The Widow of Larkspur Inn (65 page)

And sadly, years of assuming the worst of her servants and even her peers had worked its way into her facial features—though only in her late thirties, she bore very little resemblance to the beautiful young woman in the portrait hanging in the sitting room. The sea green eyes in the portrait, luminescent even captured with oils, now wore a constant ferretlike expression, and anxiety lines were etched into her brow and at the corners of her mouth. Her constant negativity even seemed to have affected her mahogany-colored hair. It no longer had any shine, though it was brushed one hundred strokes every morning and evening by a maid.

But I have to work somewhere,
Fiona reminded herself. She had been only half truthful in describing her new situation to Mrs. Hollis, lest she cause her friend and former employer and friend to worry. Mr. Leighton was indeed a Member of Parliament. What she did not say was that he was hardly ever home, preferring to spend most of his nonparliamentary hours at his club.

“Ah, but just look at this invoice!” Mrs. Leighton commanded, holding the paper out for Fiona to take. “I was charged threepence extra for each pound. Cook assumes I never look at the mail, so she feels the liberty to make arrangements with the butcher to cheat me!”

And that’s why you’ve had four cooks in the past three years,
Fiona thought, pressing her lips together. She studied the invoice for a second and looked back up at her mistress.

“Brisket has gone up threepence a pound, missus,” she said in a calm voice.

The ferret eyes narrowed a bit. “It has?”

“I’ll accompany you to Mr. Frith’s shop if you’d care to see for yourself.”

“Of course you will, after you give him warning….”

“We can go right away, ma’am.”

That took some more wind from the woman’s sails. The ferret eyes shifted from the paper in Fiona’s hand to her face and back again. “Well, I was certain …”

“Mrs. Bryant is a good Christian woman, ma’am,” Fiona gently insisted. “She’s not stealing from you and the mister.”

Mrs. Leighton stared back at her, the frown deepening as if she were almost disappointed her suspicion had been proven wrong. “Well then,” she sniffed, “I want you to inform her that the salmon was overcooked last night. Overcooked and underseasoned! Food is too expensive to be ruined by unimaginative cooking!”

With that, she turned on her heel and left the room. Fiona sighed, and before returning to her work, she touched the edge of the envelope in her pocket. She would not have time to read it again until this evening, but it would be a comfort all day to know it was there. A reminder, it was, that there was still a place where people cared about one another and about her. A place where she had lived for less than a year but would always consider home.

“ … and thank you for providing for us so abundantly over this past year,” Julia prayed at the girls’ bedside. She didn’t know if the children had realized the significance of the date, February eighth, in the midst of the activities of school and scissoring and pasting valentines. And it hadn’t seemed appropriate to wave them out of the door this morning with, “Have a wonderful day at school, and by the way, your father died on this day last year.”

But she had carried around the determination all day to give them an opportunity to unburden their hearts if they felt the need to do so. And they did seem to have that need, for after the girls’ prayers were finished and Julia had gently reminded them of the anniversary of their father’s passing, Grace asked, “Do you think Father would have liked living here if he hadn’t died?”

“I’m sure he would have loved it,” Julia answered with a squeeze of her little hand.

“But we wouldn’t have had to move here if Father hadn’t died,” Aleda said.

“Are you still sorry we left London?”

“Oh, no. I’m just saying that we wouldn’t have run out of money.”

That latter part wasn’t true, but Julia let it be and leaned over to plant kisses on both foreheads.

Philip’s question took Julia a little longer to answer.

“Is it a sin that I’m happier the way things are now?”

His blue eyes had a sheen in the lamplight, and Julia could tell he had struggled with this for some time. Wishing for some Solomon-like wisdom, she said, “Being happy isn’t a sin, Philip. I don’t think you’re saying that you’re glad your father died.”

“No, of course not,” he hastened to assure her, then chewed pensively on his lip. “But when Father was alive, I was hurt so many times. Like when he missed my birthday. And when you had to send for another doctor when Aleda and I had the ague. But now, instead of wondering why he doesn’t spend more time at home, I can imagine him watching us from heaven. So you see? He’s with us more now than he ever was.”

So this is the consolation he’s worked up for himself,
Julia thought, concealing with a smile the effect his poignant words had upon her.
Now there is a valid reason for his father being absent, one that a boy can understand. And much easier to accept than the idea that his father had some control over his comings and goings and chose not to be with his son.

She recalled the days of their courtship. That Dr. Hollis was handsome, educated, courteous, and charming were the qualities that attracted her to him. Never once, as a seventeen-year-old girl, had she wondered if he would be a nurturing father to the children they would eventually have together. And even if the question had somehow presented itself to her mind, just how long would she have pondered it? Weren’t all handsome, charming men also kind to children … especially their own?

Our decisions are like stones thrown into a pool,
she thought while tucking the covers over her son’s shoulders. An impetuous decision, made by an infatuated young girl with no notion of the seriousness of pledging her life away, was still sending out ripples. She could no longer blame her husband for the troubled waters they had had to navigate, she now realized, when it was she who had tossed in the stone.

Julia waited almost two weeks before bringing her regular clothing out of her trunk to be aired and pressed. Somehow, it didn’t seem proper to put away her black gowns on the exact date of Philip’s death, as if she had been just waiting for the opportunity to forget about their marriage.

When the day came, she chose a dove gray cashmere with tiny tucks along the bodice and a row of pearl buttons. It was certainly not her most striking gown, but she knew she would feel conspicuous enough for several days. Better to begin with the more subdued colors.

“Oh, isn’t it beautiful!” Georgette exclaimed that morning while flouncing out the bustle from behind.

“Thank you, Georgette.” Julia sent a smile over her shoulder and brushed an auburn hair from one of the long gathered sleeves. Actually, the gown was almost two years old and out of style by her former standards. Had she still lived in London, she would have probably passed it down to some charity drive by now.

But that doesn’t matter here.
Not when half the women in Gresham came to church wearing gowns of the wide crinolined style of the fifties and even earlier. They had children to raise and gardens to tend, even labored in the cheese factory, and little spare money for such frivolities as keeping pace with the dictates of
Godey’s Lady’s Book
.

It seemed the whole household knew of the change in dress she would be making today. A soft knock sounded at the door to Julia’s room, and Mrs. Beemish and Sarah let themselves in. “Lovely!” exclaimed Mrs. Beemish.

“Lovely,” Sarah echoed.

Aleda and Grace voiced their similar opinions when she went in their room to wake them, which was a relief, because she had worried they would feel she was betraying their father’s memory. Only Grace held back briefly from her embrace, but it was as if she needed a moment to assure herself that her mother was still the same as before.

Philip didn’t even notice until he’d wiped the sleep from his eyes. “Oh, finally,” was his comment. “I was so tired of seeing you in black. It was like having a crow for a mother.”

“A crow, Philip?”

“Without feathers and beak,” he said with a grin.

Three weeks later, Mr. Clay knocked and stuck his head through the doorway of Julia’s office after lunch. “Have you a minute, Mrs. Hollis?”

“Of course, Mr. Clay,” Julia smiled, looking up from the letter she was drafting. “Would you care to have a seat?”

He stepped into the office but did not take the chair. “I just wanted to tell you that Mrs. Kingston and I looked in on the Worthy sisters this morning. Mrs. Herrick had asked if we would mind dropping off a loaf of apple bread before our walk. The sisters ask that you pop over sometime today.”

“Did they say why?” Julia asked, her pen poised in midair.

“To give you a gift. When you stopped wearing black, they decided to make you some sort of lace decoration to wear. A ruffle or something. I don’t know the names of all the latest women’s frills. By the way, you look very nice in purple.”

Julia had to laugh. “It’s lavender, Mr. Clay. And sometimes it’s impossible to keep up with your train of conversation.”

He did not take offense; in fact, his gray eyes sparkled under their thick fringe of lashes. “Sad but true, Mrs. Hollis. Mrs. Dearing says it’s as if when the good moods take hold of me, I feel compelled to talk twice as much to compensate for the times I spend staring out of the window during the bad.”

“I’m happy that you’re feeling well. And it was kind of the Worthy sisters to make something for me. I’ll pay them a call …” She started to say, “When I’ve finished this letter,” but thought better of it. In Mr. Clay’s garrulous mood, he could possibly ask if she was writing to Fiona, which she was, in reply to the letter she’d received from the former housekeeper yesterday.

“ … in a little while,” she told him instead. “Thank you for telling me.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll leave you to your work.” His hand had barely touched the doorknob when he turned back to face her again. “Mrs. Hollis …”

“Yes, Mr. Clay?”

“Why don’t you take a walk with me after you visit the sisters?”

“But you’ve already walked with Mrs. Kingston today.”

“I don’t mean a
walk
walk. I’ve promised to accompany the vicar on a call, and when I joined them for supper last Tuesday Miss Phelps mentioned how much she admires you. Why don’t you keep her company while we’re away?”

Puzzled, Julia sat back in her chair. “You’re accompanying the vicar?”