'Well, I still intend to do a Bachelor of Education degree, but that can't happen till next year, so I can come with you to Milcaster, if you want me. Keep house for you there.'
She saw a slight shadow cross his face and said quickly, 'Unless there already is someone to do that.'
'Well, yes, darling.' He still looked troubled. 'The late Dean was unmarried and his housekeeper is hoping to stay on, I think. She was with him for some years and seems a capable, pleasant woman. But I wasn't thinking of that. I'm more concerned about you.'
His fingers tightened round hers. 'Are you absolutely certain about teaching? You're not going to consider any other options?'
She looked down at the grass. 'They've always been a bit thin on the ground, at least round here. And I wouldn't want to stay, after what's happened.'
She shrugged. 'So, it's time for a complete break. And I'm sure I'll find something I can do in Milcaster.' She added brightly, 'It's almost an adventure.'
He said nothing, so she galloped on, 'Tell me about the Deanery. And the cathedral, of course. Does it have one of those old closes?'
'Yes, indeed. And the Deanery is charming, rebuilt in the early eighteenth century I'm told.'
He was silent for a moment. 'But so many years of our lives have been bound up in Hazelton Magna and I'd hoped...' He checked. 'But enough of that. I'm just sorry we'll be leaving on a sour note.' He paused again. 'I just wish I could feel more positive about your intentions.'
She managed a giggle. 'You mean the road to hell might be paved by them? I'll take care it isn't.'
Yet, as they walked back to the house, she discovered 'Easy, easy is the descent' throbbing in her brain with its raw, insistent beat, and continuing to haunt her for the rest of the day and late into the night.
Over breakfast the next morning, she said casually, 'I suppose we'd better start thinking what we're going to take with us when we move.'
Her father pulled a face. 'What a blood-curdling thought.'
'Then why don't you sort out your books and special things, and I'll do the rest?'
'Darling, you won't have time, not with your day job.'
She said carefully, 'Actually, I've decided to give that up. As we're going, I won't be able to see it through to the finish, and Jago will have more time to find a replacement.'
'But you haven't told him yet.' It was a statement not a question.
Tavy shifted uncomfortably. 'I'll telephone Barkland Grange later. But he may be away. He often is.'
'Of course. He's a very busy young man.' He smiled at her as he got up. 'And now, I must go and be busy at Morning Service.'
Even with the house to herself, Tavy was reluctant to make the call to Jago. The ironing had been done, the vegetables prepared and a chicken was roasting in the oven before she went to the telephone, hoping he would be elsewhere.
But found herself put straight through to his suite.
'Octavia,' he said. 'I had a feeling you would call, no doubt to tell me you're giving up your job.'
She said stiffly, 'Well, yes. You see-I won't be around.'
There was a silence, then he said, 'Running away, Tavy?'
'Not at all,' she denied quickly. Maybe too quickly. 'It's just that we'll be moving to Milcaster quite soon. My father's going to be the new Dean.'
'And you're going to be-what?' he drawled. 'The Dean's daughter serving tea to clergy wives, like something out of Trollope?'
She bit her lip. 'For a while. Until I can get on a teacher training course.'
'Ah,' he said. 'Then it seems I shall just have to let you go.'
She hesitated. 'I don't want to leave you in the lurch, so I could make sure the furniture arrives safely tomorrow.'
'That won't be necessary,' he said. 'Barbie is arriving later today. She'll see to it.' He paused. 'Unless, of course, you'd like to meet her.'
'Thank you,' she said, hoping he hadn't picked up her swift intake of breath. 'But-no. I'm going to have a thousand things to do here.'
His voice was courteous. 'Then I mustn't keep you.'
'No,' she said again. 'Well-goodbye.' And put the phone down, her hand shaking.
After lunch, she decided to go into the garden for a little desultory weeding, which turned into a marathon.
She was just on her way back to the house for a cold drink when she met her father, holding an envelope.
'Someone called Charlie has just brought this for you, darling. Orders from the boss, he said.'
'He's Jago's chauffeur.' She shrugged. 'It's probably the equivalent of a P45.'
But inside the envelope was a cheque, and a note which read, 'For services rendered,' both signed 'Jago Marsh.'
She said her voice husky with disbelief, 'Dad-this cheque's for-two thousand pounds. I can't accept all that. Not when I only worked for such a short time.'
The Vicar said calmly, 'Of course you can, my dear. You were clearly a valued employee, and he's chosen to give you a bonus.'
'Then I shall put it in the charity box.'
'You will not,' her father said firmly. 'Remember how you worked at that school for a pittance. On this occasion charity can begin at home.' He patted her shoulder. 'Why not get away for a holiday somewhere. Buy yourself some new clothes too.'
He paused. 'You must thank him, of course.'
Tavy crushed Jago's note in her hand. She said tautly, 'I'll write to him.' And went indoors.
* * *
'Is the Archdeacon meeting us at the village hall?' Tavy asked as she and her father left the Vicarage on Wednesday evening.
'Apparently he's on his way. He seemed rather ill-humoured when he rang yesterday. Asked if we'd been complaining to the newspapers about Holy Trinity's closure. Of course, I told him no.'
'Maybe we should have done,' Tavy said thoughtfully. 'Mounted a campaign.' She sighed. 'But it's too late now.'
'Oh, I don't know,' Mr Denison returned briskly. 'Maybe the age of miracles isn't over yet.'
That, Tavy decided wryly, was being over-optimistic.
There'd been an odd atmosphere in the village this week, she thought. And her feeling that conversations were being terminated at her approach had intensified.
It was clear that the new presence at Ladysmere and her own absence had been duly noted.
And only that morning she'd overheard June Jackson talking to another woman. 'New furniture arriving every day,' she'd declared. 'And about the biggest mattress Ted's ever seen. It took four of them to get it upstairs.' She chuckled. 'So you can tell what's on that gentleman's mind, all right.'
Tavy whisked round and went back the way she had come before she was spotted. Her heart was hammering oddly, but she told herself not to be so stupid. She knew perfectly well that Jago was refurbishing the four-poster in the master bedroom, and at the right moment, it seemed.
She hadn't yet thanked him for the cheque. She'd written several notes, each more stilted than the last, but had sent none of them.
She would have much preferred to stay away from tonight's meeting, knowing it would only bring her more distress, when she was already struggling to maintain her usual composure. But she knew she had to be there for her father's sake, if for no other reason.
She had dressed neatly for the occasion in a navy skirt, topped by a white blouse, and put her hair up into a tidy, well-skewered knot on top of her head. So the surface was calm and orderly at least.
The Archdeacon's car was already parked near the hall door when they arrived.
'Ready for a quick getaway, no doubt,' Tavy whispered to her father.
'I hardly think there'll be a lynch mob, darling,' he returned.
Yet there was certainly a mob. Nearly every seat was taken, and more chairs were being retrieved from the storage area under the platform. Looking round, Tavy saw faces she did not even recognise. She did however notice Norton Culham and his wife, sitting together, stony-faced.
The Archdeacon was standing at the front of the hall, talking to Mrs Wilding. He was a tall man, whose face seemed set in a perpetual vague smile. But this was misleading, because everyone in the diocese knew he was, in fact, the Bishop's hatchet man.
As Tavy and the Vicar walked towards them, Mrs Wilding moved hastily away, and joined Patrick who was seated, head bent, in the second row.
The Archdeacon's voice was cold. 'I see the meeting has attracted quite a crowd. I trust they are not hoping for a change of heart by the diocese.'
'Everyone is entitled to hope, Archdeacon,' Lloyd Denison returned evenly.
'Including yourself. A projected move to Milcaster as Dean, I hear. Laudable if a little ambitious under the circumstances.' The smile was positively vinegary. 'However, shall we start the meeting?'
Tavy watched them mount to the platform, aware of a sudden stab of anxiety. What on earth could the Archdeacon have meant? she wondered, looking round for an empty seat, only to find she was being beckoned to by a small woman, with iron grey hair cut in a severely uncompromising bob, and bright, if not sharp brown eyes, who was lifting a large, solid handbag off an adjoining chair to make room for her.