Chapter 23

Sarah

"There is only a finger's difference between a wise man and a fool."― Diogenes

Sarah eased herself into the church pew with Ambrose at her side and Philip on the other. He had returned from London yesterday afternoon and paid her a call at Ivy Cottage. Her handsome betrothed had kissed her and declared himself over the moon at being reunited with his sweet Sarah. Such a charming turn of phrase he had used, though strangely, she had felt more vexed than flattered by the attention.

As Ambrose was present with them, there had been no repeat of the frolics that had occurred on their last meeting—nor of the shameful behaviour she had engaged in afterwards in the privacy of her room. Philip had merely contented himself with a light peck of her lips, then expounded on the success of his visit to the great metropolis and his eagerness to get started on his next painting. "I know how I am once the muse takes me," he had explained, "and thought it best to come see you before I get lost in my new painting. I would not want you to think I am neglecting you, my dear."

She had conveyed the proper disclaimers. Of course she thought no such thing and of course he must paint when the muse was upon him, at which he had once again expressed his great admiration of her good sense. Then she had proceeded to tell him of Benjamin's arrival and of the invitation to luncheon at Stanton Hall the following day.

"Well I never," had declared Philip. "One brother leaves for America only for the other to turn up unexpectedly. How peculiar! I must call on him straight after I leave here and pay my respects."

He had stayed a further half-hour, catching up on his dear Sarah's news but mostly talking animatedly about the sketches he had made and the wonderful subject matter to be had for his tableaus on transportation through the ages. Then he had excused himself, saying he really must be on his way. Another quick embrace and he had gone, leaving Sarah feeling curiously relieved. Philip's manner was very charming, but for some reason she was growing tired of it. Throughout the visit, Ambrose had said little, though he had observed them with a keen eye. Once Philip had gone, her brother had refrained from making any commentary, for which she had been thankful. He had simply given her shoulder a gentle squeeze and kissed her cheek, before retiring to his study.

Now here they were, side by side in church, and attracting no small degree of attention from the gathered congregation. Although there had yet to be an official announcement of their engagement in the paper, rumours of it had travelled like wildfire through the village. It was all everybody could talk about. Fancy Mr Templeton wanting to marry staid old Miss Cranshaw! What a turn up for the books! There had also been a few less kind words spoken, mostly from the disappointed young ladies who had set their caps at the handsome Mr Templeton.

Such had been the level of prurient curiosity that Sarah had been glad to avoid all visits to the village this past week. Once her tutoring duties were fulfilled, she had hastened to the shed where Benjamin had worked steadily on repairing the steam plough. They had refilled the boiler and heated it a further two times before they finally achieved success late on Friday afternoon. The steam had powered the cylinder without escaping from the valve. The leak had been repaired.

They had watched the engine with baited breath, bracing themselves for a sudden hiss of steam leaking from the boiler, but none had come. Finally, they had turned to each other with jubilant smiles. "You did it!" cried Sarah.

"We did it," he corrected her.

Then she had flown into his arms, and he had held her tight for an instant or two before abruptly letting her go. "Let me bank the fire," he'd said, "and we can go find Ambrose to share the good news with him." The embrace had been brief, but it had felt so right. Of course, she reasoned, there was nothing more natural than embracing a dear friend. It could not mean anything more. After all, she was engaged to Philip now.

Sarah was brought back to the present by the sounds of the organ heralding the beginning of the service. All the assembled people rose to their feet. As she did so, she cast a glance around the hall, wondering if Benjamin had elected to stay home today, knowing as she did about his need for solitude. The Stanton carriage had come to take them to church this morning, as was usual, but Benjamin had not been on board. She doubted therefore that she would see him in the congregation, but she had to make sure.

At first, she did not glimpse him. Then her eyes landed on a tall figure standing to the side, at the far end of the hall. It was Benjamin. Her heart thrilled at the sight of him. She was glad he felt able to join them, but this gladness was mixed with worry. She hoped this was not too much of an ordeal for him, being in the midst of a large group of people. Throughout the service, her eyes kept straying to him in concern, while she wondered to herself why his wellbeing occupied so much of her mind. It was what good friends did, she told herself firmly. They showed care and concern for each other.

Around halfway through the proceedings, he tilted his head and from across the great room, their eyes met. He smiled then in acknowledgment. It was a sweet, gentle smile, so in keeping with his sweet, gentle nature. No beard or scar or hard lines of suffering on his face could hide anymore what he truly was from her. It shone from his soulful brown eyes. As she bowed her head, she said a silent prayer for her friend. Most gracious Lord, ease his pain and suffering. Bring light to his fractured soul.

As she raised her head, this time it was Philip whose eyes met hers. He smiled warmly and placed his hand on hers. She knew that this simple gesture had been observed by those around them. And while she was not altogether comfortable with the attention, a small, very human part of her felt a degree of smug pride at being claimed so publicly by this most coveted of men.

When next her eyes sought Benjamin, it was to find him wearing a fierce scowl on his face. "Oh dear Lord," she thought. It was as she had feared. Her friend was finding difficulty in being among a crowd of people. It could not be anything else causing his anger, or could it? Surely it could not be jealousy of Philip that had him scowling. Her heart skipped a beat at the errant thought. No, of course not, she reminded herself. That was absurd. Why on earth would Benjamin feel jealous? It was not as if he wanted her for himself. Why, all his philandering adventures with the ladies, so detailed in his letters, was proof of it.

No, her friend was here in England to find solitude and now, surrounded by a crush of people, he was struggling to contain his emotions. Was this the start of one of his rages? Would he storm out and find a tree to punch? Abruptly, he turned away from her and fixed his scowling gaze on the stained glass of the window to his right. She watched him in an agony of worry and had a sudden realisation. Could this be what had set him off last Sunday? Could it be he had gone to church and had been unable to stand being surrounded by so many people, and then stormed away in a rage at himself? Oh, Benjamin. Her heart constricted in pain for him.

The service came to an end, and she stood, intent on finding her friend. It was next to impossible to do, however, as she was swarmed by well-wishers congratulating her and Philip on their betrothal. She smiled woodenly while trying to catch a glimpse of Benjamin, without success. Eventually, it was her brother who, sensing her distress, extricated her from the crowd, stating firmly that they must be on their way. Ambrose led her to their carriage while Philip went to find his horse. They would all reconvene at Stanton Hall. But where was Benjamin?

Ambrose opened the carriage door and helped her inside. To her great surprise, the carriage was not empty, for there, sitting with his head between his hands, was none other than Benjamin. She went straight to his side and called his name. He looked up instantly, his voice composed as he spoke, "Sarah, Ambrose, good day."

"Good day, Benjamin," replied Ambrose in much the same tone.

But Sarah was in no mood for social niceties. "Benjamin!" she exclaimed. "Are you well?"

He raised a brow. "Perfectly."

"Oh," she said, feeling deflated. "You looked so angry just now, that I thought perhaps…" She could not go on.

"You thought I was getting into a rage?"

She nodded mutely, wondering at his calm manner.

"Well as you can see," he replied with a touch of ironic humour, "I am quite well and not about to engage in a fist fight with any of Daniel's trees."

"This is no laughing matter," she said crossly. "You had me sincerely troubled on your behalf."

"I can see that, and I appreciate your concern, Sarah, but it was unfounded," he responded smoothly.

"I thought that maybe you had found it intolerable to sit among a large crowd of people."

He sighed. "It was not the most pleasant of things, that is true. But it was not intolerable."

"I see. Then why did you look so angry?"

At this, Ambrose intervened, "Sarah, enough interrogation. Do leave the poor man alone."

"But I—" she spluttered, then stopped. One look from Ambrose was enough to convince her she should not go on. Here she was again, badgering her friend with questions. It was only because she wanted to know what it was that had caused him to look so furious just now, and what it was that had led to his drunken rage last week. If it was not because he had found it intolerable to be in church, surrounded by people when he craved solitude, then what was it? She wished he would tell her.

"Is Mr Templeton not joining us?" asked Benjamin blandly.

It was Ambrose who answered. "He is riding to Stanton Hall separately and will meet us there." Then he decided to change the subject matter. "So, Benjamin, now that the steam plough is back in operation, I had thoughts to put it to work tomorrow. I do hope you will come and see."

"You could not keep me away. Of course I shall be there," he responded warmly.

"And you, Sarah?" queried Ambrose.

"After the many hours I have spent on that machine, I hope you do not think I will ignore its first adventure," she retorted.

"I did not think you would," said her brother evenly. "Well then, that is settled. We shall go to the home farm after we conclude our morning meeting."

The carriage drew up at the front steps of Stanton Hall, and the two men descended first. It was Benjamin who then handed Sarah down from the carriage. A few moments later, Philip cantered towards them on his horse, his carriage and bearing impeccable, and came to a stop a few feet from them. With athletic grace, he dismounted and handed the reins to the groom that had hurried over from the stable.

Philip strode towards Benjamin with a smile, "Mr Stanton, how do you do?" he said.

Benjamin inclined his head regally, "I am well, thank you, Mr Templeton. Please do come in." He escorted his guests inside where coats, bonnets and hats were duly discarded, then invited them into the drawing room. His manner was everything that was proper for a host. Throughout the next few hours, as he plied his guests with refreshments then offered them an elaborate luncheon, Benjamin engaged them in polite conversation and proved himself to be the epitome of a polished gentleman, despite his earlier protestations that he was no such thing.

It was a novel aspect to Benjamin that Sarah had never seen before. He was gracious, punctilious in his manner, acting in every way the proud scion of a noble family, the son of an earl no less. And yet Sarah could not quite like this Benjamin. Although he was charming and displayed a great deal of wit, he spoke in generalities, never letting himself be drawn into any serious discourse. It was as though he were hiding his true self behind a mask of civility. She much preferred the Benjamin who toiled at her side while they tried to repair the steam plough or the Benjamin who wrote her forthright and heartfelt letters.

She ought to have enjoyed this lunch. Her betrothed was at her side, paying her the warmest of attention. They were served a fine meal of poached trout with a delicate sauce, followed by roast guinea fowl and some aromatically spiced mince pies. Benjamin, her friend, was a splendid host and looked as if he had not a care in the world, while Ambrose was his usual good-humoured self. Yes, she ought to have enjoyed this occasion, but she did not. She could not put her finger on why this was. Philip was as charming as ever, so what was wrong?

At last, it was over. On the front steps of Stanton Hall, Philip said a fond farewell to Sarah. Raising her hand to his lips, he smiled engagingly and drawled, "Until our next meeting, sweet Sarah. What a pleasure it has been to spend time in your delightful company. But now, let me hasten and begin work on my new creation. Goodbye, my dear." With another flourish, he kissed her hand once more—she wished he would not do so—bowed elegantly and took his leave.

She turned to Benjamin then and for a fleeting second, detected a look of fury on his face. It was quickly gone, so quickly in fact that she almost believed she had imagined it. The next instant, Benjamin walked down the steps to bid them goodbye, playing the gracious host to the end. "Good day, Sarah and Ambrose," he said. "I look forward to seeing you both on the morrow."

They said their goodbyes and began the walk back to Ivy Cottage, having elected to walk the short distance rather than take the carriage. With her hand neatly tucked in Ambrose's arm, she heard him sigh gently, "Well thank the Lord that is over and done with."

"You did not enjoy this lunch?"

"Did you?" countered her brother.

"The trout was beautifully done and most flavoursome," she said.

"Oh, I had no trouble with any of the fine repast on the table, but Sarah, you know full well that was not what I was talking about."

"Then what was it you did not like?" she asked, wanting to understand.

"Surely you must have noticed?" He looked at her with a trace of pity.

Sarah felt a rise in her discomfort again. No, she had not enjoyed that luncheon either, but why? A troubling thought was seeping in at the fringes of her mind, but she stubbornly pushed it away. "I am sure I do not know what you mean," she said crossly.

"Then it is not for me to say," he replied. "However, I will say one thing. If ever you have a change of heart about this marriage to Mr Templeton, you must tell me and I will extricate you from the engagement at once."

"Ambrose, why do you bring this up now?" asked Sarah, feeling more and more vexed.

He sighed in exasperation. "Sarah, you are a grown woman, and I pay you the respect to know your own mind and make your own decisions, but sometimes, I do wonder at you and your inability to see what is right beneath your nose. However, I will not involve myself any further in your affairs. What you do is up to you."

Sarah regarded her brother with annoyance. "I do despise that way you have of not telling me what I most particularly wish to know."

"And I am sorry for it, but there are some things, Sarah, that you shall have to work out for yourself, and that is all that I will say on the matter." He would not be drawn out any further, and so they completed their walk home in tense silence, neither of them feeling well disposed towards the other.

Alone in her room, Sarah paced the floor, wondering why it was that at this time when she should have been at her happiest, she felt so woefully dejected. The man she had worshipped for years from afar had finally come to appreciate her qualities and wanted to marry her. Why then was she so troubled? An image came to her mind of Benjamin, and the anger he had tried to mask. What was it that was right beneath her nose that she could not see?

It could not be, surely, that Benjamin was jealous! What signs had he given her that he wanted her? He had once said to her that if a man was interested in a lady, then it was usually evident in his marked attentions or warm looks. Well, such marked attentions and warm looks she had received in abundance from Philip, and lo and behold, he had proposed to her. She struggled to think of occasions when Benjamin had paid her similar attention. With a sharp stab to her heart, she realised it could only mean one thing. Benjamin was not interested in being anything more than a friend to her. And why should that hurt so? Could she not be satisfied with the great fortune she had in being betrothed to Philip? She set her lips in a firm line. She should and would make the best of what she had been given. With this last thought, she changed into an old gown and went down to lose herself in work on her miniature railway.