Chapter Three
Griff's Letter to Mr Bickens Dated 27 September 1809 (20 years prior)
Dear Mr Bickens
I am very sorrie that I did not atend chorch today. It was Oliver Holinswerth fault. he made me hide in the big oak tree where mother could not see me and find me in time for the service. i know I did a very bad thing and god will be angry. i told oliver the same thing and have give him the same letter so he will know to. I hope you like my pickture of oliver and I am sorrie.
There was something foul afoot and it was not caused by the aggrieved affront Henivieve had made as Amy and her mother attempted to leave that morning to make their way to the Haventry parish church.
Oliver sat in the pew beside her while Mr Bickens continued into the second hour of his sermon, reposing with an air casual nonchalance which in itself wasn't at all odd. No, indeed, but there lurked a somewhat cunning smile on his lips that deepened the creases in his cheeks and the ones that spanned out at the edges of his eyes. Whenever he chanced to glance at her, his grin would deepen and his brows would raise. There was a devilish quality about him and it unnerved her, especially considering they were in a house of God.
Whenever Oliver got that look about him, they would end up in some sort of trouble. It had happened with the stealing of the wine, and the time he had slipped a lewd sketch into one of the hymn books that a parishioner would use during the service, and then there was the incident with Miss Augusta Fleetwood that compelled her to cry off their match which was no small relief for Oliver, though Amy's own inadvertent hand in that little scandal made her wince with the sharp edge of guilt that crept through her.
But now, as they sat in agony and silence, Amy glanced up at the high beamed ceilings with a worried frown.
"What are you doing?" Oliver whispered, leaning closer to her and shielding his face with the pamphlet that held the service's prayers and hymns for the parishioners to follow along with Mr Bickens.
"Looking for storm clouds."
Oliver seemed perplexed for a moment then his expression turned caustic. "Oh, ha ha."
"If you are smitten by a bolt of lightning, I shan't like to be this close to you when it happens."
"Ssh!" Mrs Gretchen Fitzjames hissed from behind them and Amy turned to give the elderly woman an apologetic smile.
"People actually listen to the sermon," she heard Oliver mutter under his breath and she nudged him meaningfully.
"Other people actually have souls they want to save."
"Lest I remind you that yours isn't as virtuous as you think it is-"
"One time many years ago," Amy hissed furiously and jabbed him in the ribs for good measure.
Oliver jumped and yelped, causing Mr Bickens to halt in his pontificating and several people in the pews surrounding them to glare and shush the Gravewood heir. It had caused a stir that morning when the future earl had graced the parish with his presence but once the service had begun, his person went largely unnoticed. Oliver was a frequent visitor to the people of Haventry and even though his status far surpassed most of them due to his lauded title, his familiarity and ease with which he interacted and connected with people compelled them to treat him as normally as they would Amy or anybody else.
After a moment, Mr Bickens lowered his wiry silver brows and his milky gaze focused on the manuscript that he had settled on the polished wooden podium before him while the massive cross behind him imposed on its followers with heavy omnipotence. "'So I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh," Mr Bickens read on and Amy almost groaned aloud at the topic she had not been paying attention to either. "'For the flesh craves what is contrary to the Spirit, and the Spirit what is contrary to the flesh.'"
Whether he saw the colour that heated her cheeks or merely sensed her distress, Oliver nudged her shoulder teasingly with his own. "You're practically an angel, Griff. Try not to look guilty, hmm?"
If there was to be any smiting that day by the good Lord, then she was certain it would be meant for her. Mr Bickens continued to read the scripture in his dreadfully monotonous droning way and soon she had lost focus yet again. It was surely sacrilegious to be considering, and remembering, the one act of her past that would condemn her soul- not that she held firmly to the belief that it was true, though it did feel strangely wrong to be thinking about that day now, during this particular sermon.
***
Amy's Memory of 'That' Day
"Is... is that it?"
"Uhm..."
"I think... that's it?"
"Ben," she said hesitantly and compelled his unfocused gaze to meet hers. He had removed his spectacles, which in hindsight may not have been the best of ideas considering her current predicament, but she finished determinedly, "that's my stomach."
She blushed furiously because he was now blushing furiously, but she forced her embarrassment to the side. This was her idea, after all, and the kissing had been rather nice up until this point of awkwardness. If anything were to get done, it would have to be in her hands- quite literally it seemed, as Oliver had very little sense of direction presently, but that couldn't be entirely his fault. They were both clueless, both vastly inexperienced, and up until a few moments ago they had never even kissed another person before.
Conscious of every wobbling bit of flesh on her body, Amy pushed at his shoulders slightly so that he lifted his torso away from hers. They lay on the grassy bank by the stream atop the cloak Oliver had spread out and the only romantic element of the entire situation was perhaps the sounds the birds were making from the trees above their heads.
"Sorry," Oliver mumbled, a frown marring his brow.
Amy reached an arm between their bodies and her fingers gingerly found that part of him that was very hot and very hard. He sucked in a breath, his stomach tautening at her action. Unsure if his reaction was a good one or not, Amy then said, "Sorry," which began an apology loop between the two of them.
"I just thought I'd show you-"
"It's alright-"
"Here, maybe move down like that just a bit-"
"Here?"
"Yes-"
"This is fine for you if I do this-"
"Yes!"
There was a sensation of burning, and a sharp biting pain that made her thighs inadvertently clamp together and stall his movement entirely. It wasn't unbearable and Amy could detect some pleasure from the feeling between her legs. But it was strange and alien... and it was Oliver. Though she was mildly discomforted, a bit in pain and wholly naked, she had to fight off the strongest sensation to laugh right then.
She had been holding her breath, she realised, and released it slowly. "Is it... does it feel good?" she asked him tentatively.
His green gaze found hers and she thought she saw his lips twitch slightly. "Mmm."
"Ben-"
"This is strange, Griff." At her horrified look, he amended quickly, "I don't mean terrible, it feels... good, but... look at us." His lips twitched again and then he broke into a smile, then his shoulders began to shake with repressed laughter.
And because it was strange and they were both hopelessly inept together, Amy couldn't help laughing with him, allowing the hilarity she had been valiantly staving off to bubble forth. They hadn't continued after that, nor did they ever try it again as they chalked it up to a shared and humbling experience that they would occasionally laugh over.
And if she felt awkward about it, he was quick to make her laugh about it and vice versa. The act hadn't impacted the closeness of their relationship and it certainly had helped Oliver's confidence for the next time he returned to Haventry and paid her a visit, she was regaled with the details of his first ever 'official' lover.
***
It was the standing for the hymn that drew Amy out of her ruminations and she stood quickly, unfolding her legs and noting that her left buttock was decidedly numb from sitting on the narrow, hard pew for well over an hour.
From her other side, her mother began to enthusiastically belt out the first few lyrics of How Great Thou Art and Amy winced. Heather Griffiths was not a very good singer though she hardly let that stop her, claiming that her love for singing would never be thwarted simply because she couldn't do it well enough. Though her daughter wished rather fervently that she needn't accomplish it quite so loudly. Her mother was getting on in years and her ability to embrace anything that brought her joy was profoundly admirable. It was one of the things she loved most about Heather and Lord knows they only had each other for the remainder of their years, Amy's father having left them for the attentions of another woman he claimed to love so many years ago she scarcely remembered what the man had looked like. She didn't begrudge him the decision and though Heather had felt heartsore at the separation, they had parted on amiable terms on the premise that one's happiness came foremost and neither parent would remain so if Paul Griffiths remained. To compensate his abandonment of his small family, he had left them their cottage and little else for Paul had been a man with little claim to wealth, titles or even a particular skillset with which to earn an income.
Oliver's incredulous glance over at her mother from around the other side of Amy was also testament to his outward shock at the sheer volume of Heather's enthusiasm.
"Is it safe to escape this torment yet?" he asked her, his voice smothered by the cacophony of off-tune voices around them. There was never to be any harmonizing amongst the parishioners of Haventry, no matter how hard they tried.
"There is still an hour or so to withstand," Amy told him pointedly. "You shan't be so lucky."
"Ah, come on, Griff. There is a bottle of wine and some lunch with your name on it-"
"It is not yet noon, Ben."
He snorted.
"Besides, I have to tend to the garden and feed the-"
"Oh, most certainly you do not. Tis the Sabbath, after all."
She glowered at him.
"He is quite correct," Heather said, pausing briefly mid-howl to interject. Her brown eyes twinkled with delight as she nudged her daughter with her elbow and then continued her dreadful singing.
"Even your mother agrees with me," Oliver remarked smugly.
"She is too easily charmed by wayward lords," Amy grumbled. Truthfully, she had chores aplenty that needed accomplishing before the new week began or she would run behind and suffer for it later. However, Oliver was always able to compel her to favour on the side of frivolity rather than duty, and right now she was hard-pressed to resist. Her life revolved around tending the cottage, looking after her mother, completing various tasks and working for whatever small amount of income she could. It was a strenuous life but a rewarding one, and every penny she managed to save only brought her closer to purchasing Mr Coppinger's bookshop, which was her ultimate aspiration.
But it wasn't as often anymore that Oliver visited Haventry and she could do with a break, indulge in a bit of fun. "Fine," she told him. "When the service has concluded, I'll allow it."
"Such a prude," Oliver told her as the hymn drew to a roof-shattering culmination.
"You and I both know that is not true."
There was always that one imperceptible moment of silence that reverberated after a hymn had drawn to a resounding end, yet today that silence was unexpectedly punctuated with the surprised bark of laughter from the future Earl of Gravewood.