they would not agree to their home becoming a school.'
David had not been able to offer any solution to that particular problem. But he did welcome the ease with which they could speak to each other again. There was a painful ache about being close to her, of course. When the guests left he would have to speak to Algie and leave as soon as possible himself. And then he would never see her again. But there would be some consolation in the knowledge that they would be able to part as friends. And they were that, he sensed.
On the day before the ball, however, David was forced to miss a picnic that was to be held on Oakland grounds. When his brother arrived with Algernon's curricle to take him up, he was already occupied with matters that could not be delayed.
'You must go without me, Rufus,' he said when Mrs. Saunders showed his brother into his study. 'I doubt if I shall be there at all this afternoon. Make my apologies, please? This is Mr. Macleod, Lady Wexford's solicitor. My brother, Viscount Cardwell, sir.'
The two men exchanged bows.
'I hope you left Lady Wexford well,' Lord Cardwell said.
The solicitor bowed his head again. 'I am afraid her ladyship passed away suddenly five days ago, my lord,' he said. 'She had a heart seizure.'
'David, I am so sorry,' Lord Cardwell said, turning to observe his brother's drawn face. 'We were all fond of her, of course, but I know she had a special place in your affection because she was your godmother.'
'It is hard to believe,' David admitted. 'She had me to a garden party just a few weeks ago, you know, while I was in town with Algie. I would have wagered she had another ten years in her at least, despite her rheumatism.'
'Is there anything I can do?' Lord Cardwell asked sympathetically.
'I think not,' David said. 'Mr. Macleod has only just arrived. He has business to discuss with me, he says.'
'I shall go on to Oakland then,' his brother said. 'Madeline and the children will already be there. They went in the carriage with Algie. I said I would come for you, as you would be the one the boys would crawl all over if we brought the carriage this way.'
The solicitor too left just an hour later, having declined David's offer of hospitality. He wanted to be well on his way back to London by nightfall, he said.
It was not too late to go to the picnic, but David decided not to. His mind was in too much turmoil. He needed time to think. And he suspected that he was going to need even more time to reflect and to pray. Some decisions were just not easy to make. Sometimes it was quite impossible to know which course of action was right and which wrong, which would help one progress toward one's destiny and which would set one forever on the wrong path.
Obviously, he had not made himself at all clear to his godmother during their final meeting. She must have still been convinced that only his pride held him back from accepting her offer of help. Had she realized when she changed her will a mere week before her death just what a dilemma she would be placing him in?
She had been an extremely wealthy woman, even more so than he had suspected. According to the solicitor, she owned a large and prosperous estate in Gloucestershire in addition to the Richmond home. Her jewels would have done justice to an Eastern potentate. Those on their own would have made her quite securely wealthy.
She had no family, no one to whom to leave her riches. So she had left them all to David, apart from some bequests to old and faithful servants. He had become instantly a wealthy man, far more so than his brother. But matters were not as simple as that. The will stated a condition. David must reside in the Richmond home or on the Gloucestershire estate for at least the following five years, and he must either give up the church altogether or accept a post deemed suitable by her friend Bishop Haines. If he failed to keep those conditions, then the whole of her estate would be given to various specified charities.
He was to be given sixty days in which to make his decision.
He could marry Rachel. That had been his first thought. He would be able to keep her in the manner to which she was accustomed. He would be able to afford for her the clothes and luxuries that she was used to. If they lived in Richmond, she would be able to continue to socialize with people of her own class. Yet at the same time, he could continue with his chosen way of life. He could accept the post the bishop would offer him. He had decided that he must leave this particular parish anyway, and he had no idea of where he would go. Why not to London and certain employment? He could serve God as well in London as he could in a country parish. And the money did not have to become a lure to him. Apart from the fact that he would be forced to live in the Richmond house for five years, there was no clause in the will that said he must use any of the money on himself. He could continue to live in the poverty he had chosen for himself. His riches he could use for the benefit of the poor, apart from what he would spend on Rachel, that is.
But the decision was not going to be as easy as these first thoughts might have led him to believe. An acceptance of his inheritance would be a betrayal of his commitment no matter how little he used of it for his own comfort. He had known for several years that for him service could not be a half-and-half affair. If he were to serve his Lord, he must do so with the whole of his being. He had never made any public vow of poverty, but he had made a private and solemn one before the altar of a chapel in Oxford. He did not believe it was impossible for a wealthy man to serve God, but he did believe it would be impossible for him. He could serve the vast majority of the people in the land only by becoming like them. Money would come between him and them even if it were money that he spent only on his wife and on charity. And how could he serve God unless he served His people?
The whole dilemma narrowed down to a choice between Rachel and God, he realized finally. But the thought chilled him. He did not want it to be as simple as that because then the answer was too glaringly obvious.
His godmother had loved him, he thought. She had given him an enormous gift of love: everything that was left of herself after she died. Could he reject that gift and deny her love? And was he rationalizing to think thus? Surely a gift of love must be free. Her gift was designed to set chains on him, albeit golden chains.
David finally pushed his chair back from beneath him and got restlessly to his feet. He was thinking in circles. He would go and visit the Perkins family. Mr. Perkins' mother was always glad of some company, and Mrs. Perkins' time was close. He must make sure that she had everything she needed when her time of confinement came. Mrs. Saunders had been baking. The smell of sweet spices was coming from the direction of the kitchen. He would take something with him. Mrs. Saunders would scold, of course, but she knew him well enough by now to make a double batch of almost everything she cooked.
It was oppressively hot the following day even though the morning was only half over. Rachel was wearing her finest muslin dress, but even so she was finding it hard to sit comfortably in old Mrs. Perkins' inner room. The leather binding of
'There,' she said, closing the book with a decisive snap. 'That is the end.'
'Ah.' Mrs. Perkins sighed and laid her head back against the pillow. 'I won't mind dying, my lady, if it can just be like that on the other side. That is a right good book.'
'It is one of my favorites,' Rachel said. 'Shall we start another the next time I come? I thought you might enjoy one of Miss Burney's books.
'I don't know, my lady,' old Mrs. Perkins said. 'You must choose. But I would like to hear the whole story of that Ruth all the way to the end, if you would be so good. The reverend said that there is a whole book in the Bible about her.'
'Yes, so there is,' Rachel said. 'Would you like to hear some now? I have the Bible out in the gig. And this morning's episode was very short, was it not?'
She smiled and went quickly from the room and out to the gig. She looked down at the child who grasped her skirt as she leaned across the seat to reach the Bible.
'Hello, Molly,' she said. 'You were helping Mam this morning by washing your own hands and face, were you not? What a helpful girl you are getting to be.'
'I got a gap,' the child said, smiling broadly so that Rachel could see where she had lost a front tooth.
'Oh, so you have,' Rachel said. 'And soon you will have a lovely new tooth to take its place.'
The child danced off to her play again, satisfied that her gap had been seen and admired. Rachel picked up
