Chapter Six: The Man of Many Mysteries

 It was another warm Spring day, even on a long, dark evening. As the stars were hidden by the clouds, the only lights keeping Yorkshire visible were the many candles present. One gentle wind moved over the grass while the most elite of the county's residents gathered to discuss current affairs. 

A social occasion held in honor of Easter was being held on the front lawn of Egbert Devonsham's home. Everyone was dressed in light colors, matching the Spring weather around them. Several ladies protected their presence with white umbrellas from the evening sun. 

By the local trees, many of the guests conversed while feeling protected by the calm evening shade. Here, Mrs. Weathers, a long friend of Egbert's deceased wife, dialogued with several ladies and gentlemen while Ada, her thoughtful daughter, ensured to greet everyone. 

Immediately, one figure in a dark cloak entered the scene; however, no one else noticed but Margaret's glaring eyes. Remaining alone, he stood under one great oak while gazing upon her, recalling social occasions with the lady from long ago. Appreciative of his long friendship with her mother, Ada imagined him to be more than he confessed of himself.  

''This evening is beautiful,'' Ada said to her mother. 

Margaret nodded. Facing her daughter, she replied, ''Indeed.''

Mrs. Devonsham sighed while feeling the sunlight. ''I can't imagine the day ending better than now,'' she affirmed. ''Truly, my beloved cousins, Isabelle and Felicity, would love to see it as it appears today.'' 

Smiling, Margaret watched the sunlight grace her daughter's ash hair. ''Yes. Perhaps someday, they can attend Chesterfield again. It has been many years since they were here last. I imagine Isabelle would like to sing and play a musical tone to the sunlight before us, while Felicity describes its sight in majestic literary words. My nieces are talented, like you. You have always been gifted with encouragement.'' 

''Thank you, Mother.''

Suddenly, Peter Devonsham, Ada's husband, approached her. ''Ada, how nice it is that your mother could bring you to this final party before I head off to war. I know that you will miss me.''

Aggravated, Margaret recognized the manipulation of her son-in-law toward her daughter. Nevertheless, before she could respond, someone asked a question. 

''What is the name of that old book about a knight charging at windmills?'' one of the ladies dumbly asked. 

One of the gentlemen smiled, pretending to know. ''I believe it was Pamela.'' 

''Hardly so,'' interjerted one voice.

All turned. Those in the room realized Virgil Price, a man known for his isolationism, had spoken. He stood out in his dark cloak, though all having seen him many times, still felt that they knew nothing of his person. 

''It is Don Quixote,'' he explained. ''The occurrence is in chapter eight.'' 

Others were appalled by Mr. Price's answer. He followed his former speech by quoting the work in Spanish. Everyone else was intimidated by his knowledge and bored that he was not moved by their flattery as they were to each other.  

Angered by Virgil's knowledge, Peter was discontent that Mr. Price was given any credit that was not his own. 

Pausing, Ada considered his knowledge of Don Quixote. He could quote lines from the work as if he carefully studied this piece. How did he know it so well? What time had advantaged him to know such a work as he worked on a local farm field? 

If there was one person at this occasion that Ada remained curious of, it was Virgil Price. The man, thin, dark-headed, and always dressed in black, kept to himself, even as all else thought of frivolous matters, which he ignored. Watching him from behind a row of people before her, she could not help but muse on what raced through his many thoughts. He didn't appear as a farmer, but he was more aware of the world than any farmer she had ever known. He was undoubtedly more knowledgeable than a plowman. She felt that he had long posed himself as a farmer, even as others speculated more to his personhood. 

Mrs. Devonsham, however, recognized that he was no plowman. Mr. Price was not arrogant ---leaving his knowledge of many subjects unknown to those around him. Surprised that others did not value him, she thought of her mother, knowing she had long admired him. 

She sensed her husband deflecting from herself. Peter crossed from his wife while directing his smile at every young woman passing by him. Ignoring his gestures, Ada knew her husband's heart was not with her. 

Turning to Virgil, she said, ''Mr. Price.''

Nodding toward her, Virgil Price headed her way. 

''Mr. Price,'' she said again, curious of his person. ''I don't normally see you at these social occasions.'' 

''Well, I decided to come today.''

''You are always so mysterious. Why? I feel there is more about you than many of us in Yorkshire know. Please feel peaceful when you are with us.''

''Mrs. Devonsham, like your mother, you are more forward in your friendly dialogue than most.''

''My apologies, I don't mean to be forward.''

''No, I mean that in the best of ways. Where is your husband?''

Feeling bashful and embarrassed, Ada regretted that her husband flirted with other ladies in the hall.

Virgil's eyes turned more sympathetic to the young woman. ''You are a lovely child, Ada. You have always remained a child. Did your mother ever tell you that I witnessed your baptism?''

''No, she did not.''

''Indeed, I have always admired your heart.''

''I heard, Mr. Price, that you did not always live in Yorkshire---that you were once a scholar.'' 

The question made him more defensive, though not personally against her. ''Who told you this?'' 

''Mr. Geoffrey Gibs. I heard him say this as he spoke to you. Recently, I met him for the first time. He is an acquaintance of my husband. I know that my late father was a friend of his, though my mother never seemed to respect him.''

Reserved, he was slow to speak. Stratning his figure, he turned to her and said, ''That was long ago. I was a scholar once, yes. That has been many years. However, it is past best forgotten. I left that profession long ago to farm in these lands. As to Mr. Gibs, be leery of him. He is hardly so trustworthy.''  

Ada was perplexed by his explanation. ''You quit your work as a scholar to become a farmer?''

Virgil merely smiled. She could tell he did not want to discuss the situation with her anymore. 

''I hope your punch is pleasing, excuse me,'' Virgil returned. 

Ada watched as Mr. Price left her company. Turning to her, her husband reflected disdain toward the man. ''No one likes Virgil,'' he spoke. ''He's rightly an outcast. He stays to himself and reads old books on his farm that no one cares about.''

''But what of his past?'' Ada asked. ''I feel there is more to him than I am aware?''

''Nobody cares who he is or where he is from.''

Ada sensed great jealousy in her husband's speech toward the man. 

''Virgil Price will be forgotten by history. He does not serve the world, win wars, or triumph on the battlefield as England's forces.''

She could not understand why he hated him to this depth. 

Peter turned to her and addressed her by name. ''Ada, think of England's officers. Not of him.'' 

''Why do you hate him? What harm has he ever done to you? I do not know Mr. Price, but in him, I sense a mysterious soul who feels devoid of the happiness that I share. Peter, he bears more than we know. Who knows what his past concerns or what his present lacks.''

''You are more happy than most, Ada,'' Peter returned, despising that her heart was not as angry as his own. ''The world is full of many people less gullible than yourself---and undoubtedly more aware of the trials that others face.''

Peter jerked from his wife before she could respond. Her eyes reflected tears rushing down her red cheeks. Seeing her, Virgil detected that this was not the first day of abuse that she had experienced from her husband. Hiding her face in her closed hands, Ada felt like weeping. She could not understand the discontent heart of her husband or why he hated Mr. Price so much. 

Mrs. Devonsham wished for the occasion to be over. It was embarrassing for her to see her husband's disinterest in her happiness as he despised all whom she held dear. 

Mr. Devonsham, however, smiled. He was happy to see Virgil leaving. He detested the man's presence. Approaching his wife, the officer spoke, ''Well, at least he's gone. You should watch your company with others. Bad company does corrupt good morals, you know?'' 

Ada watched. Surprised, she had always wondered what mysterious friendship was at the depth of Mr. Price and her Mother. Wondering still, she thought of the man known to others as merely a local farmer--- a man she expected to be greater than many knew. Reserved to ask, she wished she could ask her mother about his person but was never one to ask others what she felt may cause them hurt. 

Mrs. Weathers felt her daughter's thoughts wondering. Facing her, she only slightly smiled without saying anything more. Her smile died as she realized that her daughter had wept due to Peter's cruel jealousy. 

Margaret's blue eyes turned more wild while facing Mr. Price as he began to exit. She recalled much that many did not know---far more than Ada was aware. 

Virgil sensed Margaret's quick gaze upon him before returning to conversations with others nearby. Pausing with a deep breath, his mind considered Margaret, the pernicious prince and a great war many here knew nothing about. Feeling the starlight, Virgil thought of a distant past, one many did not know, of an era quite different from the one others were enjoying. He saw himself young again; he remembered a dark youth and recalled the sounds of gunfire in a place very different from the Yorkshire county. Confounded by his thoughts of the past, he tried only to think of the starlight, though the cold moon never rested over his wounded soul.