby’s, the mayor....everyone loved Bernessa Fairangel, my dear.”

Frances rejoiced to know that her mother was so well remembered by the local villagers. “Everyone except Grandfather and Grandmother Fairangel,” she corrected.

“Aye, ‘tis true. My family were dead-set against her from the first. They blamed her for her livelihood...poor woman. It waren’t her fault that her parents died and left her with no way to shift for herself. She did what she had to do, singing in that tavern. She was able to make a living off the soldiers for she had a voice to make the angels weep --- you have that gift as well, Frances! --- and she was not pressed to resort to meaner occupations. I cannot regret her presence in such a place, Child, for else I would not have found her.”

“Did they never meet her?” Frances knew the answer already but thought their story was romantic. Her father had defied everyone for his one true love.

Fairangel sadly shook his head. “Not at first. They did not want her to soil the mantle of their respectability...though, it should not have mattered as I was a second son. They had bought my lieutenancy and I was in Brighton at the time I met your mother. We fell in love and married soon after...” A tender memory brought tears to his eyes, “Your mother was ill for those first few months and it caused her hair to lose its luster. It darkened into brown and never returned to its former glory. But, it is just as well, for you, my daughter, art thy mother’s glass, and she in thee calls back the lovely April of her prime.” He patted one of her curls, “And I do not mind so much that my child does not have red hair.” Fairangel admired her large brown eyes as well for they seemed lit from within and had the ability to see only goodness in everyone she met. Frances's eye color was unique in a family of blue eyes. Her father fleetingly wondered from which of Bernessa’s parents she had acquired them...but they had been long in their graves before he had come to Brighton.

Frances smiled. She knew that her father loved her. “And then what happened?”

“My elder brother, Ronald, died in a hunting accident. My father came to Brighton to tell me....that is when he discovered that I had married your mother and when he first saw you, his grandchild.” Fairangel shuddered at the remembrance of his father’s fury. “Suffice it to say that I was passed over, and my younger brother, Marion, inherited the estate. But, I want you to know, Frances, that I thank God for every day I had with your mother...and with you.” He grew silent. “It is funny, though, how none of Marion’s children have red hair either...”

Fairangel snapped out of his reverie. “And then, my child, I was shipped off...presumably to India but, as you know, the journey did not go quite as we expected...”

“And you left your wife and child behind...”

“Ah, lass, I had to. What else could I do? You entered this life a bit early and we were afraid that you would not survive the long sea voyage. I left your mum with a bit of money and a promise to return as soon as possible. I had a family to support. I wanted to make my fortune...for you.”

“I know, Father. I do not blame you. And, we would have been a burden to you, especially the way matters turned out.”

“That is true enough -- I shall never forget the perils that befell us!” He agreed with some passion. He continued his story, “We were all seasick in those first days and then, about the time the weather grew warmer, some of the staunchest of us found our way back up on deck. That was the most pleasant part of the trip, visiting ports of call, and then rounding the Cape. We had heard many horror stories about ships that had foundered and whole crews that had been lost, but God smiled on us and the winds were agreeable. Looking back, I think it gave us a false sense of security for none of us were prepared for the storm that blew in a few days later. That was surely my first glimpse of Hell!”

His eyes darkened, just like the storm he began to describe, “It came up suddenly. Great towering thunderheads, thick and powerful bolts of lightning stretched across the sky, the boom of the thunder and roar of the wind all around us and inside of us. “

“ ‘The day of the Lord is coming,'" the rector intoned, "' --- a cruel day, and I will make the heavens tremble at the wrath of the Lord Almighty....’" His story gained momentum, "The waves crashed higher and higher, then up over the bow. We all scurried about, bailing water and trying not to be thrown overboard. I had tied a rope around my foot so that I would be anchored to the deck. The ship was roiling, dipping low in the water before it would straighten itself, and the strain on the timbers was so great that we all thought it would break apart at any moment.”

In his excitement, Fairangel sat forward and gestured wildly with his hands, thrashing them from one side to the other. “Then it happened -- I slid overboard, but the rope around my ankle held firm. I dipped beneath the waves, then reappear as the ship came back ‘round. This happened several times and each time, I was submerged a little longer. Finally, the rope gave way, and I was hurled onto the deck and slid violently against one of the lifeboats. My head was bleeding exceedingly and my ribs were sore bruised, but somehow, I got myself into the boat and huddled in the bottom. Then, a crack of lightning and the main mast was broken in half like so much tinder. It fell sideways, carrying the sails and rigging with it. The ship lurched onto its side and my small boat was tossed free, at the mercy of whatever fiend ruled the waves.”

“Oh, Father!” Frances almost swooned at the thought of his ordeal and of what might have been.

Fairangel continued, his eyes intent on the scene in his mind, “I must have lost consciousness for a short while for, when I awakened, the storm was past, though the wind was yet high, and the sun was low on the horizon. I could hear someone calling, ‘Ahoy!’ I weakly looked around and barely discerned two fellow soldiers adrift on a barrel. It was not large enough to hold the weight of both men, and they were each submerged below water from the waist down. Much beyond them, I could see lifeboats, several of them, overfilled and being carried away from us at a rapid rate. I thought a few of their occupants cast glances back at the shipwreck but they did not seem to heed us. Mayhap, the sun was in their eyes.

"The last I heard was a shriek of ‘Shark!’ by one of duo and something bumped roughly against the bottom of the boat. The impact unbalanced me and I fell heavily against the side. Darkness overcame me once again.”

Frances drew up one hand to clutch her throat, revealing the impact of the story on her sensibilities. “Those poor men!” she choked out.

Fairangel nodded in agreement, “I can only hope that God was by their side and a miracle saved them from certain disaster. I never knew what happened to them...I do not even remember their names.”

He sat back and allowed the rhythm of his heart to steady itself. “When I awakened, the night was fair upon me and there were no sounds but the lapping of the waves, now tamed, against the boat. The next day dawned early and bright, not one cloud from one horizon to another. I was yet light-headed from my wounds compounded by my terrible thirst and there was nary a dolphin to keep me company. So lonely ‘twas, that 'God himself scarce seemed there to be.' I succumbed to the darkness once against, certain that it would be my final step into eternity, and with a prayer for Our Father to watch over you and your mother.”

“Miraculously, I awakened yet again. I was in a thatched hut, being cared for by a family of natives. They tended to my wounds and suffered me to stay with them for many months until I was completely healed. I had no knowledge of what had befallen the rest of the crew; I was quite alone in a country where no one spoke the King’s English, and with only my faith left to comfort and guide me. I had no money, no clothing, nothing of my own, and no way back to civilization.”

Frances Fairangel daintily stepped along the walk, her patens clacking in the stillness, as she avoided the results of a morning rain. A few more steps and she stood before a mean cottage, the home of Abigail Younge, the laundress. She rapped lightly upon the door.

A young child gave her greeting within moments, her eyes crinkling with delight as she beheld one of her favorite people. “Good afternoon, Miss Fairangel,” she bobbed.

Frances was making her weekly rounds to visit the parishioners who were ill, lonely, or elderly. Mrs. Younge was abed with her seventh child, who had been delivered in the wee hours of the morning, and the rector’s daughter had brought her a quart of nourishing broth and sweets and sundries for the rest of the family. “Good day to you, Miss Faith,” she greeted warmly.

Faith stepped back so her guest could enter, and once the door was closed again, she stooped to help the young woman with her patens. Miss Fairangel had been her special friend from her earliest memories, and she looked forward to her visits. She gave thanksgiving as she accepted the proffered foodstuffs and set them on the table and, while Frances talked with her mother and admired wee Catharine, the girl set the broth in a pan to warm.

After assuring herself that all was well and that every need was being met, Frances returned to sit at the heavy wooden table where Faith soon joined her. The other children were behind the back of the house, either watching or being watched, while they managed the family business.

Faith had been born with a weak heart and, even now, was small for her age. It was her duty to fetch and carry for her mother and to help with the meals.

“I have a book for you,” Frances announced and held out a slim volume of verses by Jane Taylor. They had both adored Miss Taylor’s ‘star’ poem and she knew that Faith would treasure this newest acquisition and, in fact, would have many of the poems memorized by the time of her next visit.

The child clapped her hands with glee, proving Miss Fairangel’s hypothesis correct. Of all the Younge children, Faith was most apt to savour a new book of verse. A page was marked, and she turned to it eagerly. Her finger followed along the first line, her voice rarely faltering as she read:

‘Oh, that it were my ch-chief delight to do the things I ought! Then let me try with all my might to mind what I am taught.’

Faith glanced cautiously at her benefactor. Did Miss Fairangel think...? She had tried to be good...

Frances realized the source of the girl’s discomfiture and hastened to put her at ease, “It reminds me of myself as a girl,” she confided.

The child’s look of doubt was a source of merriment for the young woman and she laughed gently, “Ah! pour etre devot, je n’en suis pas moins homme. I may be the vicar’s daughter, but it does not make me nearer to Godliness than thee! Much to my father’s chagrin, I often show the humanness of my spirit.”

“Surely not!” her admirer blurted out, for nothing would make her think Miss Fairangel was less than perfect, not even the goddess herself. The Fairangels were the two kindest and most caring adults of Faith’s acquaintance, and she knew that most of the villagers, young and old, agreed with her. She could not imagine that the father and daughter would have any naysayers.

Mrs. Younge soon beckoned for her daughter’s assistance, effectively concluding their conversation, and Miss Fairangel continued on her way. She had one more house to visit before turning home again.

As she walked along, she took note of the wildflowers in bloom along the road: white and yellow daisies, and purple loosestrife. They would make a nice bouquet and she made plans to pick them on the way home.

An occasional acquaintance walked or rode past with pleasantries exchanged between both parties but, for the most part, Miss Fairangel proceeded alone.

She soon arrived at the cottage of old Mrs. Gardiner who was, as expected, tending to her flowers. The young woman put on working gloves that she had been carrying in her basket and helped her friend tie up vines and pinch off faded blooms. The roses were almost in full flush, and the two shared their enthusiasm for their loveliness and variety. Work completed, Frances presented Mrs. Gardiner with a package of her favorite shortbread cookies which they promptly set out for their ritual tea. The girl did not leave empty-handed, though, for her basket was full of pink and yellow and salmon-colored blossoms.

Frances was winding her way among the wildflowers, adding enough to her basket to fill out the bouquet, when she was accosted by a young man on horseback. His appearance should not have been a surprise but it was....it always was.

Colin Malforce sketched a sweeping bow from astride his jet-black mount, “Good afternoon, Miss Fairangel.” He gracefully swung a leg over to land softly on his feet. “May I help you with your task?” Within moments, he was at her side, hand extended in an offer to hold her basket. He looked down upon her fair face, an appreciative smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Colin Malforce was tall, very tall, and his sudden appearance at her side gave the uncanny effect of blotting out the sun. Fanny struggled with her feelings. She was being silly and childish. Mr. Malforce had ever been polite and attentive, and discreet in his show of feelings...which are not inappropriate towards a young lady of marriageable age, she reminded herself. In fact, his attentions...and her acceptance...would make a great many people happy, especially her father and Sir Hugh. She held out her basket and, as their fingers touched, she inadvertently flinched. What is the matter with me? He is a goodly Christian man, handsome, and well-educated...

“Perhaps a few strands of loosestrife,” Colin suggested. “Here, I shall retrieve some for you...” He suited action to words and stretched long fingers to grasp at the waving purple fronds.

He was correct, of course. Their addition complimented the colours of the other flowers, just as his vest complimented his coat jacket and his watch fob complimented the vest.

Frances gathered the stems together and gauged their effect. “Very nicely done, Mr. Malforce. I think these shall be enough. Thank you, Sir.” She made to take her basket away from him so that she could proceed home.

“May I walk with you, Miss Fairangel?”

“I...I...yes, thank you, Sir.”

They stepped along the lane side-by-side, the basket attached to the saddlehorn of the mare who followed behind. Sunlight dappled the path before them and danced with the breeze. Frances was at a loss to know what to do with her empty hands and, after adjusting her shawl several times, finally clasped them behind her back. She stole glances at the profile of her companion, who seemed well at ease and was enjoying the fine day.

Within a few moments, he broke the silence, “This being Monday, it is my conjecture that you were on your rounds...am I correct, Miss Fairangel?” Fanny nodded. “And how is Mrs. Younge and the new child?” he asked politely. “And your little friend, Faith?”

On the surface, the man’s questions seemed harmless, perhaps even endearing, for it showed that he was aware of her interests but, for some reason, it unnerved Fanny to realize how intimately Mr. Malforce knew the details of her life. How can he not? she argued. This is a small village...anyone might know as much...

As she described her afternoon, they approached the rectory. Fanny’s father was standing without, waiting for them. “And how did Miss Faith like your gift?” Malforce asked.

“M..My gift?”

“Why, of course, the volume of children’s verses.”

“How did you know of the gift?”

Colin smiled, “You told me. Don’t you remember?”

No, I do not remember. I did NOT tell you.

He laughed at the puzzlement reflected in her pretty face, “Well, then, I must have had it from your father.”

Fanny made as if to shake her head but, by then, they were standing before Mr. Fairangel.

“Ah, Frances, my dear,” her father greeted with a kiss on the forehead. “Come in and tell me about your visits. You, too, Malforce.”

“Thank you, Sir,” the young man said, bowing before his elder. “Though I shall only stay a few moments.”

An hour later, as they watched their neighbour mount up and head toward The Park, Fanny turned to her father and said, “I gave the book of verses to Faith Younge today. She enjoyed the gift very much.”

Mr. Fairangel lovingly patted his daughter’s arm, “I am glad that you take the time with her, Frances. She is a lovely wee child and gets lost in a family of that size.” His countenance grew thoughtful, “What book was it, my dear?”

“Did I not tell you, Father?”

“Ah, no...I do not think so...I do not remember any conversations of the kind....”

Chapter Two

After dinner that evening, Mr. Fairangel continued his story for Frances, commencing with his salvation by the natives. “The island was so situated as to be the benefactor of many gifts from the sea, including the flotsam and jetsam that washed to shore from shipwrecks such as my own. There were trunks and barrels containing articles of jewelry, clothing, helmets, gem-studded tankards, plates.... The timbers from the ships themselves littered the beach. Thus, their village was a curious mixture of native handiwork and booty from the seven seas.”

“What kind of a people were they, Father?” Frances asked with great curiosity. She had never been more than fifty miles away from home.

“Very gentle, Child, and happier than most anyone you will find in England. They are a generous race, as witnessed by their care of me and their willingness to share everything they have. I wonder oft times which peoples are the more primitive, they or we?”

“Have you ever wished to go back to that island?”

Fairangel leaned back in his comfortable chair and reflected on her question. “I cannot say that I have, Frances. Life has always presented me with some new challenge whenever I begin to feel complacent and so I have been too preoccupied to think of the past. But, now that you ask....perhaps...when my work here is completed. And, hopefully, you will come along to help me build a hut and then leave me to pass my days sitting on the beach head and watching the sun travel across the sky every day.” He chuckled, “I think I should like that!”

“What? And have no books for company?” Fanny challenged. “Fie, Father!”

“They are all up here, Girl,” Mr. Fairangel said, tapping his temple. “The greatest words of mankind are right here where I can savor them whenever I wish.”

“Well, I am very happy that you did not decide to stay on your island those many years ago and that, once your duty was done for God and Country, you found your way home again. I would have missed you terribly!”

“You would not have known me.”

“And that would have been the worst tragedy.” It remained unspoken between them that Fairangel had not returned in time to see his wife alive. “How did you rejoin your regiment, Father?” Fanny had seen her father’s war decorations countless times and had heard snips of war stories from Tippoo to Waterloo.

Fairangel thought back to his last days on the island. It had seemed almost a heaven on earth...except for the absence of his wife and child. He’d had to find a way back to civilization. “Occasionally, we would sight a vessel on the horizon though ‘twere too far away to hail, and so I proceeded to accompany the fishermen in their long boats, hoping that one day an English ship would cross our path. But, Frances, the Lord works in mysterious ways, and when the ship came, the flag was Dutch. They took me on just the same and pressed me into their service. I was sore afraid that I would be posted to one of their West Africa colonies and be forever lost to England but, as luck would have it, they were bound for the East, and I arrived on the shores of Java in the Spice Islands in the employ of the army of the Dutch East India Company."

“Oh, Father!”

Fairangel smiled faintly, “It was not terrible. You see, dear, ‘trials, tribulations, temptations, disappointments -- all these are helps instead of hindrances, if one uses them rightly.’”

“How could you bear it?”

“Frances, every trial endured and weathered in the right spirit makes one stronger than before. But, as often said, ‘God helps those who help themselves,’ for ‘our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, which we ascribe to Heaven.”

“So, what did you do, Father?”

Fairangel chuckled, “I made certain that the officers discovered my ability to read and write, and speak other languages. Once they learned of my university education, they made me a clerk for a high-ranking official in Djakarta. My position allowed me to travel among the islands and it became a very lucrative situation for me.”

“In what way?”

“In those times, the Dutch East India Company was seething with corruption at all levels and in every city within the islands. Everyone was involved in several ventures, often pitting one partner against the other. Reliable messengers were needed and the investors were willing to pay for their security. And, after all, who would suspect a lowly clerk, especially an English dog such as myself?” He felt it prudent not to mention the near knifing on a pitch black night in Bandjermasin nor his dealings with the underworld of the colonial society.

“So, this enabled you to send money to Mother and myself...”

“More than that, Child. I amassed enough money to invest in a few speculations of my own. One Florin led to 10...and then 50...and then... Frances, I could have been a very wealthy man in my own right.”

“What happened?” Fanny asked, for she knew that their living at Godwin was not a princely sum and their lifestyle had always been conservative. They had few possessions, but they were of the highest quality, and she had always wondered at the paradox.

Fairangel sighed at what might have been, “Yes, m’dear, the Dutch government stepped in and took control of the islands. I presume that they wanted a lion’s share of the profits. Regardless, the entire operation was reorganized and the government was not so willing to trust a vagabond Englishman. Rather than lick the boots of the Dutch regular army, I decided that, if I had to do any licking, I would prefer British boots and, as my lieutenancy was a far cry more preferable than serving amongst the dregs of a bunch of foreigners, I took the opportunity to find passage on a trader bound for India.”

“And there you rejoined your regiment!”

The rector shook his head, “It was not quite so easy as that. I attempted to rejoin my regiment. They had just left Bombay in answer to Wellesley’s call to amass troops on the Muhratta plains.”

“What did you do?”

“Another fellow, Sgt. Witherow, was also on his way to join Wellesley’s troops, so he and I and a small escort headed out together in the direction of the last known encampment. The monsoons made the trails nigh impassable and it was tough going --- there were many times that we had to dismount and lead our horses through the muck.”

“So, that is when you first became ill!” Frances knew that her father suffered from recurring bouts of malaria contracted while he served in India.

“Yes, I was incapacitated for several days, but the sergeant faired far worst, so I left him with a handful of the men in our contingent and proceeded on with the rest. The encampment was actually not so difficult to find once we were within a reasonable distance, for the many colorations of the English uniforms and the Scotch plaids could be seen for miles. I have always thought it proud folly to dress in such a manner but later, I was to be even more overwhelmed by the striking colors worn among the native tribes, as though they were saying, ‘Here we are -- do your worst!’”

“Finally! So, then you were reunited with your own regiment, and met Col. Goodpenney for the first time...”

Her father smiled wryly. “Even that was not so easy as I would have imagined. By the time we reached the camp, we were a raggle-taggle bunch, weary, weak, and wearing half of the mud of India. Fortunately, we were still able to speak for ourselves, for we were accosted by a surly guard who naturally questioned my identity. It required the recitation of a few lines from ‘The Hare & Many Friends,’ to convince him and the officer of the day to let me pass. Then I was finally allowed to reclaim my position in the regiment.”

“I can imagine that you were thankful to be at journey’s end.”

Her father laughed aloud at this remark for, while in India, there had been no journey’s end. It was not uncommon for the men to traverse 500 miles during their cat and mouse games with the rebellious Muhratta princes before they were allowed any decent rest and, in the condition in which he presented himself to Col. Goodpenney that first time, he would not have been able to cover 5 miles.

Fairangel could not refrain from smiling at memories of his initial meeting with the man who would become his greatest friend and benefactor. Sir Hugh may be small but he had a commanding manner and, years later, he confided to Fairangel that, judging by first sight, he had little hope of the lieutenant surviving the week, much less turning him into one of Britain’s finest.

Frances knew that the relationship between her father and Sir Hugh involved that special bond between men who have fought and risked death side-by-side. She, too, adored the little man. Unfortunately, in Fanny's eyes, Mr. Malforce was not the equal of his uncle. She could not exactly determine what the young man was lacking, only that his presence caused her some uneasiness.

She had tried to discuss her feelings with her father, especially since he had his heart set on an alliance with the family of his friend, but she had not been able to shed any light on why she regarded the young man in such a manner. ‘I have no other but a woman’s reason; I think him so, because I think him so.’ She knew that such sentiments would only be met with confusion, for her father could only see the benefits of the match.

Fairangel yawned and stretched, “That is enough for now, Child. I have parish business to attend to and a sermon to rework.”

“I understand, Father. I so love our evenings together like this,” she said, rising to kiss the top of his head. “I hope that we may remain just so for a long time. Good night, Father.”

Mr. Fairangel looked at her quizzically. “I, too, should prefer to go on as we have been, but those are the sentiments of a selfish old man. When the time comes, I will not stand in the way of your happiness.” He gave her hand a fond pat. “Now then,” he continued, “tomorrow, I shall read my sermon to you, for you know how I value your opinions. It is as though you can feel the pulse of our small community, and know exactly what passages need to be altered. Good night, sweet Frances.”

The sudden death of Mr. Black, the smithy, when one of the horses literally ‘threw’ a shoe, occupied any extra time the good rector may have had for continuing his story, and so, it was Sunday again before they knew it. Frances had also had a busy week, for the Blacks had five children, and Mrs. Black had relied heavily upon her husband’s good sense and the income from his work. Miss Fairangel organized the women’s prayer group to take meals to the family and arranged for some of the shopkeepers to give the widow credit until she could sort out her affairs.

Thus it was, that she was more than thankful for the respite that a church service provided. Sundays were always a time of renewal for the rector’s daughter, but the young woman did not realize the extent of her weariness until she caught herself daydreaming, an act for which she was rarely guilty.

Miss Fairangel straightened up and took a few deep breaths to invigorate her mind. Across the aisle in the Goodpenney stall were its usual occupants: Sir Hugh, Lady Alice, and Mr. Malforce. They were listening attentively to her father’s words, and so she took a few moments to study the young man’s profile. Dark curls just grazed the back of his neck... long eyelashes, high cheekbones, noble forehead, determined chin....yes, Colin Malforce was admittedly handsome and, if her own eyes would not tell her the truth, there were several young woman in the congregation to bear witness in his favor.

Fanny sighed as her efforts to find fault with the man were once again thwarted. The villagers respected Mr. Malforce and were appreciative of the efforts he made on their behalf. Even Fanny had to admit that it painted a very pretty picture when the gallant young man had assisted 95-year-old Grandmother Pierce to her seat this morning.

Miss Fairangel shook herself out of her reverie and gasped as she saw dark eyes brighten in response to the inordinate amount of attention she had been giving to their owner.

A slow smile spread across his face as Malforce nodded in Miss Fairangel’s direction. Fanny could feel the heat of embarrassment creep up to her cheeks as she returned the gesture, and she knew with a sinking feeling that the little exchange between herself and Mr. Malforce had in all probability been witnessed by most of the church.

She also knew that her admirer was close to asking her father for permission to court her openly. If only I could lay to rest these doubts...

“Lord, dismiss us with thy blessing,
Hope, and comfort from above;
Let us each, thy peace possessing,
Triumph in redeeming love.”

The church service was ended, and Mr. Malforce stood in the aisle, waiting to accompany Miss Fairangel outside...

“Please, go on ahead, Sir, for I am going to light a candle for the soul of Mr. Black,” Fanny said. “And for his family...”

“Would you like for me to stay?”

Frances shook her head, “No thank you, Mr. Malforce. I see that the Carrolls have a visitor with them today, and I am sure that they wish to present the young lady to you and your family.”

Malforce hesitated, obviously preferring the company of the lovely young woman before him; but again she reassured him that she would be only a moment. “As you wish,” he bowed, and exited the church.

Frances approached the candles and lit two, then knelt to pray, but her prayers were not only for her neighbors. Please, God, is it blasphemy to ask for a sign? I know that my father’s decisions are based on his love for me, and I try my best to honor him, but...I have reservations. Please, ...one sign?

The young woman stood and shook out her skirts. As she began to turn away from the altar, a sound alerted her that she was not alone. Fanny looked up to see Colin Malforce watching her, his face bathed in the sunlight streaming through the windows, and with such a look of admiration on his face that she could only smile.

Chapter Three

They had just returned from an evening of music and fine food at The Park, but both father and daughter found themselves quite wide awake. Frances sat down at the pianoforte and quietly replayed the pieces she had performed for the gathering, while her father went into the library and settled down with two of the daily newspapers and a quarterly.

Fairangel could hear his daughter’s clear voice filter down the hallway, a sound that never failed to soothe his disposition. Later, when Frances peaked her head into the room, he gestured for her to take her usual seat. Fairangel set aside his reading materials and steepled his fingers together as he resumed his tale. He and his daughter had only renewed their acquaintance two years before, and there was much that she did not yet know. The rector felt that he owed it to her to explain why he had not been much of a factor in her life. He hoped that the close bond they had created in these past several months somewhat atoned for his previous absence.

“In those early days, I was in no fair shape to wield a rifle, and so was given the task of messenger between the officers. I and an escort would ride between Col. Goodpenney and his men before, during, and after the fighting. In that way, I became acquainted with most of the top men in our regiment and had a very good view of the field.”

“Our first action was against a prince named Tippoo. The fighting was intense -- I had never seen Death close by before -- and it ended with a fatal blow to the prince himself. We were given strict orders by Wellesley against looting, but that did not seem to apply to many of the higher ranking officials. One of the largest items in the booty was a mechanical toy aptly named Tippoo’s Tiger which showed a Bengal tiger hovering over the prone figure of a screaming soldier...a man who alarmingly resembled myself as I would look in the throes of Death. It was a sobering thought and one that I dwelled on for long after. Later, I learned that Wellesley took charge of the device and presented it to the Board of the East India Company in London.”

Frances shuddered at the thought of her father lying helplessly between the legs of a Bengal tiger, and was thankful that his life ultimately took a different turn and that he had escaped India with his life. She also could not imagine engaging in warfare amongst a teeming mass of humans and horse flesh, swords drawn, the ground slick with sweat and blood and the firing of cannon and muskets renting the air. And, she knew the saddest tale was yet to come.

Fairangel saw the mingled look of awe and melancholy that brushed over his daughter’s countenance and chose to circumvent much of his own experience in India or details of some of the more gruesome traditions among the native societies. “Many of our days were taken up with hauling supplies through the mountains and engaging in random skirmishes. Suffice it to say that by the time we arrived at Assaye in 1803, we were proven fighting men with one of the most cunning and daring leaders the world will ever see. Wellesley pulled victory off the Muhratta plains where there had been not one thing in our favor except our British backbone. And there on the bloody fields of Assaye, I received my calling...” The thought of that awesome, awful battle charged Fairangel’s old frame like a bolt of lightning. Not many men lived to tell about that day. “There we were, sandwiched between....”

Fanny shook her head, tears already filling her eyes. “Please...no, father. I regret that my tears deceive me whenever you speak of the Battle of Assaye, but my mind is overwhelmed by the vision of all those poor young men...and dear Colonel Maxwell, so brave in the face of an overwhelming sea of enemy faces...destined to shed their life’s blood for Crown and Country.” Her lower lip trembled at the thought. She had heard the story so many times that the hapless Colonel and the others lost that day had become achingly familiar to her.

Fairangel patted her arm, “The web of our life is a mingled yarn, Frances, my dear, with good and ill together but, I understand, Child. Sometimes I forget that you are a young woman of delicate sensibilities -- and I would not have you any other way. I will save my reminiscences of the battle of Assaye for Sir Hugh.”

“Thank you, Father, but I would like to hear about your call into a life of service to God. You had seen much fighting by then; you respected your commanding officer...why did you suddenly change the direction of your life?”

“I did not one day hear a voice or receive a sign. It came about slowly, as a result of all of my experiences, starting with my departure from Brighton.”

“It was not that I did not acquit myself well as a soldier, Frances. Once my health returned, I did my own fighting. By the time we reached Assaye, I felt as though I had been in India for most of my life, and wielding a sword in battle was as natural as waving my hand.” He noticed his daughter’s look of doubt. “I know, these do not sound like the deeds of a future rector, do they? But, Frances, perhaps, it has helped me not judge too quickly.”

“Oh Father, I did not mean to imply any wrongdoing...”

“I realize that many parts of my story seem totally unrelated to the kind of bucolic life we now lead, yet it has also made me who I am.” Fairangel shifted in his chair as he reflected on his next words. He dearly wanted his daughter to understand his about-face at that time in his life.

“You know, Frances, I have tried not to judge, but I have often wondered. Men are curious creatures, daughter, and are full of contradictions. After all we had been through, I expected everyone in the command to be more pragmatic about their situation in India, but many of them were not. They were frightened. They lived in fear every hour of the day and night which, in turn, affected their judgement...and it came to a head during the battle of Assaye. In the words of Wellesley, or, I should say, the Duke of Wellington:

‘Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders I had seen up to that point, it seemed to me strange that man should fear; seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come.’

“But, I also know, Frances, that courage is like love; it must have hope to nourish it -- and as we were assuming our battle positions at Assaye, we all entertained very little hope of seeing the next sunrise. We realized that we were wedged between the enemy and the river: There would be no retreat, they outnumbered us by the hundreds and they had proven to be ruthless on the field.”

“And that fear crowded into the minds of the men so completely that there was a disruption in the line that caused the death of the gallant Col. Maxwell and several other brave men,” Fanny said quietly. War always seemed to have its senseless disasters mixed in with its unexpected acts of heroism.

“Yes, exactly. You remember the story well. But, that in itself is not what changed my path. In mid-morning of the battle, I was coming up alongside Col. Goodpenney when I saw him take a severe wound to the shoulder and fall from his horse. I slipped down from my own horse and stood over the colonel until assistance arrived.”

“That was bravely done, Father, and I have heard Sir Hugh speak of it often.”

“I would not have done it for every man,” Fairangel interjected warmly. “...but, the actual realization of my duty in life came after the battle. I was standing amongst the fallen and helping to carry the wounded to a place where they could be treated. When in a country like India, there are many wounds that the soldier knows spells certain death and, as I looked around, the fear was palpable... Some of them uttered the prayers we learn as children, but I could see by their expressions that their mouths were not voicing their thoughts. Their fears were too all-consuming. It reminded me very much of this passage: ‘And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, and near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.’ God was there in that field with them, ready to offer comfort, ready to welcome some of them home, but they could not see Him. Their fears had rendered them blind. That is when I knew...” Fairangel sighed in remembrance of the anguish and pain he had seen that day.

“I do not understand, Father...”

“That morning I had saved one man, albeit one of the best men of my acquaintance, but that evening I could have saved ten times ten men.”

“Ah....” Frances slowly nodded her head.

“After Assaye, Col. Goodpenney called me to his tent to thank me for shielding him after he fell. I told him my revelations of the past twenty-four hours, and being the old war horse that he was, he discounted my feelings as heightened emotion due to the battle that had just transpired.”

“You had just proven yourself a worthy soldier...”

“And casualties had been high...and the task was not yet completed. Yes, I understand his point of view, but I knew that the change in my heart was permanent. There was no time to pursue the issue, though, and so I continued on as before. We chased the remnants of the Muhratta Army to Argauum, and it was there that I received what should have been the mortal blow.”

“The dagger struck me just here,” he said, indicating an area a few inches above his waist and to the left. “I knew it was one of those wounds that could easily fester and that my end was drawing near. I told the field surgeons to see to the other fellows first -- why waste their time on me? But, when Goodpenney heard of it, he ordered me to be attended to immediately. Truth be told, he also knew that the gesture was useless, but wished to repay his debt. He and I were both surprised when I survived.”

“God had other plans for you.”

Fairangel nodded his head thoughtfully, “It would seem so...and Col. Goodpenney could see that as well. I was sent home to England to recuperate but before I left, he told me to think hard about my future. Although it was highly irregular, he had some strings he could pull that would basically allow me to resign one commission and take on another, as a chaplain. And that he would accept me back into the regiment, no matter what I decided to do.”

The rector’s eyes alit with his memories of the sea voyage, “You cannot imagine the excitement mingled with fear that I felt as, every day, as we drew nearer to England...and to you. And then, when I first saw you.... you were only about seven at the time...and already quite the beauty!”

“I remember seeing you for the first time as well,” Frances said quietly. It had been over her mother’s deathbed. “You were so pale and thin. I thought you were an angel, come to take my mother.”

Fairangel’s face whitened. “If there is one thing in my life that I regret, it is that I was not able to come home sooner...before your mother passed on. Maybe if I had been here to watch over her, she would not have died so young. In all other things, what’s gone and what’s past help should be past grief, but I will carry this deep sadness to my grave.”

Frances Fairangel sat at her writing desk in the privacy of her own room and made entries into her journal well into the wee hours of the night. Her life had suddenly become more complicated and she had much to think about.

She turned back to the entry for Sunday last and reread her words. Sunday last....Mr. Malforce had been waiting for her when she rose from the kneeling bench after church....

Fanny’s heart raced at the realization that someone could admire her so ardently, for she had not truly considered what it would mean to be courted by a gentleman. She had few social opportunities living, as she did, so far away from any large cities, and so, unless one counted the casual flirtations that went on at the neighborhood fetes, she was inexperienced in this area of her life. Perhaps this is the reason for my uneasiness...my fear of the unknown...my fear of change and new feelings...

Mr. Malforce had been a formidable presence from the moment of their first meeting three months before, and she had not been able to relate to him in an open manner as she would have any of the village lads. But now, she walked over to where he stood and looked him fully in the face and deeply into his eyes, searching for some sort of truth... What she saw there did frighten her and she blushed furiously. When he made to move toward her, she stepped away.

“Miss Fairangel...”

His gentle supplication gave Frances pause and she looked up hesitantly.

Malforce’s back was to the window, his curls outlined by the touch of the morning sun, his features indistinct except for the eyes that regarded her so closely. “I think you know that I esteem you greatly. It is no exaggeration to say that you are the most beautiful woman that my eyes have ever beheld. And your innate goodness... we, all of us, hold up your virtue as our example to follow. A man would be foolish not to try...not to try to deserve your regard.”

Fanny was speechless. Her blush had faded away to white and her mind was swirling in confusion. Everything Mr. Malforce was saying was so alien to her way of thinking about herself. In her daily life, she only acted as any Christian might or should. And beautiful? All of God’s creation was beautiful.

“Miss Fairangel...are you well?” He moved slightly closer, his hands palm up in a gesture of earnestness. “I did not mean to frighten you. I would not wish....to frighten you, above all people. I am only asking for the opportunity to show you who I am, who I truly am, and then ... regardless of the outcome, I will yet esteem you.”

“I...I do not know what to say, Mr. Malforce. I would not wish to hurt you... but I do not know if... I cannot promise...”

“I understand, Miss Fairangel, and, I assure you, that I would ever wish for you to be honest with me.” He grinned down at her, “I am only asking for us to be better friends...for now. Surely, that is not too much to strive for?”

Fanny tentatively smiled in return, “Of course, it is not, Mr. Malforce. Then ‘t is agreed, we shall strive to become better friends.” and when he proffered his arm, she took it.

They walked out to join the rest of their respective parties and were immediately espied by Sir Hugh and Fanny’s father. Malforce’s uncle was openly pleased to see them together and in such good spirits. Fairangel knew that he should be pleased as well, but the young man’s hold on his daughter seemed a little too proprietary to him.

“Here they are now!” Sir Hugh announced, turning to a young woman at his side. “You have already met my nephew, and now I have the great pleasure of introducing Miss Frances Fairangel, one of our fairest flowers and as close to my heart as a daughter. Miss Fairangel, allow me to present Miss Envia Ivy, youngest sister of Mrs. Carroll and recently come from London. I am happy to say that she will be among us for the rest of the summer.”

Fanny’s attention was caught by a pair of lively green eyes that missed nothing. In fact, they had been darting between herself and Mr. Malforce and a smile, almost a smirk, animated the young woman’s features. Roses bloomed in Miss Fairangel’s cheeks at such close scrutiny, and at what it seemed to suggest.

The women exchanged greetings and Miss Ivy was quick to ask that Fanny call her ‘Envie,’ as her intimates were used to doing. “I know that we shall be good friends,” she announced confidently. She leaned forward. “We women must band together,” she stage whispered, as her eyes gave each gentleman the pleasurable feeling of being considered ‘a threat’ to her composure.

“Yes, Miss Fairangel, how delightful it will be for you to have a new companion. Things are often dull out here in the country. I have already invited your family and the Carrolls up to The Park for Tuesday evening and on Friday, Mrs. Carroll is forming a large picnic in honor of her sister. We shall all be quite lively, and thankful for Miss Ivy’s presence.”

Miss Fairangel was somewhat amazed by Sir Hugh’s effusiveness on the matter, and could only nod in agreement. He was apparently taken with the young woman’s considerable charms, but Fanny’s own response to this new ‘friend’ was guarded.

“I agree, Sir Hugh,” said Malforce, “and hopefully we will be able to persuade Miss Fairangel to sing for us on Tuesday.” He lowered his voice, his words for Fanny alone, “It would make the evening most memorable for me.” He turned to the others and said, “And now, if you will excuse us, I shall walk Miss Fairangel home.”

Frances glanced up at the man by her side and took pleasure in the humor that danced in his eyes. Her ‘home’ was only across the lawn.

“Oh, may I come, too?” Miss Ivy interjected excitedly. “It is a lovely day, and as I am to be here for several weeks, I would like to familiarize myself with my surroundings.”

“I only live right here...” Frances gestured.

“Oh, what a charming house! I should like to see it closer...may I?”

“A very good idea, Miss Ivy. Then, you and my daughter can further your acquaintance and not be impeded by the presence of your elders.” Mr. Fairangel was experiencing conflicting emotions over Malforce being so often in his daughter’s company.

“Then, Sister, I shall see you anon. Mr. Malforce will walk me home, also -- won’t you Mr. Malforce?”

“Of course,” the young man replied, but the look he provided for Miss Fairangel showed what he thought of such forwardness.

There had been no occasion for private conversation with Miss Ivy included in their party, but Frances decided that it was just as well. She needed to become accustomed to the change in relationship between herself and Mr. Malforce. As for Miss Ivy, her continued presence did not create a favorable impression upon the rector’s daughter, particularly her oft-repeated comments about the quaintness of the Fairangel abode. Only one item seemed worthy of the woman’s notice, a jewel-studded chalice that rested on the mantle in the library.

“How lovely!” she exclaimed, removing the relic from its place. She ran her fingers over the precious stones. “But, surely this belongs in the church?”

“It is the private property of my father,” Miss Fairangel explained. “It is a momento of his travels abroad.”

“It is quite a dear momento!” Miss Ivy asserted, impressed by its obvious worth. “I would not have it sitting out for all to see.”

“We trust our friends.”

“How charmingly rustic of you, Frances. It would not do at all to own this attitude in Town.”

“We are a close community,” Malforce said in support of the rector’s daughter.

“I hope that you shall regard me as a member of your ‘close community,’ Mr. Malforce.”

“Your sister is well thought of in the village, Miss Ivy, as I am sure you will be.” The gentleman turned to Fanny, “We must be going, Miss Fairangel, but I look forward to seeing you on Tuesday, if not before.”

“Indeed, Mr. Malforce. I shall look forward to the evening with pleasure.” Frances escorted the couple to the door and watched as they walked away in the direction of the Carroll home. Miss Ivy seemed to trip and required a firmer grip on Mr. Malforce’s arm, and when they reached smoother ground, she did not relinquish her hold.

Chapter Four

Author’s note: Before you think me completely loopy, I will finally tell you that this story is based on Jane Austen’s “Plan of a Novel” which can be found here:

Plan of a Novel According to Hints from Various Quarters

Therefore, let it be known that not all of the crazy ideas are my own. ;)

The musical evening at The Park had been considered a success by all who attended, even those for whom success was a little more obscure. Malforce was a pleasant dinner companion for both Frances and Mrs. Carroll who sat on each side of him, and across the way, Envie charmed Mr. Carroll and Mr. Fairangel with her vignettes on the perils of living in Town.

Afterwards, and after the men had their brandy and cigars, the entire party had retired to the music room where, after the surfeit of food and the restful sounds of classical strings provided by the house musicians, all were lulled into a sense of complacency. Malforce asked Miss Fairangel to do them the honor of playing for the assembled group and she had complied with a Mozart sonata, the Allegro from Sonata in Bb. The chime-like series of fingering peaked the interest of her audience; they became quite lively and wished to be included in the entertainment whereupon, Miss Ivy volunteered to play the popular ballad “The True Lover’s Farewell.”

O fare you well, I must be gone
And leave you for a while:
But wherever I go, I will return,
If I go ten thousand miles...

During the second verse, Envie became more impassioned, and Frances wondered sympathetically if she had recently experienced an inconstant love.

Ten thousand miles it is so far
To leave me here alone,
Whilst I may lie, lament and cry,
And you will not hear my moan.

With the third verse, voices deep, high, thin, and robust joined in. Miss Fairangel glanced at her father. She was surprised to find that he indeed knew the words to the song, and that only Sir Hugh was fumbling about. Lady Alice sang in her pleasant alto, with as much expression as if she were singing about baking bread, whereas Mrs. Carroll was raising her eyebrows in a dramatic manner and enjoying herself immensely.

The crow that is so black, my dear,
Shall change his colour white;
And if ever I prove false to thee,
The day shall turn to night.

As Fanny wrote into her journal, she remembered the many times that she and Mr. Malforce had exchanged glances and good-natured grins. It was rather fun to have a beau!

But, as the only eligible male in the room (if one did not include the rector), Malforce also received a large share of attention from Miss Ivy, who tried persistently to catch his eye in the fourth refrain.

O don’t you see that milk-white dove
A-sitting on yonder tree,
Lamenting for her own true love,
As I lament for thee.

Fanny truly felt that the woman would be much more pleasant if she weren’t so forward. A final verse, and then Sir Hugh called for one last song, one that they could all sing. Miss Fairangel obliged with a tune that had been around as long as anyone could remember:

Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,
Remember me to one who lives there,
For once she was a true love of mine...

Two o’ clock! Fanny closed her journal and settled it back in its place in the drawer of the writing desk. She then carried the three-taper candelabra to the table by her bed, and after snuggling under the light covers, leaned over and blew out the light.

Fairangel’s eyebrows drew together in consternation. The next part of his narrative never failed to feed his ire at narrow-minded, bigoted men of the cloth. When he had returned to England and found his wife dead, his first thought had been to take Frances to his own mother and father. No matter their views of his marriage, they would not turn away their granddaughter. But it was not to be. His father had died the year before, and Fairangel realized too late that he should not have torn up, unread, all communications from his parents while he was in India. He had been angered by their first epistles which strongly denounced his marriage to Bernessa and he had sworn to read no more of them.

His mother was not in much better condition than his father, for she was wasting away with consumption. She would be dead before he rejoined his regiment. And so, Frances would be left adrift unless he could find her a home and guardian. His brother Marion, when applied to, absolutely refused. The only viable alternative was to send her to a boarding school, and so he did, the Miss (Prudence) Singleton School for Young Ladies. Fortunately, his daughter and the headmistress were well-matched and they had maintained a strong relationship through several years. Frances stayed on at the school as a teacher until her father sold his commission and was offered the living at Godwin by the Goodpenneys.

Fairangel looked over at his daughter who was embroidering a handkerchief and waiting patiently for him to continue his story. “Ahem....yes, well, once I had decided to pursue my course of action, it was done as quickly as any paperwork that must wend its way through government offices. I already had an acceptable degree of study from my days at the university so I attached myself to a parish only a short distance from your school and a slightly longer distance from your grandmother’s house, while I awaited my formal transfer. The rector there, Mr. Shepherd, was pleased to have an assistant, and I was able to practice the offices of the day and the sacraments of the church.”

“At last, I received my papers and the information that I would be rejoining my regiment in just over six weeks. At this news, I was naturally concerned for my mother’s situation, but then she died three days later.” The rector ran his fingers across his brow and up past his receding hairline to clutch at his wiry gray locks. What happened next was insupportable! “I do not know how much you understood at the time, Frances, but Mr. Fester, the rector at my mother’s church, refused to perform the last rites because my mother had not paid her tithes.”

Fanny gasped in surprise. “Mr. Fester would not pray for Grandmother’s soul?”

“No, and he left the burial to me as well. Marion and his family lived too far away to be useful and had acquired as much out of Father’s estate as they were interested in and so all details were left to me.”

“This seems...inhumane somehow...especially since Grandmother could not afford to pay her tithes.”

“I am afraid that it was more complicated than that. Your grandmother and Mr. Fester had a falling out when my father died and neither would back down. I do not know what the issue was but from that day forward, Mother sat in her box at church in stony silence, and if there was anything your grandmother excelled at, it was showing her displeasure.”

“So, it was not really a matter of not paying tithes...”

“No, but this was the reason Mr. Fester gave to the members of the parish.”

“So, what did you do?”

“Mr. Shepherd and I performed the ritual ceremonies and gave Mother a proper burial.” Fairangel continued to fume at the disgraceful manner in which his parent had been treated, and by her own priest. “I have not had conversation with Mr. Fester since that day, and I have made it well-known in this, our own parish, that paying or not paying tithes is not a criteria for being a Christian nor participating in any and all Christian traditions, and most especially, the seven sacraments. Fortunately, Sir Hugh and I are in agreement.”

A silence blanketed the room, each person lost in their own thoughts, and then Mr. Fairangel said softly, “You know that Sir Hugh has been a very good friend to me...”

Frances nodded, “Yes, one could not ask for a better...”

“We have been as brothers..,” Fairangel hesitated. “And our dearest wish has been to combine our houses. For a long time, that seemed to be an impossible dream but, now that the Goodpenneys have found an heir..and the young man seems to be everything one could wish for...” The rector harrumphed and muttered, “except for the question of continuing the Goodpenney name, of course.”

“I know that Mr. Malforce’s continued resistance to taking Sir Hugh’s name has been a source of contention between them but, afterall, he has answered to Malforce for 26 years. It would have been different if Sir Hugh’s nephew had come to live with them at a much earlier age.”

“The Goodpenneys have every legal right to insist on this stipulation,” Fairangel retorted, “but, since retiring, my friend has softened considerably.”

“Father, it is between the two of them,” Frances reminded gently.

“Well,” he growled, “You and the nephew seem to be getting along quite nicely. I am quite flummoxed by it all, for the interest he is showing to my daughter threatens to take her from my side when we have just come to know one another.”

Frances smiled lovingly, “We shall ever be close, Father. I will not lose you now! And as for Mr. Malforce, time will tell...” She gave him the customary kiss on the head and bid him good night. At the door, she turned back and delivered a parting retort, “But he is exceedingly pleasant to look upon!”

Fanny’s light footsteps receded down the hallway before her father had the opportunity to admonish her with a “Frances Fairangel!” He leaned back in his chair and smiled to himself as he whispered, “Good night, my child.”

On Friday morning, rain streamed in rivulets down the wavy panes of glass in Fanny’s window. Not the best of days for a picnic... she mused as Sophy, her maid, assisted with her toilette. She was not alone in her feelings for, within the hour, she and her father had been invited to the Carroll home for an evening of cards. The picnic would be put off until the following week.

Frances liked to play cards, but only as a means to interact with her friends. Otherwise, she was a rather indifferent player and did not ever come home with much in the way of winnings.

Their usual choice of diversion was Loo, and so began this evening as well. There were three tables of six players each, and for the first game, Frances and Mr. Malforce shared the same table. Her first three cards were terribly low and as she was the player to the left of the dealer, she was able to exchange them for the ‘miss’ or extra hand dealt. Ah, slightly better! Or so she thought, for Mr. Malforce won all three tricks and Fanny had to forfeit three chips to the next pool.

The next hour was not much better and so, Miss Fairangel was glad when they called for a break. “Your skills at Loo are excellent,” she said, congratulating the young man.

“It may rather be that I do not like to lose,” he replied lightly. “It would sometimes behoove me to cultivate an attitude of unconcern.”

“And you would be left just as penniless as myself,” Miss Fairangel laughed.

After refreshments, the tables of players were reorganized, with some people such as Fanny, sitting out, and others joining in. This time, Malforce and Miss Ivy shared a table and Miss Fairangel hovered nearby to watch the game. She wondered at Envie’s level of prowess as a cardplayer, but was quickly enlightened.

“Is anyone acquainted with the game of Nap? It is a variation of Loo, and quite the thing these days,” Miss Ivy informed her table.

Malforce nodded, “Yes, I have played it a time or two. I find it somewhat more challenging than our usual game.”

“Nap?” Sir Hugh asked. “What is ‘Nap’?”

“It is actually called ‘Napoleon’,” Miss Ivy replied. “Every player must bet how many tricks they may take, up to 5, as that is the number of cards dealt to each player. The player with the highest bid leads out and everyone else tries to beat him to the trick.”

“That does not sound too difficult...” Lady Alice murmured hesitantly. “I am willing to learn a new game.”

All of the players agreed, and the game was soon underway. In the first hand, Malforce bet that he could take two tricks, which he did. Fanny thought a player must have supreme confidence to ever bet that he could take all five tricks. The action alternated between Malforce and Miss Ivy, with the gentleman winning slightly more. Sir Hugh was satisfied to win a hand of his own and then, Malforce attracted every player’s attention by saying quite determinedly that he could sweep all of the tricks.

Frances watched interestedly as each card was revealed. The first trick went to Mr. Malforce. The second trick to Mr. Malforce. A close call, but the third trick also went to Mr. Malforce. He did not openly show his feelings, but Fanny could tell that he was excited and certain of his success.

By this time, other drifters had been drawn to the table where the players were engaged in this latest version of Loo. Fourth trick to Mr. Malforce. The others around the table shook their heads at his good fortune. Would it hold?

Malforce named Diamonds as Trump and led with a King of Hearts. Two of Hearts came next. Then ten of Hearts, followed by a Jack in the same suit, and then a seven. Miss Ivy was the last player to show her card....the three of Diamonds. A general uproar gave voice and Miss Ivy received many offers of congratulations.

Fanny’s eyes rested on the very quiet Mr. Malforce. He was sweeping up the cards into one pile in order to reshuffle and, at a glance, he seemed totally unperturbed, but Miss Fairangel noticed the tense white area around his mouth, and when he looked up from his task, the pupils of his eyes were constricted.

“Shall we have another round?” he asked the others.

There proceeded what became a match of wills between Miss Ivy and Mr. Malforce, and the young man would not agree to disband the table until he had won five times in a row.

“Nap is something of a riskier business,” Sir Hugh said as they relaxed after the game, “but I rather enjoy it.

“One can take stock of one’s neighbor over a game of cards,” his friend, the rector, observed, thinking of Mrs. Carroll’s flightiness.

Miss Fairangel was thinking of quite a different neighbor.

Chapter Five

Frances knelt before a large open trunk and began to methodically search for a particular teakwood box. Naturally, she found it underneath her carefully folded linens! She then replaced everything else with care, lowered the lid, and proceeded to the library with the box held firmly between two hands.

“What have you, Daughter?” the rector asked, peering at her over his reading glasses. “This must be the reason for your tardiness...”

"Indeed, it is,” Fanny smiled. “She held out the box before her, “What treasure do you surmise is hidden within?”

Fairangel studied the size and shape of the container. “May I hold it?” After he had also gauged its weight, he announced with confidence, “The cat!”

Frances laughed delightedly at her father’s silliness and, retrieving her treasure, she sat down in order to open the lid and expose several bundles of letters. They were the letters sent to her by her father, and she had kept them all.

She picked up the foremost bundle and loosened the ribbon. “These are the ones that you wrote while in Portugal...You cannot know how much I envied you!” she exclaimed.

Fairangel rewarded her admission with a look of incredulity. “Whatever for?” he asked.

For visiting all of those foreign countries, of course. Oh, Father, it must have been exceedingly exciting!”

"I was hardly on holiday, young lady.”

"Oh, I know...but the romance...the mystery... Wait! I have another surprise for you as well ---” Frances tucked the letters back into their box and set it on the table before she retrieved the Atlas from its place on the map table. She deftly turned to the maps of Spain and Portugal and proceeded to point out places of interest, “There is Talavera...and over there, Bedajoz... I also know on which maps to find Leipzig and Waterloo,” she announced cheerfully. The place name for the source of each letter had been lightly circled.

"I rejoice that your education has some value!” Fairangel chuckled, but his heart was touched nonetheless. He had been so preoccupied with the telling of his personal history that he had not thought to learn more of hers. After all, a life in the country does not differ much from person to person, but he had not reckoned on the possibility of his daughter’s loneliness. For much of his military career, the rector had been so heartsick for England that he could only imagine an idyllic existence for its inhabitants, especially that of a child.

"Let this evening be for your story, Frances.”

"Oh, no, Father! I am anxious to learn of the rest of your experiences, for I am certain that these letters do not contain all of the news.”

Indeed not! I could not tell a child... Fairangel sighed, “As you wish, my dear...”

"I do have much to discuss with you, Father, but let us talk after this evening’s tale.”

Fairangel nodded and proceeded to tell his story, “Many of my experiences happened on the way to other places, and chasing down my regiment was no different. Through a shuffling of papers, I was misdirected to Portugal and a small branch of the Army led by Sir John Moore. It was rumored that Wellesley, now Lieutenant General, was forming up to join us, and so I stayed where I was.”

"Another rumor had us scurrying into Spain to support an uprising in Madrid, anything to protect the area from Napoleon’s dominion. Well, the rumor proved to be false, and we paid for it dearly: we were chased through Spain by Bonaparte and his massive Army. We had to make our retreat through treacherous snow-covered mountains -- a very heavy strain on my health, I can tell you -- before we could take any rest. It had been a close call, and the men were angry with Sir John for leading them into the mess instead of awaiting Wellesley. Their lack of respect spread wildly through the ranks resulting in such scenes of drunkenness that I was ashamed to be called an Englishman. This was my opportunity to support the men and remind them of God’s presence in their lives, but the only god they were interested in worshipping was in the bushes as they emptied their stomachs.” Fairangel realized the indelicacy of the scene he had described for his daughter and apologised.

Frances shook her head, “I would never have believed our troops capable of such behavior.”

“They had the opportunity to redeem themselves, though, for a French contingent was sent into Portugal to rout us out. We claimed the day at Corunna, but as fate would have it, Sir John was mortally wounded in the final skirmish.”

“Ah, no! And how came you to be with Sir Hugh’s regiment again?”

“We were finally reunited just before the battle at Talavera. Wellesley, now Viscount Wellington, was determined to hold Portugal against the French. There was another conflict at Busaco, but the truly hard-won battle was at Fuentes D’Onoro where Napoleon’s men tried to break our siege of Almeida. The odds were stacked against us from the beginning: we were very greatly outnumbered and being baked by a very hot summer sun on the plains; and it developed into the fiercest sort of street-fighting that lasted well into three days. God help us, Wellesley again led us to victory, but even he admitted that if Boney had been there, we’d have been beat.”

“Oh, Father!”

“We could never underestimate the French Army, Frances. It was one of the best. If there had been any change of circumstances whatsoever, you would now be eating ‘fromage’ and ‘pommes.’ In fact, our doomsday almost came the following year. We had taken Ciudad Rodrigo and then laid siege to Badajoz. The Spring rains were worse than the sun and the men were suffering chills and fatigue. Wellesley had us storm the walls in the foulest weather -- the fighting was just...horrible... We accomplished our task, but paid dearly ... we lost 5,000 of our men...”

“It is not sounding so romantic now,” Miss Fairangel admitted in a low voice. Those poor souls. She could not bear to think of the husbands, sons, and brothers who fell on that day.

Fairangel sat for several moments. “I must tip my hat to those men. By that time, most of the veteran French soldiers and their fine war-horses were dead, for the wars had been even more costly for them. Except for some troops to the south, our enemy consisted of green, untrained youths.. Ah, the men that Boney wasted for the sake of his ego. And that, my dear, was the source of his downfall.”

“In what way, Father?”

“When Boney started all of this, he was seen as a liberator; he was admired by many other peoples. Beethoven was even writing a symphony in his honor. But, when he turned the tables and became the oppressor, several of the surrounding countries joined into an alliance with us and we gradually wore him down. The winds of change made themselves known at Salamanca. My, it was a brilliant attack -- 40,000 Frenchmen defeated in forty minutes. And that, Frances, is when we finally captured Madrid.”

“All that winter, we rested in Portugal, which is the only reason why I am sitting here now, for stress and strain had taken its toll on me and I was laid up with a fever that was almost the death of me. Fortunately, the human body is resilient, and we were all in fighting form for the Battle of Leipzig in the following fall. By then, Wellesley had been named as Field-Marshall and he led us into Paris in March of ‘14. Boney surrendered and the wars were finally over...or so we thought. The little man rallied for his ‘hundred days’ but then came Waterloo...and the rest is history.”

Fairangel tiredly brushed his hands across his face. It was over. As he looked at his daughter, he knew the price had been very dear, but there had been no other alternative. There were men all over Briton, all over Europe, who had made these same, or greater, sacrifices. After any war there is a rebuilding, and he soberly felt that he and Frances had made a good effort. The rector stretched out his arm to take his daughter’s hand, “And now, what would you wish to speak of?” “After hearing all of these harrowing stories, my troubles do not seem so large...”

“Come, dear, let me help you decide how large or small your problem is.”

“Well, the evening that we went to the Carrolls’ for cards...and Miss Ivy suggested playing ‘Nap,’...”

“Yes?”

“Mr. Malforce is, as you know, quite a good card player; he had been winning all evening, and then he tried to take all five tricks in one game.”

Fairangel grinned at the memory, “And that saucy little Miss Ivy stole the last trick from under his nose...yes, I remember.”

“Well, Mr. Malforce did not take it too kindly. In fact, he was very angry.”

Fairangel looked closely at his daughter. “I would say that was normal under the circumstances. I might have felt the same at one time.”

“Surely not, Father!”

“Frances, some people are more competitive than others. You are a peace-maker and would not consider making a scene over something so trivial as a card game. But Malforce, as a member of the opposite sex, is more aggressive. Beware of judging others by your own example, dear.”

“But I have nothing else by which to judge.”

“Ah, and that is my own fault for not being at your side as you were growing up. If you had lived with a male or two in the household, you would think Malforce’s actions well within reason. In fact, as he did not make much of a public display, you might have been inclined to praise him for his moderate behavior. There is an old saying, Frances, to beware of removing the camel’s hump, for then he is no longer a camel. You would not wish to form Malforce into a mirror of yourself, would you?”

“Of course not, Father. And thank you for being so frank with me. It has put my mind at ease.”

Fanny’s mind was not to remain at ease for long. At the picnic the following week, Malforce was the perfect gentleman, light-hearted, teasing, and content to take his ease near Miss Fairangel for most of the afternoon while picking through the basket of food at his leisure. To Fanny’s eyes, he seemed very relaxed, as though all were right with the world.

Later, he became restless and announced that he was going for a walk. Miss Fairangel asked if he would like a companion, but he declined, saying that she needn’t leave in the middle of conversation with her friends...

Half an hour passed with no sign of Malforce. It was at that moment that Miss James wondered if anyone had seen Miss Ivy. No one had, not for at least twenty minutes, mayhap longer. She suggested that perhaps the woman had gotten lost in the raspberry patch, so they all decided to go together to look for her. Long, well-worn paths led in and out of the berry patch, and the three women walked along one of these, still chatting, but also looking for berries of their own. They separated somewhat as they went in search of the riper fruit, and Fanny soon found herself alone on the path. No matter, she could still hear the voices of her friends.

Off to the right, the voices grew louder, angrier, and one was distinctly male. Miss Fairangel did not wish to intrude, but if one of her friends was being bothered by a village lad.... She brushed aside low branches as she wound her way toward the noise. Now, she could distinguish the voices as belonging to Mr. Malforce and...Miss Ivy. They were standing very closely together and having a vehement discourse. At first, they did not notice Fanny, but as soon as they did, they pulled away from each other.

“Ah, there you are, Miss Fairangel. I was looking for you,” Malforce said smoothly. “When I returned to the party, they told me you had gone berry picking. Now that I have found you, I would like to offer my services.” He bowed genteelly.

Miss Ivy’s face betrayed her feelings of anger and frustration but she kept her silence. One glance at Miss Fairangel and then she turned on her heel and left the two to themselves.

Miss Fairangel did not step any closer, nonplussed by the man’s obvious lie. She wondered what Malforce and Miss Ivy had been discussing and whether this, too, was something that men do.

“Come along,” Malforce said, smiling in his most engaging manner. “We can bring the raspberries up to the house for a delicious repast later.”

“You have forgotten your coat, Sir,” Fanny said, gesturing toward the tan jacket hanging from a branch stub on a tree.

“Oh, thank you, Miss Fairangel. It would not do at all for us to return to the party with myself in shirtsleeves! I did not wish for the brambles to catch on this delicate material. I hope that you will forgive my impropriety.”

“Of course.” Fanny did not know what to make of this confusing set of circumstances and held her tongue.

Malforce donned his jacket and strode over to face her. He offered his arm as he reminded her that the afternoon was waning and they should return to their party. Frances lightly rested one palm on the impeccable sleeve, but as they walked along, she noticed a strange odor, a rather sweet smell that was not altogether pleasant. Did Mr. Malforce smoke a pipe? If so, perhaps he had only left the group to indulge his habit. Perhaps he thought that Fanny would find it unseemly. If one discounts the presence of Miss Ivy, all could be easily accounted for, she decided. But he must find another blend of tobacco.

“What do you think of the plans for the new church?” Mr. Fitzgerald asked his rector. After the mass, everyone had been abuzz with the new idea.

Mr. Fairangel and his daughter were unaware of such plans, but were soon enlightened. Mr. Malforce had happened by the other day and sounded people out about erecting a new, larger building for the church with moneys from the Goodpenneys.

Then someone had suggested new altar cloths and vestments, and what about chandeliers and more pews? Many purchases would be needed for the new church. Mr. Malforce had explained that the Goodpenneys unfortunately could not be expected to donate unlimited funds. Of course, everyone agreed that the parishioners should share the burden --- perhaps the church needed to reinstate tithing. Certainly, anyone who loved and respected the house of God, would agree to it.

Fairangel cornered Sir Hugh. “What is your nephew about?” he asked succinctly.

“I am sorry, Fairangel, but this will all blow over. I had been harping at the young man to show some interest in all of this, and he seems to have gone all out. Do not be too harsh on the boy -- he will learn.”

The rector grumbled, but agreed to Sir Hugh’s suggestion. It was time for Malforce to begin learning about his future responsibilities. Perhaps with Frances at his side, he will be less impetuous, he decided.

Not twenty-four hours later, Sir Hugh was dead.

Chapter Six

Sunday evening, the day before Sir Hugh died, the Fairangels had a formal visitor, Colin Malforce. He was closeted with Mr. Fairangel for a brief time before Fanny was called into the library and her father left her with their visitor.

“Good evening, Miss Fairangel. You are looking especially well,” Malforce said with unveiled admiration.

“Thank you, Sir.”

The young man came to stand before her, and took one of her hands into his own. “I think you know why I am here.” He looked deeply into her eyes, and said most seriously, “You know that I esteem and admire you, that I have from the first moment I saw you. When I think of living at The Park, I think of sharing all of it with you. When I think of our parish community, I think of having you at my side, of us working together to improve the lives of so many. When I think of someone to share my deepest secrets or my darkest fears or my greatest happiness, I know that I can trust you. Miss Fairangel, I am asking you to be my wife...” He raised a hand to touch that fair cheek, but restrained himself until such time as he would have the right.

Miss Fairangel pulled gently away and retreated a few steps. She pressed her palms together and clasped her hands as she considered her answer. There could be only one response.... “I thank you for the very high honor that you have bestowed upon me, Mr. Malforce, but I must respectfully decline.”

Malforce stepped forward, “Am I to know why, Miss Fairangel?”

“You have been most attentive and kind, Sir, but I do not love you.”

“Does your father know your feelings?”

“He would wish for me to do what I think best.”

“But, how can you know your own mind in something this serious? Your father wishes it, my uncle wishes it; surely they know best.”

“You asked me and I have answered.”

“Many couples grow to love one another, Miss Fairangel. We have everything in our favor. Even the villagers expect us to wed and will support us.”

“Even Miss Ivy?”

Malforce frowned in confusion, “Miss Ivy? What has she to do with this?”

“Is she not a friend of yours?”

The young man smiled in relief. “Is that what this is about? Let me assure you that Miss Ivy is no friend of mine. On the day of the picnic, she followed me on my walk and persisted in advancing herself to my notice. Polite hints from my quarter did not sway her, and so I finally told her plainly what I thought of her forwardness.”

Frances remained thoughtfully silent.

Malforce advanced further to once again take her hand, “And so, Miss Fairangel, will you be my wife?” he asked gently.

”I cannot in all good conscience accept your proposal, Mr. Malforce. I have always felt that a wife should love her husband. That is the best way for herself and him and everyone else who knows them.”

Malforce, frustrated by his lack of headway, began to pace the room. “I have wealth, education, looks, breeding, good health, a reasonably good disposition, and honor the Lord. I have said that I esteem, nay, I love you, Miss Fairangel. What is it you are looking for?”

“I...I do not know, but when I find it, I will know it here,” she said, indicating her heart. “I am sorry, Mr. Malforce, but this is truly for the best. Without love, our union would only be half-fulfilled and I think that neither of us will be sorry for my answer.”

Malforce paused by the mantle and ran a finger over the jeweled chalice. “Oh no, Miss Fairangel, I think one of us shall rue this day for as long as we live...”

Monday morning, when Frances came down to break her fast, her father was angrily pacing the floor in the library. “Father, are you well?” she asked anxiously.

Fairangel turned to his daughter, his color high with feeling. “I have already had four visitors this morning, Frances. Good men all, from our community. It seems that Mr. Malforce called a town meeting, without us, to discuss his plans for the church. He used my prejudice in the matter as a reason to omit my presence.”

“Your prejudice? I do not understand...”

“Mr. Malforce has decided that the church is not being effectively cared for, that it has become large enough to warrant a ‘vestry’, if you will. Men to sit in on all decisions and conflicts concerning the welfare of the church.”

“You and Sir Hugh have managed quite well without one...”

“Malforce has other ideas, what he calls ‘progressive’ ideas. He has very ambitious plans for our little community, and the first thing he intends to do is install a group of men who are sympathetic to his causes and to give them power.” He laughed hollowly, “Or so they will think, for Malforce will be pulling all of the strings.”

“Were your four visitors part of this ‘vestry’?”

“Yes. Apparently, there were enough members of the congregation present to constitute a majority in the voting. The vestry is a fact, and they are already beginning to take action on what Malforce has presented. They informed me this morning that any and all decisions must be discussed with them before I act and that a committee is being raised to organize the reinstitution of tithing. Of course, they expounded at length upon the great strides the church will be making and were hopeful that I would acquiesce.”

Frances came forward and laid a gentle hand upon his arm, “But you could not, could you, Father?”

Fairangel slumped down into his favorite chair and shook his head. “No, I could not. They said that Malforce warned them what my response would be but, since they had known me and admired my service to the church for almost two years, they had wanted to give me the opportunity to join with their plans.”

“Oh, Father! What can you do?”

Fairangel sighed, emotionally drained. “I have my supporters, I am sure. I will need to meet with them and we shall go to Sir Hugh this evening. Surely he can restrain his nephew.”

When Fanny returned from her Monday afternoon rounds, her father was in a high state of anxiety and just preparing to go to The Park. “Something has happened, Sir Hugh has had an accident....I must go at once...Frances, hurry!”

Although every moment seemed like hours to the Fairangels, they made good time, and were soon at the door of the mansion.

“I am sorry, Sir, but the family is not receiving visitors.”

“What?” Fairangel sputtered in disbelief. “Stand aside, Man. I have always been welcome in this house. Sir Hugh may be in need of my assistance....”

The butler effectively blocked the door as he solemnly explained. “Sir Hugh has died, Sir, and is beyond even your help.”

Shock registered through-out the rector’s body. “No! Then I must say the rites over the body...I must go to Lady Alice...”

“I am sorry, Sir, but the master has expressly decreed that you...and Miss Fairangel...are no longer welcome here.”

Father and daughter stepped back, aghast. No longer welcome? What can the meaning be?

“The master?” Fairangel challenged angrily.

“Mr. Malforce, Sir.”

“If you think that rash young man can stop me from doing my duty...”

The door opened wider to reveal Malforce himself flanked by two other servants. “Yes, I can and will stop you,” he spat out bitterly. His countenance was ravaged by grief, his voice ragged with emotion as he bellowed, “I will not have my uncle’s murderer in this house! Remove yourself at once!”

“Murderer! Why, you...” Fairangel advanced on the young man, grief and anger goading him into attack.

”Witness his temper!” Malforce said to his men as they protected their master. He turned to face the rector, “Everyone heard you argue with Sir Hugh yesterday. You, the almighty rector, who speaks against any change that might lessen some of your all-important power...your greed... Everyone knew that his heart was weak, that he should not become overly upset, yet you, his purported friend, bullied him yesterday, argued with him over his future plans for your church.”

Fairangel could only sputter at the preposterous allegations. “I demand to see Lady Alice.”

“She does not wish to see you.”

“I want to hear her say that to my face.”

“I will not allow you to harass my aunt in her time of grief. You know, Fairangel, I may not be able to prove your guilt in a court of law, but I damn well can keep you out of my own house!” He looked meaningfully at the men standing nearby and they began to advance toward the distraught rector. “Now, leave!”

The Fairangels were not welcome at the service nor burial of their dearest friend, Sir Hugh Goodpenney. A priest of Malforce’s choosing performed the ceremony which was well-tended by every man in town and on the outlying farms.

The rumors had been spreading like wildfire and changing until they formed this awful mass of allegations against the Fairangels: the rector was power-hungry and opposed every change that would further the needs of the community, the daughter was of questionable virtue and had spurned the offer of a decent marriage, the rector had caused the heart failure that had taken Sir Hugh’s life, priceless artifacts were missing from the church itself and all evidence pointed to the Fairangels who tried to maintain a lifestyle above their station...Even Fairangel’s staunchest supporters were confused by the overwhelming ‘proof’ -- afterall, they had only lived in the village for two years...did anyone really know them?

After the service and burial, most of the men in attendance gathered around Colin Malforce. They were angry and bitter towards Filbert Fairangel, the man who had killed their beloved Sir Hugh, and looked to Malforce for leadership. If the law could not punish Fairangel, then they were willing to take the matter into their own hands.

First, of course, he would be stripped of his living. And he should be made to pay for everything he had stolen. They deserved restitution, they would have restitution!

The crowd had turned into a mob by the time they presented themselves at the door of the rectory and demanded that Fairangel come out to face them.

Frances and her father had spent the last few days, first trying to garner support, and then consumed by hurt and anger and fear that no one would help them. A few members of the community, like the Younges and Mrs. Gardiner, were on their side but they would not be able to stand against a majority of maddened, disgruntled parishioners. When all hope was lost, they had given into their grief over the death of their dear friend and prayed that God would find a way to help them out of this Hell.

Filbert and Frances Fairangel were run out of town with only the clothes on their backs. Jeers and cursing and an occasional stone followed them for a long distance. Frances had a bruise near her temple and more on her back and Fairangel was bleeding in several places, for he had tried to defend his daughter. He thought perhaps a rib was broken and, once they were out of sight, he had Frances wrap his chest with a large strip of her underskirt.

”Did you see that Malforce had not the stomach to watch what he had created?” the rector asked bitterly. “He did not even follow us down the road.”

”His view was quite fine from the hill,” Fanny choked out. The words were difficult to form, for every muscle in her body was working against its will.

Father and daughter had no food and water, no change of clothing and, now knowing Malforce for the devil he was, Fairangel feared that their ‘reputation’ preceded them and that they would not be welcome anywhere in the area surrounding their village. They had to find sanctuary far, far away from Malforce’s influence so that they could think and plan how to counteract his charges. Frances did not know it, but her father had secreted various valuable items upon his person, enough to provide life’s essentials for at least a short while. Between that and his military training, they would survive.

Frances was in a state of shock. She had never be mistreated, never disbelieved. She still could not grasp what had happened to them. The only thing helping her stay on this side of sanity was that God would surely answer their prayers. He did not always answer in the expected way, no matter how fervently one prayed, but He was still there with her; she could feel Him close by and was comforted by it.