chestnuts.'
Mudd spoke sternly, imbued with a sense of new authority. 'Don't speak ill o' th' dead, Mrs. P.'
But Sarah did not reply. She was gazing into the fire, warm, contented, and full of chestnuts. And she was wondering, if ever she should have her own shop, what kind of shop it would be.
The comfortable silence was broken by the tinkle of the drawing room bell. 'I'm wanted,' Amelia said, and rose.
'I'll go with yer,' Mudd said with alacrity, and rose as well. 'Pocket, p'rhaps yer'd better see t' that lame horse.' Pocket grudgingly acquiesced, and the three of them left the room.
Mrs. Pratt glanced up at the clock on the mantel. 'Time fer lessons,' she said.
Nettie clapped her hands, her face glowing. 'Come on, Bandit,' she said to the terrier. 'Time fer lessons.'
Harriet, who thought of herself as older and wiser, twisted rebelliously. 'When I got my place, I thought I was through wi' lessons.'
'Well, yer was wrong, wasn't yer?' Cook said. 'Miss Kate wants you two tippity-twitchits t' get on i' th' world, so yer'd best be at it. Yer don't want t' make fools o' yerselves when yer recite fer her in th' mornin'.'
She reached under her chair and pulled out the copy of the London Times that Miss Kate had given her, with the explicit but inexplicable instruction that the girls were to practice reading the entire first page aloud until they could read it smoothly and well. Handing the newspaper to an eager Nettie, she warned, 'An' don't fritter th' time. Fifteen minutes o' lessons, an' then I'll see yer i' th' kitchen. There's work t' be done.'
'Yes, Mrs. Pratt,' the girls chorused dutifully.
Mrs. Pratt swung her feet off her stool and stood up. When she thought about the changes at Bishop's Keep, it all seemed rather queer. But still, none of the alterations-with the exception of the sad loss of Miss Ardleigh-were excessively hard to bear. As she went off to the kitchen, Mrs. Pratt was humming a tune under her breath.
53
'The truth is rarely pure, and never simple.'
Thank you for bringing tea, Amelia,' Kate said. 'You may go now.' The maid curtsied and left the room. 'I am glad to have this time alone with you, my dear Kathryn,' the vicar said, taking the cup she offered. 'The
past two weeks have been sad for both of us.'
'They have,' Kate said, thinking that today was the fortnight anniversary of her aunts' deaths. She sat down, straightening the skirt of her mauve dress. She had worn black to the funeral, as was customary, but she had decided not to keep the heavy mourning that English people seemed to expect. Aunt Sabrina would not have wanted it, and to wear it for Aunt Jaggers would be hypocritical.
The two of them sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the clacking of Aunt Jaggers's parrot, whom Kate had pitied and moved out of the lonely bedroom and into the library. At last the vicar put down his cup and leaned forward. 'Since tomorrow is the reading of your aunt's will, Kath-ryn, I thought it might be well to discuss it with you.' 'The solicitor, I understand, is coming here.' 'Yes. The will is very simple. It leaves the bulk of the estate to you, with the exception of certain bequests to the church, to charities she favored, and to the servants. The solicitor will no doubt wish to review the situation in some detail, but I can tell you that the estate included a substantial financial holding that will enable you to live off the rents and the interest without diminishing the principal or liquidating any of the properties. You should be able to live as you wish.' He gave her an oblique look. 'Perhaps you will also wish to carry on with some of your aunt's charities. Sabrina Ardleigh was a great power for good in this parish.'
Kate looked down at her hands. When she had first learned of her inheritance, she had not wanted to think about it. Her great good fortune had been gained through the loss of someone she held very dear. But with the Ardleigh estate came many responsibilities, and she was determined to meet them competently. And more: she was committed to using the Ardleigh fortune, if fortune it proved to be, for good ends. What those might be, she as yet had no clear idea, although she had a few disorganized notions, and was willing to listen to the vicar's suggestions. But she did know one thing: fortune or no fortune, she would continue to write. While Beryl Bard-well might no longer be required to live by her pen, the pen remained Kate's way of encountering the world. Kate needed
to write, and no fortune, whatever its size, would change that.
The vicar shifted in his chair. 'There is something more I wish to discuss with you, Kathryn. On her deathbed, your aunt spoke of a child.'
'Jocelyn.' Kate had thought much of this, over the past few days. While the doctor had denied the possibility and the vicar had refused to discuss it, she believed that there must be some truth hidden away. What had become of Aunt Sa-brina's daughter?
'Yes, Jocelyn.' The vicar paused. 'The truth is that he is Sabrina's son. Our son.'
Kate stared at him. ' 'Your… son?'' The smaller surprise, that Jocelyn was a male, was lost in the larger astonishment of his patrimony.
'Yes, ours.' The vicar's eyes met hers with candor and pain. 'He was born nearly forty years ago. I will not go into the circumstances, which as you might guess are quite complicated. I will only say that Jocelyn's birth was kept secret from Sabrina's mother and father and from my wife. He was brought up in love and admonition by a man and a woman who cherished him as if he were their own son. I am pleased to say that he entered the church and has risen into a position of prominence.' The light in his eyes brightened his entire face. ' 'He is widely respected, admired, loved. A man of considerable reputation and even greater promise.'
'And Aunt Sabrina felt she needed to protect him,' Kate said quietly.
'Yes. Unfortunately, Sabrina's sister discovered the secret. She threatened to reveal it to the world unless Sabrina allowed her certain… privileges.' The vicar's leathery face darkened. 'Perhaps her revelation would not have been the end of Jocelyn's career, but it would have made life more difficult for him. That is why Sabrina was willing to live in circumstances she would not have chosen. She bartered her freedom and comfort for Bernice's silence. She did it for… our son.'
The quiet lengthened as Kate thought about the vast reservoir of pain and sadness out of which the vicar's words must come. How extraordinarily complex were people's lives! What depths there were of anguish, of despair and loss-and
of pride, dignity, joy. Yes, even joy. Within her welled up a deep respect, almost an awe, at the incredible richness of life. What she had heard here today, had witnessed in the last week, had experienced in her own life over the past months- all of it dazzled and dumbfounded her. But it humbled her, as well, for she knew that Beryl Bardwell's stories had not even begun to plumb the depths of the human spirit. How much, as a writer, she had to learn! She had not even yet begun!
The vicar stood and began to pace. 'I was not sure I should tell you this, Kathryn, because the secret is not just mine. It is Jocelyn's too.'
'He knows, then?'
'Yes. His adopted parents thought it best, when he became a man, to tell him the truth. I am proud to say that he bore it bravely, that he unburdened his heart to me and to his mother, and that he has from time to time been in touch with us. I have written to him of his mother's death, although not of the details.' He paused and turned. 'I tell you all this, Kathryn, because I believe your aunt wished you to know the whole truth, and because I am convinced that you will safeguard it. And because I think you should know that it is not quite true that you are the last Ardleigh, although you are indeed the last by that name.'
Kate weighed her thoughts and spoke carefully. 'Did my aunt provide for Jocelyn in her will? Or should I, as her heir, make some special provision?'
'No, she did not, nor should you. Jocelyn's adopted family are of considerable means. They have provided well for him.' He pursed his lips. 'And of course, we in the Church do not pursue personal wealth.'
