Vicar's Daughter: Chapter One

Chapter One

At last I had finished that mountain of dishes. In a minute I was outside, springing over half-melted snow in the glowing light of the setting sun. My shabby red cloak over my  unstylish print dress, my goldish hair escaping it's pins, a volume of Byron's poetry tucked under my arm. How lovely it was to be outdoors! I took the long way down to the river, luxuriating in the beauty of the landscape (though in truth it had been a soggy, miserable time of the year), and the solitude. When I reached my favorite mossy rock I tucked my legs up under myself (most unladylike, I know!), opened the book and began to read.

Unhappily, the screech of my Mother's voice broke the peace, "Humility!" Why must her voice carry so well? Sighing deeply, I closed Byron and started up the path. I knew all too well the consequences of "dithering along." There she was ahead, hastening towards me. "Humility! You simply cannot go wandering off across the countryside! What- you weren't reading that silly poet Mrs. Whitaker leant you again we're you? We will speak of that later," she said significantly. Then, in a different tone, "Well, hurry along- as we speak, Mr. Buffington is waiting in our sitting room to call upon you!"

Oh, drat! Anything but that! "Indeed, Mother?" I said blandly. We started along the path together. Despite my extreme dislike of Mr. Buffington I knew better than to suggest begging out of his call- she would not give me one moment's peace for a fortnight.  Mother did know of my dislike of Mr. Buffington, but her general view on my feelings was that they must always be in accordance with hers, so she dismissed it as disobedient.

Mr. Baldwin Buffington was a humorless widower a bit past forty with  five young, rambunctious children. After the Whitakers, he was the wealthiest man in the parish, and he always acted as if he knew it. He had been courting me for some time.  I found him ridiculous and had not encouraged him in the least. My parents, however, were thrilled at his interest in me, and I think had more than made up for my lack of enthusiasm.

I had been courted by a number of men. There was Mr. Foakes, a young man of some property and no great vice save that he  could not converse intelligently for anything.  When our conversations began to elapse into silences five minutes in length, he generally stopped seeing me. Mr. Maxwell, a naval offices, had been quite the opposite- very animated and always relating scandalous news from Town, or joshing about the habits of our neighbors. My parents had not approved and he had taken the hint. Dr. Wentworth was a serious man who attempted to engage me in conversation on various illnesses and diseases. I found such subjects frightfully dull and his graphic descriptions nauseating, which he must have sensed, for he no longer called on me.

I could not imagine myself  marrying any of the men I knew. Everyday I witnessed the misery of a marriage, purely for convenience, between two who did not respect each other. I could never subject myself to such a life, no matter how terrible home was.  I would marry only for love, and to a good man, who was suited to me. Thus far such a man seemed non-existent; my experience with men had taught me one thing: they could not be trusted. They were much more likely to wound and abuse women than to give anything good to them.

Except perhaps Mr. Norman Whitaker, Mrs. Whitaker's eldest son- he was handsome, agreeable. I had known him my entire life. But, despite Mrs. Whitaker's kindness to me, I was not their equal and they would not want me marrying him. He would certainly become utterly besotted with some  society belle in London and the two would make a happy- and very wealthy- union.

The question remained, however, if I did not marry, how  would I leave this wretched house?

We had reached the sitting room. Mr. Buffington rose stiffly from his chair, "I trust this evening finds you well, Miss Whipple," he said gravely.

"Ah, yes (actually, no). Thank you." There was a pause.

"I- I could not help but take notice of, whilst I was sitting here waiting for your arrival, the volume on your table." 

I looked down stupidly. Drat! It was Fordyce's Sermons. Why hadn't I put it away after Mother made me read to her last night? This would serve only to, as he would say, "increase my perfections." "Do sit down," I said.

"Ah, yes, of course," he plopped down into Father's easy chair, squarely on top of the decorative, cylindrical pillow I had wretchedly embroidered many years ago, but took  no notice of it."Though you may find it surprising, I have read the entirety of both volumes and have found them most insightful and thoroughly riveting. I believe young ladies one and all of today could benefit  from reflection on Fordyce's words on the role and duty of a woman." he said gravely. I honestly think this remark was not aimed at me; it was simply that Mr. Buffington had never  distinguished the art of lecturing from courtship.

"Is that so? " Mother seated herself across the room, embroidery basket in hand, but I knew she would be paying the utmost attention to every word spoek. 

"Yes, I believe Fordyce to be, in addition to quite a fountain of wisdom,  a poetic writer. Ah, the delightful turns of phrases he uses to describe the your sex- 'timidity of temper', 'lovely meekness', 'modest pliancy'. I find him quite unparalleled in his own spectrum."

I disagreed with him vehemently, but knew to express as much would be supremely stupid, so I simply said, "Do you?"

"Oh, indeed, I cannot communicate strongly enough the elation it was to find you share my same love of Fordyce!"

What? Well, I couldn't very well tell him with Mother in the room the real reason the book was out. But I must say something. I certainly could not affirm such a statement. If I ventured to tell him of the writers I had a much greater love for, he might be lead to believe I actually enjoyed conversing with him and intended to encourage his pursuit of me, which was certainly the last thing I wanted to do. So I simply murmured a meaningless, "Oh."

Mr. Buffington responded by leaning across his chair (for a moment I was afraid he was going to attempt to embrace me and I was prepared to physically discourage him) and, as if taking me into his innermost confidence, said, "A female who shows such a passion for improvement of character and her spiritual condition is very attractive to me," and leaned back to his own chair very pleased with himself.

This would not do. I said nothing and did not look at him. Unsurprisingly, a lengthy pause ensued. Mother "ahemed" a few times. Under normal circumstances I would have felt compelled to find something to say and fill the gap, but as I was attempting to discourage Mr. Buffington, I very much enjoyed the awkwardness of the moments.

"How have you been- ah- employing yourself of late?" he asked at length.

Besides wash day, making three meals a day, scrubbing all the dishes, caring for the garden, keeping the house at the spotless perfection Mother required, visiting the ill people of the parish with Father, caring for the fowl, and all of the other thousand activities that occupied absolutely every minute of my day? Well, I did have an hour or so every evening to practice the piano-forte- something I'd much rather be doing than be courted by the most ridiculous man I have ever come into acquaintance with! "I keep busy with duties around the house." I said without elaboration.

"Oh, excellent! A woman's work is never done, I do suppose," he chuckled at himself. "I myself have been Riding to Hounds much of late. I have many acquaintances who are by no means of humble consequence, if you understand my meaning, and they find me a suitable partner for their little expeditions. Perhaps it is because of my naturally jovial nature, but I do humor myself that I am a bit of a huntsmen. Oh, I could tell you stories like you wouldn't believe!"

"Oh, but, Mr. Buffington, please don't, for I find accounts of such matters make me feel faint!" I cried completely untruthfully, but I was desperate not to o be stuck listening to stories of his glories for who knew how long. The remark was very effective, for within five minutes Mr. Buffington was on his blessed way.  I was very worried as I returned to practicing, for he didtruthfully seem to fancy himself attached to me.