The Steward of Blackwood Hall

Chapter seven - Mr Fielding misses church

A chill seeped through Anabelle's petticoats as she listened to Mr. Thompson's sermon. The shuffling feet, whispers, and the occasional coughs or sneezes echoed around the smooth stone walls of the nave as the residents of Haltford came together for the Sunday morning service. Or at least most of them.

Her gaze strayed to the pews containing the residents of Blackwood Hall. Everyone in the parish knew Sir Henry was not expected back for another week. Instead, Mrs. North sat alone, back straight, with the poke of her elderly bonnet dancing between rapt attention of Mr. Thompson and the distraction of two of the new maids in the row behind who were giggling by the south aisle.

Of Mr. Fielding there was no sign.

Anabelle knew she was not the only one to notice his absence. Mrs Latimer had also hoped to catch sight of the man that many ladies in the parish were talking about. Of course, the steward merited no interest in his own right, but as a source of information about his employer's preferences he would be invaluable to anyone hoping to catch Sir Henry's interest for their daughters' sakes.

She had tried to imagine what life might be like as the wife of a baronet. Yet every time she attempted to picture Sir Henry from his description—for few had met him in person—the vision somehow resolved into Mr. Fielding. Indeed, since their meeting at the stream, when he had risked life, limb and a good pair of boots to rescue Jack, she had struggled to think of anyone else. That heroic action ended any faint hope she might have had of dampening her admiration for the man.

A lifetime spent in the middle of nowhere had left her with very few expectations when it came to love or marriage. Unlike Diana, who always had her head in a romantic novel, Anabelle trusted that her father would one day provide her with the opportunity to meet some eligible young man that she could call husband. Now Mr. Latimer had finally promised to take her to a spa town, where she might meet someone of the right background and family; someone who, in all probability, would never need to seek employment as a steward.

It was exactly the situation she had been waiting for; so why was she raising her eyes to the statue of Jesus on the cross, praying that her father's leg would take a few more months to heal?

When the service ended, Anabelle waited as Mrs Latimer lingered in the churchyard, catching up with the latest gossip. Her stepmother did not stay for long, however, as she soon urged her family towards the lych gate.

"Have you heard? Mr. Gent has arranged a musical quartet all the way from London to play at an Autumn Ball. The date is set for a week on Saturday."

"Do you think Sir Henry might attend?" Selina asked as she lifted her skirts over a muddy patch.

The feather in Mrs Latimer's bonnet shivered. "I should hope he will. It would be very strange if he did not welcome such a perfect opportunity to meet his neighbours."

"Perhaps Mr. Fielding will be there as well," Anabelle wondered aloud.

"If he can afford the shilling for a ticket then he might," her stepmother agreed, with a hint of impatience as she entered the carriage for their short drive back to Woodside.

During the night Anabelle's dreams took her to the large room on the second floor of the Red Lion, where Mr. Gent held sporadic entertainments for the benefit of his neighbours. Mr. Fielding invited her to dance, and they promenaded between the other couples, her hand clasped gently but firmly in his. The room stretched to twice its length, and the music seemed to go on forever, as they danced together all evening.

She woke the following morning feeling quite exhausted, as though their dance really had continued through the night. Anabelle struggled to shake the memory of her dream as she walked to Haltford with Selina. They were admiring a new style of bonnet in the milliner's window when her sister said, "Belle, do you know that gentleman?"