An Indecent Gambit

Chapter Twenty-Two: Being Fooled

"And what if he has lover-like things to say?"

That was exactly the point. But he wouldn't. No. He could not feel that way after all this time. Perhaps he never had. "Just stay, Alice."

Footsteps sounded in the passage again, and the footman led Mr Benson into the room. It felt instantly too small and cramped, but Grace did not wish to move to the drawing room where Uncle Bernard was snoozing by the fire. She gave Benson a brief curtsy. Alice did not move from her chair. Benson gave her a reproving glance but said nothing of her rudeness; he always had been a little afraid of Alice.

"Good morning, Miss Follet." He took a short breath. "Miss Alice."

"Oh good morning, vicar," Alice said sweetly.

Benson plucked at his collar. "I deliberated at length before making this call. I did not know whether my presence would hurt or heal. But as one who — used to be — a very close friend, I wished to offer my sincere condolences in this difficult time."

He had come to give sympathy. Grace let out a small sigh of relief. "Thank you, Mr Benson. Your condolences are appreciated."

Having said that, the conversation might well have been politely concluded, but Benson made no move to leave. His gaze wandered curiously around the room, taking in the embroidery sampler and tooth-powder boxes, then lingering on the fruit cake. Alice moved the cake plate silently into her lap.

Benson looked at Grace, meeting her eyes in silence. After an awkward moment, none too long, his gaze drifted sideways. He seemed at a loss for what to say, but equally lost as to the direction of the door. Eventually, he placed a hand over the black band on his arm.

"I, too, understand what it is to lose one dear to one's heart," he said. "The sorrow, the grief, the... sadness." He sighed deeply. "But it was your father's time. He was called to God. You must take solace in that. Indeed, there is joy to be found in the reflection that in departing this mortal world, our dearest have gone to God."

Alice rolled her eyes. Grace tried to think of a polite way to get rid of him. But Benson was warming to his theme. He parted his feet and looked down his chin at her, as he might while standing on the pulpit and addressing his congregation.

"And I hope it will give you some peace to know that even though I personally have no reason to love your esteemed father, I have been unsparing my prayers for him and for your family. And you of course. I may no longer have the liberty of calling you dear to me, but that does not mean I would wish to spurn you God's aid in your trials. Indeed, those who have wounded me most are those for whom I must beg the most mercy."

"That is most magniloquent of you," Grace said.

"I should hope to be." Benson stroked his throat, watching her. "Pray tell me, how did he die? It was rather sudden, wasn't it? Rather a shock?"

"The doctor said it was his heart."

Benson shook his head. "Dreadful, dreadful. He was not very old. And now he leaves you, and your poor young sisters, quite unprotected in the world."

"Our mother is still alive," Alice said sweetly. "She's probably upstairs."

Benson coughed. "I mean, unprotected by a male, quite at the mercy of the world. What a tragedy it is that Mr Follet did not leave behind a son to look after his daughters."

"I suppose it is lucky, then, that we have two brothers-in-law, and that I am engaged," Grace said.

"As far as I'm concerned, we've a surplus of men," Alice said.

Benson shot her an uncertain half-smile. "It can feel so, yes, indeed I think it can, when the one you wish most to be here never shall be again."

"Or when you simply wish—" Alice broke off as a knock came at the door. It was the footman again.