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walked back and forth, hoping to loosen the knotted muscles. “Now that she is recovered from her attack and the storm has passed, she cannot stay in the vicarage another night,” he said through clenched teeth.
    Mrs. Tompkins nodded in agreement. “I see your quandary. Bring the lass here later this afternoon and we’ll get her settled. We’ll pay nine shillings and sixpence a week to start.” Jonas nodded in agreement.
    “More than generous. When the lad is done seeing to my horse, I’d like him to run to Cranbrook to send a telegraph for me. I will confirm her employment. She stayed at my place the past two nights. Let us keep it between us three, shall we?”
    Jonas gave a brisk nod. “Aye, no one’s business. Take a load off, Vicar. Sit in my chair a while.”
    With a sigh of relief, Tremain lowered himself slowly into the oak desk chair. It wasn’t as if he needed to sit again, but it did take pressure off his wretched leg. Carrying in the voluptuous Miss Winston, then dragging in her large, heavy trunk had taken its toll.
    “Stay for lunch, Mr. Colson. Meat and potato pie with fresh cottage loaves hot from the oven. On the house for you.” Mrs. Tompkins smiled.
    “Charitable as always. I will take you up on the invitation after I return from visiting with Ruth Payne.”
    “A pint of bitter as well?” Jonas winked.
    “Yes. That I will pay for.”
    Jonas laughed, touched his forelock and followed his wife from the room, closing the door behind him. Alone, Tremain groaned in agony, and with both arms moved his numb leg until the tingling abated. Well, at least he would be able to eliminate the temptation of Eliza from his immediate proximity. He was not sure how she would take to hearing the news about working at a pub, but Tremain did not find her particularly haughty, so perhaps she would be grateful for the position, however temporary or permanent.
    Yes, the sooner Eliza was gone from his proximity, the better. He held up the hand she’d clasped this morning. It still burned. The light scent of jasmine clung to his skin. Raising it to his nose, he inhaled deeply. Yes, still there. To tease and tempt. Especially after last night. He wanted her. All the more reason to push her away.
    * * * *
    After relaxing in Jonas’s office for more than a half hour and sending the young lad to the nearby town of Cranbrook, Tremain limped through the few streets to the edge of the village where the ill and dying Mrs. Ruth Payne resided. Rumor and gossip traveled fast in Hawksgreen, more rapidly than a brush fire, and many of the residents doubted the ailing woman was ever married, but they allowed the tale to stand for the sake of her young son, Andrew, better known as Drew.
    Ruth and Drew lived in a ramshackle bottom flat on one of the more run-down village streets. Since becoming seriously ill, Ruth could not keep her job as a laundress and ironer and had to rely on the good graces of her neighbors for food, rent, and the care of her nine-year-old son. Ruth lingered, the cancer inside her spreading in a slow and deadly manner, insidiously attacking her internal organs one by one. Doctor Edwards, who tended to patients in both Cranbrook and Hawksgreen, declared she neared the end, merely a matter of days now.
    Upon entering the small flat, the smell of sickness and death assaulted his nostrils. He would never get used to this part of his job. Reminded him too much of the army, the battlefields, and the sick and dying soldiers who lay upon them.
    Drew Payne greeted him, his wide and worried blue eyes staring up at him, unblinking and beseeching as if Tremain held the power to save his mum. Which he did not. All he could do was offer hollow platitudes of sympathy and compassion in his wooden way. Yet, the young lad’s heartbreaking misery did thaw his heart a little. Without thinking, Tremain reached out and cupped Drew’s flushed cheek and gave him a brief smile. “Good afternoon, Drew.”
    The boy’s lower lip