Not at all, it's been a difficult time for you. Losing one's husband is a traumatic experience, he said, smiling over his half-moon glasses.
Well, everyone has been so kind. Perhaps you would be kind enough to walk me home, people are coming back for a cup of tea. Lady Vaughan had a splendid cook, and Reverend Smith was most anxious to fill his already considerable stomach with her excellent chocolate cake.
Yes of course. I just need to go to the vestry and change. I'll be with you in a moment. They were standing in the cemetery at All Saint's Church, Kirkby Whisp in North Yorkshire, England. The gravedigger was standing under a tree out of sight, ready to fill in the grave of Lord Peter Vaughan, a twenty-eight-year-old gentleman who had died in an unfortunate hunting accident, three days earlier. When he saw Reverend Smith and Lady Vaughan locks arms, and leave the churchyard, he nodded to the boy standing next to him. They walked to the grave, took their shovels from under a green mat and began to throw back the soil.
She's a fine looking woman, the boy said, throwing the first shovel full onto the coffin. He was just seventeen and gangling, as young men often are before they fill out. I feel sorry for her.
No you don't. Your youthful hormones are talking to you. You want to lie with her now she ain't got a husband. Cyril Wright was five feet seven and stocky. The strongest man in the village, he could dig a hole, six feet deep, in two and a half hours.
No, I don't. Jimmy Horner, the apprentice, looked offended.
Ain't no point in denying it, Jimmy. What boy of your age wouldn't want to sleep with a woman like her? He grunted as he thrust his spade into the pile of earth. Twenty-eight, blonde, blue eyes and a body like Venus. She's any young man's dream.
And rich. You forgot rich.
Rich, he scoffed. A big house and a fancy title. I hate them, the rich. They think they're something special. Cyril leaned on his shovel and watched Jimmy's expression which made him look dumber than he already was.
Why do you hate them?
Because they're snobs. Always looking down their noses at us ordinary folk.
Well that doesn't alter my opinion of Lady Vaughan.
No. Well take it from me, her sort are idle snobs.
Newdene Hall was large and old. Lord Vaughan had inherited it from his late father, a year before his own death. When he and Adele got married they were just eighteen, and they lived in a small lodge in the wonderful parkland surrounding the great house. Nine years later they moved into the Hall after Lord Stephen Vaughan passed on. Peter had given his wife a free hand; she could re-decorate the house as she wanted. The Vaughan's were rich but not overly so. They had tenants, who produced a handsome income, but they didn't have vast reserves of cash.
The drawing room was full of well-wishers, dressed in black and white. It was a large room which Adele had tastefully decorated in pastel shades of peach.
You know, it's such a pity Peter didn't live to see you finish your decorating work. You have really transformed this place, Eleanor Pimms said as she poured Reverend Smith his third cup of tea. She was the same age as Adele, but plain. Her mousy hair was always unkempt, and her stocky figure never fitting her clothes.
Yes, it is a pity, Adele replied shifting her weight onto her other buttock. The sofa was too hard and, after a while, a position change was necessary.
Reverend Smith was a kind man, always at pains to avoid confrontation, but he felt the word 'pity' was misplaced in this context. You pity a dog or a cat. In Peter's case, surely you should use the word disaster or catastrophe. He sank his teeth into a piece of Lemon Sponge Cake, sending sugar flying over the easy chair he was sitting in.
Yes, of course, Emily felt chastised. Will you marry again do you think?
Adele threw her hands in the air almost colliding with the potted palm balancing precariously on an ornamental table which was too small for it. Never, never again.
Why, dear Lady Vaughan, would you have us believe that your marriage was so bad that it has put you off forever? Reverend Smith asked.
Of course not, but I would like to have some freedom away from the demands of a man.
Emily knew what she meant. Emily was Adele's best friend. She was married to Bartholomew Pimms, the country's leading barrister. He was very demanding, both inside and outside the bedroom. If my husband passed away, I would do the same as you, Adele.
In your case, I agree, Reverend Smith said, dropping his guard.
What do you mean? Emily asked. Reverend Smith wasn't quick to answer, desperately seeking a way out.
I think he means, you would never find another husband as gracious and loving as Bartholomew. Adele smiled, Reverend Smith nodded enthusiastically.
Exactly what I meant, he said, knowing no shame.
No, I shall never marry again. I will travel and enjoy my freedom. There is so much to see, and life is short. Today is more than adequate testimony to that, Adele said.