The Widow of Larkspur Inn (20 page)

Fiona avoided Julia’s eyes as she set a butter knife back in the box. “I suppose the sisters told you about Luke.”

“They did.” Julia bit her lip. “I should never have told him you were back here packing the hamper.”

Fiona looked up at her. A little smile had replaced the tightness in her lips, but it was not a happy one. “It’s not your fault, missus. But there is something I should tell you.”

“There is? Fiona, if Luke said anything to hurt you …”

“It was I who hurt him,” Fiona said, shaking her head bitterly. “I told him we can never be more than friends. I know it hurt him badly, especially when I wouldn’t give him a good reason. But I didn’t want to tell anyone else something that I’ve kept from you for years and should have told you a long time ago.”

It pained Julia to hear the sorrow in her voice. “You don’t have to tell me anything, Fiona. Not if it makes you sad.”

“Actually, ma’am, it’ll be a relief to come out and say it. Secrets are a weighty burden to carry around for so long.”

“Yes?”

Fiona took a deep breath, then said, “I’m married, Mrs. Hollis.”

“You are?” Julia gasped, unable to keep the shock from showing.

“I am.”

“But how can you be married? And to whom?”

“I’ll tell you, ma’am.” Resting her head against the back of the chair, Fiona allowed several seconds of silence to pass, then said in a voice dead of emotion, “When I was fourteen years old, my da married me off to a much older man from the neighboring town of Callan. John Dougal is his name. He was wealthy, compared to most families, and my father got a mule and wagon out of the bargain.”

“Fiona …” Julia breathed, her hand up to her heart.

“It happens, ma’am. More than you think.” Now that the story had begun, she seemed anxious to have it over and done with and went on with scant pause. “I soon became in a family way and scarcely knew what was happening. But weeks before the child was to be born, I woke one mornin’ in severe pain. There was a doctor in Thomastown, but my husband didn’t want to spend the money, so he put the cook to tending to me. When she saw I was in trouble, she finally convinced my husband to fetch the doctor.”

“And the baby?” Julia asked, holding her breath, though she already knew what the answer would be.

“Born dead, finally. A girl, ma’am. And I hovered between life and death for days. The doctor said I would bear no more children.

Young and afraid as I was back then, I was glad to hear it. Truth is, I wanted to die myself. I thought God had deserted me, and I could see no reason to keep on living.

“My husband had five grown children already,” Fiona went on, “and didn’t mind about the baby. You see, a mule and wagon are a cheap price to pay for a maid who’ll work without wages for the rest of her life. And without having to give attention to a brood at the same time.”

Her voice broke. “I was already used to the hard work, ma’am. It was the other things I couldn’t bear.”

Julia pressed her hands together, stung by her own selfishness. Here she had been crying on Fiona’s shoulder since Philip’s death, accepting her comfort, and all along unaware that Fiona could have used some comforting herself. “He mistreated you?” she whispered.

“Aye, he did. When I was eighteen, I could bear it no longer, but my da warned I couldn’t humiliate him by comin’ back home. So I stole some money from my husband, just enough to get myself to England.”

She wiped a wet cheek with the back of her hand and looked across at Julia. “There was much more money, missus. But I didn’t take it. I thought it would be easy to find a position in London … having worked all my life.”

“Fiona, you’re not a thief. You earned that money.”

“No, ma’am. I stole it. But I sent it back piecemeal over the years. Didn’t dare to write a return address on the envelope, for fear he would come and find me. Only Breanna knows where I am, and she won’t tell.”

“And so you finally came to my house.”

Wiping the other cheek, Fiona said, “I was just about to give up, when someone said those fancy houses on Park Lane might be hiring. But after knocking on some back doors, I found out those houses only hired through agencies. Something told me to keep on knocking, though.”

“God told you, didn’t He?” said Julia and felt goose prickles down her arm.

“I’m convinced of that.” Finally, something resembling a smile crept into Fiona’s expression. “When you spoke so kindly to me in the garden that day, I found out that He hadn’t given up on me after all.”

Julia got up from her chair, walked over to the housekeeper, and leaned down to embrace her. “You poor dear. You must have suffered terribly going through all of that.”

“It’s all right, ma’am,” came a muffled cry against her shoulder.

Straightening, again, Julia said, “You sit right there, Fiona. I’m going to see about Grace and then brew us some tea.”

Fiona started to rise from her chair. “No, ma’am, I can’t allow—”

“Stay there, Fiona.”

When Julia returned, the two sipped quietly for a while, then Julia asked Fiona if it grieved her that she wasn’t free to marry again.

Fiona, clear-eyed now, took no offense at the question. “Perhaps it would grieve me if I allowed myself to dwell upon it. But even if I were free, that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t bear children.”

“But a happy marriage is possible without them. Look at Dr. and Mrs. Rhodes.”

“Perhaps,” the maid said with no conviction in her voice.

“You said your husband was much older. Perhaps he’ll die soon.” Julia knew she would have to repent for that later, but for the moment she hated Fiona’s husband with a passion for the abuse he’d inflicted upon her.

Fiona stared across at her with a stunned expression. “Mrs. Hollis … don’t say such a thing.”

“I’m sorry,” Julia told her.
But only for saying it. Not for meaning it
.

Chapter 12

On Saturday the fifteenth of May, Julia woke up well before the sun and found herself too excited to go back to sleep.
Our first lodger!
She hummed all the way to the kitchen, carrying a candle before her, and thought about the cup of tea that would soon be warming her insides.

Any sleep-robbing doubts about opening a lodging house had been quieted weeks ago as more than a dozen letters of inquiry occupied the top drawer of her writing table. Obviously, more people than she had imagined were interested in trading the noise and hurry of the cities for the sedate setting of a small dairy village.

And the
Larkspur Inn
was now ready to accommodate them, refurbished, stocked, and sparkling clean. Some less-than-urgent improvements still needed to be made in the gardens and stables, but now that the inside was finished, Karl Herrick would finally have the time to devote to those chores.

Other servants recently hired, aside from the Herricks, were Mildred and Gertie in the kitchen, Ruth and Willa, first cousins who served as upstairs chambermaids, and Georgette and Sarah, parlormaids.

Fiona had expressed some misgivings about her ability to take charge of a houseful of servants, but it came as no surprise to Julia when her Irish friend proved herself most competent. Without doubt it was because she had worked for so long on the bottom end of the hierarchy and understood a servant’s longing to be treated as a person and not some domestic contrivance. She calmed their initial fears concerning Jake Pitt, saw to it that they received adequate rest, and praised them for jobs done well. And she was wise enough to allow Audrey Herrick complete control over the kitchen.

Later that morning, after the older children had set out to play with friends and Grace was occupied with “helping” Mrs. Herrick and Mildred roll out pear tarts, Julia picked some blue forget-me-nots she and Fiona had managed to coax out of the soil in front. She was just putting the finishing touches to an arrangement in the first bedroom past the landing when Fiona appeared in the doorway. “Mrs. Kingston is downstairs, missus.”

“Already? I didn’t even hear a coach.” Julia smiled. She still wasn’t quite used to seeing Fiona perform her duties in regular dress instead of uniform, with only an apron to signify that she was a servant. Today she wore a becoming plum-colored calico. Julia suffered a twinge of envy. She was so weary of dressing like a chimney sweep. She then had to remind herself that there were people with worse problems than being obligated to wear black for twelve months.

It was not so much that she cared about looking attractive—in fact, that was the least of her concerns at present. But every morning for over three months she had clothed herself with a garment of mourning, a reminder that her husband was dead. And remembering that he was dead only caused her to remember how he had failed them. She wanted to forget. For the sake of the children and propriety, however, she knew she would continue to wear the banner of widowhood until the year had passed.

She stepped back from the bedside table and gave the room a quick going-over with her eyes. Surely even the fussiest potential lodger would approve of such a cheerful room, with its warm oak furniture, William Morris wall covering, and colorful Brussels carpet. Turning to Fiona again, she pressed her hands together and asked, “What is she like?”

“The new lodger?” There was a slight hesitation. “To be truthful, a bit on the imperious side.”

“
Imperious?
” In spite of her anxiety about the visitor downstairs, Julia had to smile. “And what novel have you gotten yourself absorbed in now?”

“I’m muddlin’ my way through
The Arabian Nights
,” Fiona answered, covering a yawn.

Since moving into the
Larkspur
, it was not unusual for her to lose track of time and stay up half the night lost in the pages of a novel. It seemed she was determined to make up for the time when books were a rarity to her. Her household responsibilities did not suffer, and Julia was happy to see Fiona get some enjoyment out of life. She felt even closer to the housekeeper since hearing about her wretched past.

“Well, putting her
imperiousness
aside,” Julia persisted, “do you think Mrs. Kingston will be impressed with the room?”

Fiona’s eyes moved from the freshly arranged flowers to the fireplace, where a wood fire spread its warmth over the morning chill of an open window. Through the opening in the dimity curtains, the dignified Anwyl could be seen, crisscrossed with footpaths and bridleways and frosted by blue, pink, and white milkwort. “ ’Tis a fine room. Most anyone would be impressed with it.”

Catching the slight evasive tone of Fiona’s voice, Julia folded her arms and leveled a stare at her. “I know you, Fiona. What’s wrong?”

“Well …”

“You don’t think
she’s
going to like it, do you.”

“I hope I’m mistaken, but she just seems a mite hard to please.”

“Oh dear. Perhaps she’s weary from the trip from Shrewsbury?”

Another slight pause, then, “That could be it.”

“Then I shouldn’t keep her waiting.” Julia took a quick peek in the wall mirror to tuck some stray strands back into her chignon. “Would you ask Mrs. Herrick to send a tray?”

“I’ve already done so, missus.”

In spite of Fiona’s misgivings, Julia’s steps on the staircase were as light as her spirit had been lately. How could Mrs. Kingston, or anyone else for that matter, be anything but smitten with the
Larkspur Inn
?

It’s likely she’ll want to move in right away,
Julia thought, hurrying down the staircase to the hall. And Mrs. Kingston was only the tip of the iceberg. Five other potential lodgers would be arriving within the next four weeks.

Not wishing to startle her visitor by barging into the room, she paused in the doorway leading into the hall. She had surmised by Norwood Kingston’s letter that his mother was on in years, so Julia expected to find the woman settled in a sofa or in one of the chairs. Julia was surprised to find a woman dressed entirely in black standing at the fireplace with her back to the stairs. Julia blinked as a flash of white handkerchief swept across the chimneypiece.
Why, she’s checking for dust!

“Well, at least this room is clean,” the woman muttered to herself. “But I intend to inspect the mattress for bugs at first opportunity.”