Jewel of Gresham Green (28 page)

Chapter 24

In her vicarage bedchamber late Wednesday morning, Aleda was halfway through another episode of Captain Jacob’s adventures when Wanetta knocked and stuck her head around the door.

“There is a gentleman downstairs to see you, Miss Hollis.”

“Me? Who is it?”

The maid gave her an enigmatic smile. “I’m not allowed to say.”

Heart swelling with happiness, Aleda swung her chair around to face her. “Only Gabriel would try a stunt like that.”

Wanetta blew out her cheeks. “Now, I didn’t say . . .”

“Don’t worry,” Aleda laughed. “I’ll pretend to be surprised.”

It was as she fished her leather slippers from beneath her desk that she thought to wonder why Gabriel would pop out of the blue with no advance notice. He disliked writing letters, with so much energy going into his books, but even so, he’d always managed to send at least a telegram before one of his rare visits.

She could interpret this one of two ways. He had finished her novel, loved it, and could not wait to tell her. Or he was halfway finished, hated it, and must get the unwelcome chore of informing her over with immediately, as one pulls a splinter.

Worry accompanied her down the staircase. Perhaps Gabriel wasn’t even the visitor after all, she tried to tell herself. Three feet before the parlor doorway, she stopped to listen.

“I’m glad to see how well you’re recovering, Vicar.”

Gabriel’s voice. She said a quick prayer and stepped through the doorway. To enhance her air of unawareness, she looked immediately over to her stepfather’s chair—pushed closer to the sofa to make room for his bed.

“Father, I wonder if I may bring you any—”

It was then that she allowed herself to glance at the sofa, where Mother and Gabriel sat, beaming.

She put a hand to her heart. “Why, Gabriel!”

He got to his feet. Smiling, she crossed the carpet to embrace him. “What a wonderful surprise!”

But when she stepped backwards, he studied her face and rolled his eyes. “You figured me out.”

Aleda forced a laugh. “Guilty. How did you know I was staying here?”

A silly question, under ordinary circumstances, for he could very well have come to visit Philip. But these were not ordinary circumstances. Surely this had to do with her novel.

“Mrs. Pool informed me, when I dropped my satchel off at the Bow and Fiddle.”

“You’re most welcome to stay here, Gabriel,” Mother said.

Gabriel gave her a tender smile. “Thank you, but I’m quite comfortable there.”

Anxiety gnawed at Aleda’s stomach. But the etiquette taught to her from childhood was so ingrained that she could not ask even such a good friend why he was there. And even if she could, moments later Philip arrived, and immediately engaged Gabriel in the male pounding-on-the-back and bantering ritual.

“London’s not the same without me?” Philip said.

“Oh, have you been away?” Gabriel replied.

And then Dora announced lunch, and they were trooping down the corridor to the dining room.

Mercifully, Gabriel spared her suffering, once plates of roast beef and vegetables were filled from the sideboard and Father had prayed.

“I hope you’ll forgive my springing myself upon you without an invitation. . . .”

“You never need one,” Mother said.

“Thank you, Mrs. Phelps.” He sent her another tender smile.

“Never,” Aleda echoed, in the hopes he would turn his attention to her again and give her
any
scrap of information about her novel.

As it turned out, that was what was in his mind, for he winked at her and said, “As to why I’m here, I’ve had only two hours’ sleep. On the train.”

While Aleda held her breath, Philip said, half seriously, “Are you in need of a doctor, Gabriel?”

Gabriel laughed, and continued smiling at Aleda. “I received the copy of your
Wharram Percy
from the typist yesterday morning. I
literally
could not put it down. And I couldn’t wait to tell you in person.”

“Are you serious, Gabriel?” Aleda said in the hush that followed.

“Most serious. I’d like your permission to submit it to my editors at Macmillan’s.”

From childhood, any public display of tears was embarrassing to Aleda. But she found herself weeping into her hands, and happily so, as parents and brother took turns cradling her shoulders and congratulating her.

“There is no guarantee they will ask to contract it,” Gabriel said softly, to bring everyone back down to earth.

Aleda smiled at him through her tears. While that mattered, it didn’t matter so much as the fact that an expert and honest pair of eyes had traveled the length of her story and deemed it worthy.

Somehow they plowed through the rest of lunch, if only not to hurt Dora. Then Gabriel expressed need for a nap and insisted upon taking it at the Bow and Fiddle. Philip offered to accompany him on his return to Doctor Rhodes’.

For her part, Aleda went upstairs and fell to her knees. The only prayer she could utter was
Thank you, thank you, thank
you. . . .
Over and over. But it rose from such a deep part of her, so connected her to God, that she knew He forgave her lack of originality.

“You have to return tomorrow?” Aleda asked in the vicarage garden three hours later, when Gabriel had returned. She had hoped for at least several long conversations in which he would point out exactly which parts of her novel he had most enjoyed.

“First thing in the morning. Alas, I’ve got to get back to my own story before it grows cold.”

“I understand,” she sighed. “And I do appreciate your devoting so much time to mine.”

“It was my pleasure.” He began fumbling with his cuff link. “Philip said Mrs. Libby now works for him and Loretta.”

“I’m glad she got away from the manor house,” Aleda said. “True to form, Mr. Gibbs was a horse’s—”

“When will you tell her?”

“Why? If anyone knows it, she certainly does.”

“Not about Mr. Gibbs.” He shook his head. “About your novel. After all, she did influence your decision to have me read it.”

His eyes shifted toward the pear tree. Aleda smiled to herself. He may be creative, but he should never try for the stage. So, the little spark she had sensed around the table in June had not been extinguished.

Adore him as she may, grateful as she was, she could not resist throwing a little torment his way.

“Hmm. I’d forgotten.” Aleda nodded. “I’m sure I’ll see her Sunday.”

His voice fell flat. “Sunday.”

“Or, we could do that now. If you’re not fatigued.”

“I’m not fatigued.”

Arm-in-arm, they strolled down Vicarage Lane.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” he asked.

“Could you have resisted, if the situation were reversed?”

“No.” He chuckled. “We’re woefully immature, aren’t we?”

“That’s why we need mature people in our lives.”

Elizabeth waved from her parlor window, then came out through the gate as they passed. She embraced Gabriel, and upon hearing Aleda’s news, embraced her, as well.

“We’re on our way to the cottage,” Aleda told her.

“Will you invite Mrs. Libby to bring Becky over? The children will be waking from their naps any minute, and she’s such a calming influence on them.”

“Certainly,” Aleda agreed. And then a better idea came to her. She could only hope Loretta had not chosen that day to repent of her antisocial ways.

And it was Loretta whom Aleda spotted first, seated in a wicker chair. Becky, arranging blocks on a bit of bare earth, hopped up from her knees and hurried over.

“Miss Hollis! Mr. Patterson!”

“Hallo, Miss Becky!” Gabriel said, leaning to clasp her little hand.

“I didn’t know you were coming here today,” she piped.

“Well, now you do.” He cocked a brow at her. “Is that all right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good day, Mr. Patterson,” Loretta said, tucking a book under her arm as she rose.

“Good day, Mrs. Hollis.”

Aleda held her breath.

Not even asking why Gabriel was in Gresham, Loretta offered him a limp hand and nodded at Aleda. “If you’ll forgive me, I was just about to take my book indoors. My fair skin burns so easily.”

And even more so if you were in sunlight,
Aleda thought dryly, surveying the shade covering almost every square inch of her garden.

She could feel waves of gratitude coming from Gabriel when she said, “Would you mind asking Jewel if she’d like to come out and visit with us for a little while?”

If Loretta was curious, it was not evident in her unfaltering steps toward the door. “I’ll send her out.”

It had all happened so swiftly. One minute, Jewel was ironing. The next, she was out in the garden, Mr. Patterson taking her hand, Miss Hollis delivering her good news.

“It was you who convinced me to allow him read it,” she said.

“You succeeded where others failed,” Mr. Patterson said, beaming.

“It’s the Brummie in me, sir,” Jewel quipped. “We’re a pushy lot.”

That caused him to laugh until he wiped tears, and Becky, face pinched with worry, to offer him a peppermint.

“He’s fine, Becky,” Miss Hollis said, and asked Jewel if she could deliver Becky to Mrs. Raleigh’s for her.

“You don’t have to do that,” Jewel protested.

“My insides are bouncing with joy. I can’t sit still. Just keep Gabriel company until I return.”

And so it was that the two occupied wicker chairs in the cool shade of the garden, three feet apart and facing each other. Mr. Patterson looked as stunned as Jewel felt, and how could she blame him, with Miss Hollis running off like that.

“Good-bye, Mr. Patterson!” Becky chirped just before they disappeared through the trees.

“Good-bye, Becky!” he called back. He smiled at Jewel, seeming to relax somewhat. “Elizabeth says your daughter calms her twins.”

“That’s very kind of her to say.”

“Perhaps she’ll calm Aleda on the way over.”

That made Jewel smile. “It was good of you to read her book.”

“I was happy to do it for her. Do you read much, Mrs. Libby?”

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Patterson.”

He raised brows at her. “But why be afraid to say so?”

“Well, because you . . .”

“Because I’m a writer. If I were a turnip farmer, I shouldn’t expect everyone to be turnip enthusiasts.”

“It’s not that I dislike reading,” she said. “Not at all. But there just was never time when I was younger, and now that I have the time, it seems I can’t be content unless my hands are busy. But I do enjoy Miss Hollis’s newspaper stories. And I’m reading a book to Becky, that Mrs. Hollis checked out from the lending library.”

“Will wonders never cease?” he mumbled with a look toward the house.

“Sir?”

He blinked at her, as if just realizing he had spoken aloud. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t be so judgmental. But tell me . . . has Becky no books of her own?”

“Well . . . no, sir. But Mrs. Hollis said there are several in the library.”

“That’s well and good, but I can’t help but believe a child should own at least a few, to read over and over through the years. My books were my best friends.”

“I’ve never thought of that,” Jewel admitted. She remembered the squire’s well-worn copy of
Around the World in Eighty
Days
. Perhaps no age was too young to take comfort from a collection of books that never had to be returned. She had a decent little nest egg now. When Miss Hollis returned, she would ask where to go about buying at least a couple.

“I don’t presume to give you parenting advice,” he added quickly.

“But I’m glad for the advice.”

“You’ve done a marvelous job with your daughter.”

“Thank you,” Jewel said. “I hope so.”

Silence eased into the space between them, but not an uncomfortable one. At length, Jewel remembered her manners. “Would you care for some tea?”

“No thank you. But please . . . have some yourself if . . .”

She smiled and shook her head.

He smiled back. “My cook, Mrs. Lane, has a granddaughter just a bit older than Becky. Patricia’s her name. According to Mrs. Lane, she asks to be read to almost constantly. I could ask her what books she likes best.”

“Why, that would be very kind of you.”

She wondered when Miss Hollis would return. As unfailingly courteous as he was, surely Mr. Patterson was beginning to wonder himself. She cast about in her mind for something to say next, and came across a question she was genuinely interested in hearing answered.

“Have you always wanted to write?”

“Always,” he replied. “A couple of my stories were published when I was a boy.”

“Your parents must be very proud.”

“They would be prouder if I were a doctor.”

“That can’t be so.”

“I’m afraid it is. But not just any doctor, mind you.”

“A surgeon?” Jewel asked.

“A
thin
surgeon.”

Jewel shook her head. “I hope you’re jesting.”

“I wish I were. But forgive me; here I sit boring you with the Patterson drama. Tell me . . . what of your family?”

But she was not to be detoured so easily. Having spent half her life without parents, she imagined most felt about their children the way she felt about Becky. How could any mother or father be anything but proud of this kind and gentle and humorous man?

“If I may be so bold as to ask . . .”

“You may ask me anything,” he said, and peered at her so intently that she had to look down at her hands.

“Have you told them how much this hurts you, Mr. Patterson?” “It wouldn’t make a difference, and would only cause hard feelings.”

“But how can you know for certain?”

“Because overly critical people have thin skins.” He smiled and wagged a finger at her. “You mustn’t pity me, Mrs. Libby. How many people are allowed exactly what they wish to do? And now, I wish to hear about you. Are your parents still living?” “My mother passed on when I was twelve. I’ve no idea where my father is.”

“Was he lost at sea?”

“A sea of gin.”

She could not believe she was sharing so much information. But Mr. Patterson’s interest was a magnet.

“What a pity,” he said, “to waste the one life you have down here.”