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Miss Colefax led Odo to a small, windowless room in the bowels of the vicarage. The air was stuffy and smelled faintly of vinegar, but there were no traces of rot or dust in the neat library, perfectly kept. It was nothing like the overstuffed worm-eaten shelves at Stone Manor. The floor and the books were neatly swept, the spines of the books marked with letters and numerals.
Miss Colefax brushed her fingers over one of the spines, an unconscious, loving gesture Odo realised he recognised, because he did it himself.
“The archives were in a terrible state when my father took over the vicarage,” she said softly, “and I’ve taken the liberty of organising it in my spinsterhood.”
Odo felt his heart twisting unpleasantly at the word “spinsterhood” and the matter-of-fact, unemotional way she said it. Miss Colefax was a kind, intelligent woman, and not yet thirty, Odo thought, with a calm, even voice and a disposition that made Odo feel more at ease than he ever had in any other situation in his life. Any man should consider himself lucky to marry her. Odo swallowed.
He imagined the archives of Stone Manor organised like this, by someone like Miss Colefax, who appreciated old paper and the writing therein. With a system like this, he might be able to, finally, make a dent in the extensive correspondence of Waltheof d’Aumesty, the eighth earl, and figure out if it was him who had built the French buttresses in the east wing.
Odo let himself be carried away with the daydream, anything to avoid considering the situation at Stone Manor, his parents, or the new Earl, until Miss Colefax’s even voice ripped him out of his reverie.
“Why don’t you tell me exactly which years of the register you need, Mr d’Aumesty?”
When he looked back at Miss Colefax, there was a tiny smile on her lips, and it was filled with an earnestness and warmth he had never seen directed at him in his whole life.
“That is what I wished to show you, Mr d’Aumesty,” she said, sitting down on the log next to the unsightly pond, covered in green weeds so dense one could hardly see the water. She handed Odo a neatly folded sheet of paper. Odo could immediately recognise its age by the yellowing and the crinkling sound it made in Miss Colefax’s hands. Her voice, normally so even, carried a note of excitement. The knot of anxiety and unpleasantness that always occupied Odo’s stomach dissolved into warmth and a sort of vague guilt at having occupied Miss Colefax’s thoughts when surely there were better things she might be occupied with. He sat down next to her on the log, trying not to think of the scolding he’d receive from his mother for ruining his breeches later. For some reason he dared not examine, the prospect of sitting next to Miss Colefax on this log dwarfed the future unpleasantness that was its price.
“I found it tucked inside the pages of one of the marriage registers. It’s a letter from a past vicar, dated 7th of October of the year 1400. It attests that he would attend the retinue at Blackheath for the reception of the Greek Emperor.”
Odo’s heartbeat sped up.
“Miss Colefax, you are a marvel. This confirms Walsingham’s account of the visit.” He swallowed the deluge of incoherent words that were threatening to spill out of his mouth, and instead continued with, “Do you know, only one Greek Emperor ever set foot on the shores of England, I wonder if my ancestors—Ah, but of course you know this, I apologise—”
He cursed himself for his overeager tongue that presumed to explain something he had already discussed extensively with Miss Colefax. She’d shown she had an expansive knowledge of the local history, supplying his own knowledge of the nobility and the history of the Earldom with vast reserves of information gleaned from more humble sources, the parish records, letters from past vicars, the recollections of farmers.
“No need to apologise, Mr d’Aumesty,” she said softly, and when Odo looked up from the letter, Miss Colefax was looking back at him, a small, almost imperceptible smile on her lips. Shaded by a simple bonnet, her hair was almost black, streaked with a few strands of early grey. Her round face was flushed pink from excitement, and the brown eyes behind her spectacles looked at Odo with an expression he didn’t dare to name. He swallowed.
And then he did the bravest thing he had done in his life—maybe the first feat of bravery he could remember at all.
Slowly, carefully, he put his hand on hers.
He did not know how one held hands. It seemed to him that surely there was a specific technique, some instruction he must have missed, and he had the distinct feeling he was doing it wrong. His palm laid on top of her folded hands, and Odo was afraid he was putting too much weight on her delicate hands, or perhaps too little, or that his fingers were in the wrong place, or that there was some other way he was making a terrible nuisance of himself. He was about to retract his hand when Miss Colefax carefully interlaced her fingers with his. Then she covered their interlaced hands with her other hand, keeping Odo’s enclosed firmly in her lap, the warmth of her skin radiating through her gloves and through his.
Odo exhaled and looked out to the pond. He had often wondered what had drawn his ancestors to the drab, unseemly landscapes of the marsh, but in this moment, he could imagine the beauty his ancestors might have seen here, could see the beauty that was hiding under the brownish-green water, the slimy scum floating on the surface.
They sat on a bench behind the chapel, during the few stolen minutes they could find together after church, content. Odo wanted this moment to last forever, but knew it couldn’t. Miss Colefax was holding his hand in her warm, strong hands, and he was eagerly telling her of this week’s work in the archives. She never looked bored, never looked like she was humouring him. Instead, her eyes were bright and attentive, and she asked him useful questions, even when Odo had tangled himself up in a sentence he couldn’t find the end to.
“I must go,” Miss Colefax said eventually, “My mother expects me.”
Odo did not want to let her go, wanted to stay here forever, and certainly not go back to Stone Manor where he would doubtlessly be shouted at.
“Miss Colefax,” he choked out. It felt wrong to say it, wronger not to. “Miss Colefax, I wish— It is, the case is this that I— Circumstances being what they are, I should have liked to—I cannot, but I, do me the honour of—”
He had never before in his life considered what one might say in this situation, had never considered he would find himself in it. Miss Colefax was looking at him, the brown eyes behind her spectacles slightly wider than usual.
“That is—I would, I should like to ask for—for your hand, Miss Colefax, if—if it weren’t—That is… the situation, being what it is, were different. M-my parents, they would not—I should have nothing to live on, no skills, ah—”
It hurt to say it, but it was, in part, a good pain, like a small, insignificant way he’d defied his parents, even though he was not, not at all.
Then Odo noticed the look on Miss Colefax’s face, and the feeling of triumph went up in smoke. It was subtle, barely there, but Odo knew that he’d hurt her. She looked down, and completed a full cycle of her habit of pulling at the tip of each fingers of her gloves, then neatly pushing each plucked tip back down by the raised cloth between her fingers.
“Thank you for saying so, Mr d’Aumesty,” she whispered eventually, “I—I have long made my peace with spinsterhood. I had not thought—”
She raised her head and looked at him. “I had not thought that I would yet know the admiration of a man. I hope—I hope we shall continue our association in friendship. It—it has brought me great joy.”
“Odo!” Berry admonished him, “What are you crying about this time?”
“Go away,” Odo said weakly, knowing she wouldn’t, and then he heard the familiar rustle of Berry gathering up her skirts to climb into Odo’s favourite crawl space. Long ago, he’d used it to hide from the teasing of his older siblings, but they’d found it quickly enough. Now that they had found it was no use to compete for their parents’ love, Odo occasionally allowed Berry to join him here, with some reluctance.
“Is it Oxney? Did he say something to you?”
She sounded concerned, as well she might be.
“No, or— Nothing I didn’t deserve,” Odo said, miserably. “It’s not that.”
Berry crouched down in front of him. Her dress was splattered with paint as usual, and there was a speck of blue paint on her cheek. Mother would have screamed.
Upon seeing Odo’s miserable state, her face visibly softened. She sat down next to him and leaned against the wall, plucking a handkerchief out of her sleeve and offering it. It was streaked with paint too, but at least it was dry. He wiped his face.
“What’s the matter, Odo?” Berry asked again.
Odo sighed—a sigh that contained all the unhappiness he felt.
“I—wish to marry someone. But I can’t. It’s—It’s impossible.”
Berry sucked in a sharp breath. He felt her strong hands on his shoulder.
“Oh, Odo,” she said softly, more softly than she’d ever spoken to him. “You know you are not alone in this, right? There are ways, you know. Without marriage.”
A sob escaped Odo’s throat. “I shan’t keep her as a mistress, she deserves better.”
Berry’s eyes widened, then she let out a snort of laughter. “She? The person you want to marry is a woman?”
“Yes?” Odo said with profound confusion.
Berry clapped him on the shoulder. “What’s stopping you then?”
“The ah— Miss Colefax, no money to live on—”
Berry shook her head and ruffled his hair. He hated when she did that, because he could never get it back in order and then Mother would yell at him.
“That’s a difficult situation, I grant you,” Berry said thoughtfully, though much less seriously than before. “Why don’t you ask Oxney?”
Odo nearly sat up so quickly he hit his head on the rotting beam that held up the space. He hardly registered the pain.
“Oxney?” he exclaimed, his voice shrill.
Berry looked at him with amusement. “Why not?”
Odo spluttered.
“Odo,” Berry said slowly, “I think Oxney would understand your predicament better than you think. He hasn’t married, have you noticed?”
That was true. Most definitely, if the Earl had given his heart to a woman not of his standing, he would certainly be unable to marry her. But he was young still, and it was unremarkable for him to be unmarried, was it not?
Slowly, like an old ruin that falls after one removes a single pebble, a thought, a possibility for action, pushed itself into Odo’s mind. It would not leave, not for anything, having grown like a new limb, allowing Odo to move in a way he had not been able to before. Steely resolve wormed its way into his heart, utterly undeterred by the roiling anxiety that always filled his body.
Odo was going to be brave for a second time, and that certainty terrified him.
This was, without a doubt, the happiest day of Laura’s life. Odo was standing next to her, for once standing tall and straight, his hand in hers. His grip was firm, self-assured, so unlike the tentative, nervous touch that first time at the pond. They could hold hands whenever they wanted to now, would be able to for the rest of their lives. No more sneaking off together after church, they stood together, proudly, in front of their families and friends.
“I, Odo Eustace William Cnut d’Aumesty, take y-you, Laura Colefax, to be my wife, to—to have… and to hold—”
Everyone except Odo’s parents, but Laura could not find it in herself to regret that. That they had dared to attempt to destroy someone as precious as Odo, their contempt leaving deep scars in Odo’s brilliant mind: it was simply unforgivable. But Odo was hers now, and she was determined to make him happy. As she knew he would make her.
“F-from this— day forward, for—for better, for worse, for r-richer…. For poorer… In s-sickness and in—health”
Odo’s voice was trembling, full of effort to get the words out clearly, and it filled Laura’s heart with the certainty that she was loved, every carefully enunciated word from Odo’s lips paying testimony to it. She squeezed his hand a little.
“To l—love—and to cherish, till death do us p—part.”
A small smile played on his lips, a smile for Laura only.
“According to God’s h–holy law. In the— presence of God I make this v-vow.”
Laura’s father opened the large, heavy Fairfield marriage register, an expression of pride on his face that she hadn’t seen on him during any other wedding ceremony she’d watched.
She had admired the book since she was a child, the history contained within, lives upon lives recorded in its pages.
And today, Odo and her were going to add their names to that history.