"'The Mayor and Corporation of Devizes,'" she read aloud, "avail themselves of this building to transmit for future times the record of an awful event which occurred in this marketplace, hoping that such record may serve as a salutary warning against the danger of impiously invoking Divine Vengeance to conceal the devices of falsehood and deceit."

She paused, noting that both Vanessa and Catherine looked conscious. Of course the warning was more directed against blasphemy than against deception, but she doubted that they drew the distinction. She read on in a portentous voice.

"On Thursday 25th January, 1753, Ruth Pierce agreed with three other women to buy a sack of wheat, each paying due proportion; one of these women in collecting the money discovered a deficiency and demanded of Ruth Pierce the sum that was wanting; Ruth Pierce protested that she had paid her share and said she wished she might drop down dead if she had not. She rashly repeated this awful wish; when to the consternation and terror of the surrounding mult.i.tude she instantly fell down and expired."

The wording was less relevant than Sarah had hoped, yet her companions were a trifle pale. She managed to produce a realistic shudder and rubbed in the lesson. "What a shocking story! If I were guilty of any underhanded dealings, I vow I should quake in my shoes."

It was a silent pair that walked with her back to the Bear and allowed Peter to hand them into the barouche.

"What a pleasant day," sighed Sarah, leaning back against the squabs. "I fear Little Fittleton can be quite lonely now that all Adam's sisters are wed and removed from the neighbourhood. He means to bring his bride to live at Cheve, I collect, but how he will go on with such limited female companionship, I dread to think. Of course it is his growing up with so many sisters that is to blame."

"To blame?" asked Lady Catherine hesitantly.

"Yes. It is unconscionable the way he hides beneath such charm the l.u.s.ts of a veritable Bluebeard."

"Bluebeard?" Vanessa's violet eyes nearly started from her head.

Catherine, however, looked slightly skeptical so Sarah hastened to retract.

"I exaggerate, of course. Why, I do not mean to accuse dear Adam of murdering a series of wives! Indeed, I daresay he does not even mean to marry more than one at a time, though of course he does have radical views. Only the other day we were speaking of harems such as they have in Turkey, where a man is allowed four wives and any number of concubines-as many as he can afford to support, I believe, and Adam is excessively rich. Not that I have ever known him to support more than three females at a time, not counting his own family."

Vanessa gasped.

"My abigail did mention some such rumour among the servants at Cheve," Catherine conceded, her composure beginning to fray. "I dismissed it as an exaggeration."

"I fear not." Sarah sighed. "I was put in the uncomfortable position of receiving all three at the vicarage. At one time."

"Surely he will not expect his wife to receive his cheres amies? Once I am Lady Cheverell, he will not continue to keep a mistress," Catherine stated confidently.

"You, Lady Cheverell?" cried Vanessa. "It is I who shall be his viscountess. He will have no cause to look elsewhere for beauty."

She and Catherine glared at each other. Sarah added her fuel to the flames. "Alas, Adam will never be satisfied with one woman, however beautiful or accomplished, whichever of you he chooses."

"He has already chosen me," said Catherine in a cold voice. "We have been betrothed since the day we went to Salisbury."

"Then I have prior claim," announced Vanessa in triumph, "for our engagement began on the night of the ball."

"On the contrary. Lord Cheverell clearly changed his mind after asking you." "He is promised to both of you?" cried Sarah dramatically. "Alas, it is as I feared. Does he mean to keep one in London and one at Cheve, I wonder?" Both young ladies stared at her, aghast. Unconsciously they moved closer together on the seat, as if for mutual protection. Sarah pressed her advantage. "You will have to keep silent, of course. Think of the disgrace if it should become known, and I daresay even a peer can be imprisoned for bigamy. You will not like to be visiting him at Newgate." Horror was mirrored in two pairs of eyes. Sarah sat back, satisfied. "Lady Cheverell's house party comes to an end shortly, does it not?" she said in a conversational tone.

"You will be glad to go home and tell your families that Adam has come up to scratch. Twice-though that is best kept secret. I wonder which of your papas he will approach first." "If he has the audacity to ask my father for my hand," Lady Catherine announced, her voice steely, ''I shall have him thrown out of the house."

"I shall write to Papa at once," Miss Brennan quavered, "and tell him on no account to grant Lord Cheverell permission to court me." Sarah thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the drive home. When they reached the vicarage, Peter jumped down to help her from the carriage.

"Not a word to anyone!" she whispered to the groom, slipping a shilling into his hand.

"I knows how to hold me tongue, miss," he said with a grin, tipped his hat and drove on.

Adam looked up in annoyance as the door to his study was flung open. Not that going over the estate

accounts was a pleasure, but having settled to them he wanted to finish and forget them. He had explicitly

instructed Gossett that he was not to be disturbed. The sight that met his eyes was not rea.s.suring. Lady Catherine marched in, militant outrage personified. Vanessa Brennan, on the other hand, drooped, her beautiful violet eyes reproachful. Adam rose and bowed.

"To what do I owe the honour, ladies?" he enquired warily.

"Philanderer! Yes, you may well blench, my lord, for we know you to be a second Casanova!"

"Why, Lady Catherine, I am shocked that you have even heard of that notorious libertine."

"You need not think to cozen us with your wiles. All has been revealed to us."

"False deceiver, you have broken our hearts."

"What, both of them? Or have you more than one apiece?" Adam was beginning to enjoy himself.

"What is this 'all' that you have discovered?"

"It is beneath our dignity to repeat the sordid details. Suffice it to say that you may consider yourself jilted, as you deserve. Twice. Come, dearest Vanessa, we will not bandy words with this-this-"

"Bluebeard," put in Miss Brennan helpfully as they swept out.

Accounts abandoned, Adam went after them, grinning. What the devil had Sarah told them?

"Gossett!" he shouted. "Have Caesar saddled and send Wrigley up to my chamber at once."

Not half an hour later he stepped into the vicarage study, to be greeted by two laughing faces. At the sight of him, both the Meades went off into fresh whoops. Jonathan's chair teetered precariously on two legs.

"Minx," said Adam, resigned. "What yarn did you spin to them?"

"I started quite innocuously," Sarah gasped, "with Lord Sidmouth's column."

The viscount looked blank.

"He is so rarely here he probably doesn't know about it," Jonathan advised his sister.

"You must remember the story of Ruth Pierce, who dropped dead in the market? It was dinned into us

often enough when we were children as a dreadful warning against falsehood." Sarah explained how she had enticed the young ladies into reading the cautionary tale on the new market cross. "I am certain it gave them pause. However, Bluebeard was my trump card."

"Vanessa said something about Bluebeard. Sarah, you didn't tell them that I am in the habit of murdering my brides?" "That was unnecessary. The truth was sufficient," she said dryly, then conceded, "though I cannot deny misleading them a little. I believe I succeeded in persuading them that you wanted two wives, one for the town and one for the country. What happened?"

"They invaded my study, arm in arm, insulted me, and informed me that I might consider myself jilted.

Twice." Once again Sarah and Jonathan howled with laughter. Adam joined in, but he was the first to grow sober.

"That's all very well, and I must thank you for your good offices, Sarah, but what about Lydia?" "Miss Davis?" The vicar's chair landed on four legs with a thump. "What has she to do with this b.u.mblebath?" Surprised at his friend's frowning earnestness, Adam looked a question at Sarah. "I did not tell Jonathan about Lydia." She seemed uneasy. "Her case is so very different." Jonathan stood up, leaning on his desk with both hands, and fixed Adam with piercing grey eyes. "You cannot make me believe that Miss Davis trapped you into offering for her," he said, quiet but firm.

"I trapped myself." Adam shrugged, with a rueful smile, as the vicar relaxed somewhat and sat down again. "The poor child was desperately embarra.s.sed and I sought only to calm her. Now your sister informs me that I cannot honourably cry off, and I am forced to agree with her."

"She is not a poor child, but a sensitive, compa.s.sionate and high-principled young woman. I am sorry that you are unaware of the prize you have won, but you will come to realize it in time. Sarah, I must ask you to promise me that you will not play off your tricks on Miss Davis. I will not have her hurt."

Again Adam glanced at Sarah, but she was preoccupied and seemed unaware of her brother's unexpected vehemence.

"I promise," she acquiesced. "Did I not say that her case is different? Do you ... do you think the engagement should be announced at once?"

"Not yet." A tinge of pink coloured the vicar's cheekbones. "Not, at least, until Lady Catherine and Miss Brennan are gone. It can only humiliate them."

Adam agreed with alacrity, though it was a brief respite since his guests were to depart on Monday, some four days hence. He took his leave, and rode home puzzling over Jonathan's curious reaction.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

Sarah had just rolled out the gingerbread dough when Mr. Swanson and Lord James Kerridge appeared at the open back door of the kitchen.

"Come in, gentlemen." She wiped beads of perspiration from her forehead with the back of her wrist. "We are in for a thunderstorm, I think."

"Sultry weather," said Mr. Swanson, fanning his red face with his hat.

"Hot," agreed Lord James. The heat of the day and the greater heat of the kitchen had no discernible effect on his handsome countenance, but he looked apprehensive.

"Is Mrs. Hicks about?" enquired Mr. Swanson.

"She is upstairs, helping Nellie turn the beds." Sarah thought he, too, wore a slightly hunted air. "Did you wish to speak to her? I can call her down."

"No, no, I wouldn't disturb her for the world." He ran his finger round inside his collar. "The fact of the matter is, we wanted a private word with you, Miss Meade. Didn't we, Kerry?"

Lord James was eyeing the dough wistfully. He started, and said, "Private word, that's right. I say, Miss Meade, can I cut out some gingerbread men for you?"

"Do," she invited cordially, handing him a knife. "The children loved the shapes you came up with last time. What was it you wanted to speak to me about, Mr. Swanson?" "Kerry!"

His lordship started again and looked up from the very creditable pig he was carving from the dough. "You made me cut his tail off."

"Get on with it, man."

"Couldn't you go first?"

"Dash it, it was you who insisted on tossing for the right to go first."

Lord James looked as if he wanted to dispute this statement but he thought better of it and said pleadingly, "You say it for me, Swan. You're much better with words."

"The devil!" In the grip of strong emotion, Mr. Swanson forgot the deference due to a lady's ears. "I agreed to stay with you but I'm d.a.m.ned if I'll speak your piece. We're rivals, after all."

Much entertained, Sarah asked gently, "Did you have something to say to me, my lord?"

"Want to ask you to marry me," he blurted out. "Mean to say ... Do me the honour ... Offer my hand and heart ... There, I told you, Swan, I've ruined it," he ended miserably.

"Not at all," Sarah a.s.sured him. "Your meaning is perfectly plain, and most flattering."

"Then you will?" There was as much alarm as gratification in his expression.

"Hey!" interrupted Mr. Swanson. "There's to be no pressing for an answer until I've had my turn. Miss Meade, though we have been acquainted so short a time, I have never met a woman I admired more. Pray allow me to express my fervent hope that you will do me the inestimable favour of accepting my hand and heart in marriage."

"Has a way with words, don't he?" said Lord James. "Forgot to say, m'brother's a marquis. Ladies like that. I ain't exactly plump in the pocket but not run off my legs, neither. Stand the nonsense for a snug little house in town, pretty dresses and such. Course, Swan here was born hosed and shod. Daresay he could buy an abbey, though it beats me why anyone would want to do such a bacon-brained thing."

"If Miss Meade wants an abbey, I shall buy her one."

Sarah regarded the two anxious faces turned towards her. For a moment she was almost tempted. Lord James was good-looking, amiable, a member of the n.o.bility. Mr. Swanson was clever, considerate, and rich enough to buy her everything she had ever coveted. Either of them would take her away from here, from the pain of seeing Adam with his chosen bride.

She sighed. It was impossible. Kerry was a dear fellow, but she thought of him as a younger brother, and her affection for Swan was for a kind friend and amusing companion. She shook her head.

"I'm sorry." She searched for words.

"No need to say another thing." Swan pressed her hand. "I daresay it wouldn't fadge. We can still be friends?"

Sarah blinked back an unexpected tear. "Of course. I hope we shall always be friends. Now, do you mean to help me cut out the gingerbread before the dough dries out? Kerry, pray make another pig.

Johnny Cratch looks after his family's pigs and it will delight him. Swan, here's a knife for you. I leave it to your imagination. I must grease the baking tins."

From the merriment that ensued, she gathered that no hearts were broken. The gentlemen stayed to sample the gingerbread hot from the oven, then Mrs. Hicks came down and chased them out of her kitchen. A crack of thunder sent them in haste to their horses just as the first heavy drops of rain fell from the black sky.

Jonathan had gone to the next village on church business. Sarah hoped he would take shelter in a parishioner's house until the storm was over. On his return he would want to start writing his sermon, so she went into the study to make sure that ink and well-sharpened pens were awaiting him. Mrs. Hicks had closed all the windows, and the room was hot and airless. Beyond the French doors rain was falling in torrents by now and the clouds rumbled ceaselessly, but the wind was blowing from the opposite side of the house. Sarah opened the doors to let in a breath of coolness.

She stood there for a moment, enjoying the fresh air. The downpour was scattering rose petals and beating the Canterbury bells to the ground. Arthur would not be happy. She shrugged, and was turning away when a drenched figure dashed from the stables towards the kitchen door.

It looked as if Jonathan had sadly mistimed his return. Sarah hurried to the kitchen. It was Adam who stood there, dripping on the tiles, and raising a gingerbread shape to his mouth.

"We just brought in the last of the barley in time," he announced.

"Not the pig!" said Sarah. "That's for Johnny Cratch. Take Kerry's sailing ship-that's it, the one that looks like a thundercloud-and then for heaven's sake go up and change into something of Jonathan's before you catch your death."