The Dowry of Miss Lydia Clark (62 page)

But the voice had not advised her of how to begin, and they were all staring at her. When several seconds of silence had lapsed, the vicar and his wife exchanged glances, then Vicar Phelps turned to her again.

“Mr. Clay has related a disturbing incident to us, Mrs. Somerville.”

“Yes,” Noelle replied in a thin voice.

“You have the opportunity now to give your side of the story.”

She shook her head. “Mr. Clay’s account was accurate.”

With another glance at his wife, the vicar said, “But you haven’t heard his account.”

“I went to his door and…flirted with him.” She could no longer look at the actor, or at any of the faces of the three, so she stared down at her clutched hands.

“And that’s all you have to say?”

“No.” Taking in a deep breath, she said, “There is more.”

Again, silence while they waited. Finally Vicar Phelps asked gently, “What is it, Mrs. Somerville?”

She had thought herself incapable of producing more tears, but one trickled down her cheek to dangle coldly on her jaw until she swiped at it with the back of her hand. Yet she felt an inexplicable relief at putting an end to the lie that had been her life. It was as if she had held an object tightly in her fist for years and was finally allowed to release it. “I’m not
Mrs
. Somerville. I was never married.”

When Mrs. Somerville—
Miss
Somerville—stopped speaking, Julia felt as drained as the young woman looked.

“Can God ever forgive me?” Miss Somerville asked, wiping red and swollen eyes with Julia’s handkerchief.

Andrew nodded. Ambrose had gallantly excused himself as soon as the confession touched upon things not related to her early-morning knock upon his door. “Of course He can. Have you asked?”

“Last night,” she told them in a voice becoming increasingly hoarse. “A hundred times.”

A soft knock came at the door, and Dora brought tea. “Mr. Clay said you might be needin’ this now,” she said apologetically.

Thank God for your thoughtfulness, Ambrose
. Clearing a space on Andrew’s desk, Julia thanked Dora and poured. It was not the time for social pleasantries, so she added sugar and milk to all three cups without asking for preferences. Miss Somerville gave her a grateful nod, held hers between both hands, and gulped half before pausing for breath.

Thank God for milk too
, Julia thought, or the young woman would have scorched herself.

“You said you’ve asked forgiveness,” Andrew reminded Miss Somerville after drinking from his own cup. “Surely with your background, you’ve learned that God forgives when we truly repent.”

“Of course,” she said, closing her eyes to breathe in a ragged breath. She looked at him again with glistening eyes. “Then, why don’t I
feel
clean?”

Julia’s husband became thoughtfully quiet for several seconds, and then understanding came into his expression. “Our feelings aren’t always true barometers of God’s workings, Miss Somerville. But I wonder if there’s some unforgiveness on your part that’s hindering your fellowship with God?”

“Unforgiveness?” She held up a palm and let it drop again, as if overwhelmed. “Of course I have unforgiveness, Vicar. Lord Paxton and his solicitor…Meara Desmond. Look what they’ve done to me.”

With a sigh Andrew wondered why anyone under the age of twenty-five was even allowed out-of-doors. But he had much compassion for the young woman in his study.
There, but for the grace of God, sits one of my daughters
. “The people you named, Miss Somerville…I’ll grant they’ve treated you wrongly. But they were also the instruments in your finally realizing what you were becoming. And the hatred you’re carrying is like a live coal in your heart—far more damaging to yourself than to them.”

She was staring back at him, but Andrew couldn’t read in her expression whether or not she understood and accepted this. For the sake of clarity he added, “I’m not suggesting that they
deserve
forgiveness, Miss Somerville. And I would strongly advise against contacting them.”

“I don’t know…” she finally said in a faint voice.

“Then think about it. And bear in mind that forgiveness is almost a selfish act because of its immense benefits to the one who forgives.” He was about to advise that she meet with Julia and him often until her fellowship with God was restored but realized that he could not. Whether Miss Somerville was allowed to stay at the
Larkspur
was in Julia’s hands.

He looked at his wife and nodded.

Why did this have to happen?
Julia thought. And the day had started out so nicely. The rain had prevented Andrew from making calls and the children from scattering, so they had enjoyed some family time. How could she have guessed that she would soon be evicting one of her lodgers?

“Why did you choose Mr. Clay, Miss Somerville?” she had to ask. “Are you in love with him?”

“Love?” The young woman looked startled. “Why, no. But Lord Paxton didn’t want me anymore.”

What was it, Julia wondered, that made young women—herself included, at that age—feel incomplete without a man’s attentions? She continued in a gentle tone, “We applaud the courage you’ve shown in coming here, and that you were forthright with us. You didn’t have to tell us about your past, and we would never have known.”

“Oh, but I did have to, Mrs. Phelps! If you only knew how good it feels to own up to everything.”

Julia nodded understanding. While her transgressions had never reached the magnitude of Miss Somerville’s stunning confession, sin was sin, and she had experienced the healing of the soul that came from drinking from the cup of mercy. “But I’m afraid it’s going to be impossible for you to continue to live at the
Larkspur
.”

Miss Somerville went white as a ghost. “But I have nowhere else to go.”

“What about your family?” The family Julia and Andrew now knew lived in London, and not in the place of Miss Somerville’s own making, Truesdale.

“They disowned me when I first…took up with Lord Paxton.” She blew into the handkerchief, gave them apologetic looks, and continued. “After three years, I doubt they would even speak to me.”

“Even if you told them about your repentance, just as you’ve told us?”

“It wouldn’t make a difference.” Again the handkerchief went to her nose. “I embarrassed the family. My returning would only add to that embarrassment.”

What should we do?
was the message Julia sent Andrew with her eyes.

The message in his eyes clearly said,
I don’t know
.

She made a slight motion of the head toward the door, and he nodded. Julia rose to her feet and picked up the teapot from the tray on Andrew’s desk. “Miss Somerville,” she said, handing the young woman her refilled cup. “Vicar Phelps and I will need to speak privately. Will you excuse us?”

“Should I wait outside?” Miss Somerville asked, making a move to rise.

Julia smiled and shook her head. “Just sit there and enjoy your tea. We shan’t be long.” When the door had closed behind them, they took a few steps down the corridor, and she whispered to Andrew, “What will we do with her?”

“I don’t know.” The brow over his hazel eyes furrowed. “But you’re not thinking of inviting her here, are you?”

The thought actually had occurred to her, but in the fraction of a second after he asked the question, she realized why that couldn’t happen. The vicarage was their sanctuary, a place where they could retreat from the responsibilities of the parish. Allowing a troubled young women to stay for a few days would not put a strain upon family harmony, but Miss Somerville required more long-range plans. “No, not here,” Julia agreed. “What about moving her to the
Bow and Fiddle?
”

“I don’t know about that, Julia. Moving in with us would cause some minor speculation around the village, but people would likely give her the benefit of the doubt. But the
Bow and Fiddle?
” He winced. “The rumors would spread as rapidly as head colds in January.”

“Well, we can’t do that to her.”

“What if she stayed at the
Larkspur
long enough to write to her family and see how they reply?” Andrew asked. “They may miss her more than she thinks, and it’s wrong not to give them the opportunity to decide if they wish to take her back. We could warn her to keep her distance from Ambrose.”

“I still don’t know if that’s wise, Andrew. I’ll grant you she should contact her family, but why can’t she wire them and have it done with in a couple of days or so?”

“Because there is too much she’ll need to tell them for a wire. And they’ll need some time to think about it before replying—
if
they reply.”

With a sigh, Julia looked down the corridor at the closed door to the study. “I wish Ambrose had stayed.”

“I have a feeling he has,” her husband said. They walked to the parlor. Mr. Clay sat on the sofa, listening to Aleda read aloud a story she had written, while Laurel and Grace sat on the carpet cutting out paper doll clothing. Philip looked up from the fishing lure he was fashioning from feathers and colored pieces of yarn to ask, “Is Mrs. Somerville all right?”

“She will be,” Julia replied as Andrew beckoned to Ambrose.
At least I hope so
. The actor accompanied them out into the corridor, near the bottom of the staircase.

“I had an inkling that you might need to speak with me again,” Ambrose told them, as if he felt a need to explain his presence.

Julia and Andrew assured him that they were grateful. “We don’t know what to do with her,” Julia admitted. “I was all set to put her out, but she has nowhere to go. If we allow her to stay at the
Larkspur
—under several conditions—how do you think Fiona will feel about it?”

“And how do
you
feel about it?” Andrew added.

The actor blew out his cheeks. “You know how forgiving Fiona is. And I admire that she chose to come clean with you about her past. I’ve no doubt she would give my door a wide berth.”

“And that would be the major condition,” Julia told him.