Page 110 of A Winter By the Sea
They alighted and looked around for a time. With the shelter from hills on the east and west, the temperature in the Otter Valley was remarkably mild, and the surrounding hills and fields were pleasant to look upon, even in winter.
They walked up a steep lane to St. Michael’s. The church was built on a rise and possessed a tall bell tower. The ragged building appeared to have been partly pulled down, suggesting it had fallen into a sad state of neglect but had recently undergone repairs. Now it seemed to be patched together in irregular style.
The interior was more pleasing, with many Gothic arches, stone pillars, and a wide central aisle leading to a fine altar.
Emily paused to write descriptions in her notebook.
Georgie asked, “What are you writing? Your novel?”
Emily hesitated, then shook her head. “Notes for a ... future book.”
They returned to the carriage and continued on, crossing a scenic stone bridge over the River Otter.
Not far outside of Otterton, they came to a small sign markedBudleigh.
“Are we not going there?” Mr. Thomson asked.
“I had not planned to, but we certainly can, if you like. Do you know of it?”
“I read that Sir Walter Raleigh was born in a farmhouse near here.”
“Really? You are a fount of knowledge.”
He shrugged. “I read a lot of history.”
Surprised and impressed, Emily made another entry in her notebook. “And I, for one, am benefiting from it.”
After again knocking to draw the groom’s attention, they made a detour to see the house near East Budleigh, which had long since changed hands with another farm family. Then they stopped at the All Saints churchyard, where Sir Walter Raleigh’s parents were buried. Together they explored the fourteenth-century church until they found the Raleigh coat of arms on one of the pew ends.
Georgiana, meanwhile, was more interested in befriending a village cat that had followed them into the churchyard.
A short while later, they climbed back into the carriage and moved on. They traveled north along a narrow lane bordered by stone walls and bristling hedgerows.
“Now where?” he asked.
“Bicton. There’s a church there I want to see.”
They approached St. Mary’s, a modest cruciform church surrounded by great groups of tall, mature trees. The stone tower and walls were grey with age but still in good repair. There was something reverent and pleasing about the church, standing by itself in that lonely place, rising majestically from the surrounding trees and winter gloom.
For a short time, they walked around the quiet, shadow-laden churchyard filled with ancient headstones, Celtic crosses, and other monuments.
Thomas Gray’s famous lines began whispering through Emily’s mind, and she recited a few aloud.
“Lo, how the sacred calm that breathes around,
Bids every fierce tumultuous passion cease;
In still small accents, whispering from the ground,
A grateful earnest of eternal peace.”
James nodded with approval and identified the poem. “‘An Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard.’ Quite apropos.”
She looked at him in astonishment, pleasure warming her. “You, Mr. Thomson, are a wonder.”
Emily was thoroughly enjoying herself and could have continued for hours. Georgiana, however, had clearly grown bored. Cold grey churches were not her idea of an adventure. It was time to head back.
“May I ride on the box?” Georgie asked plaintively. “Perhaps try my hand at taking the ribbons?”
