The Widow of Larkspur Inn (66 page)

“To lend moral support, actually. Our good reverend has intentions of trying to save the souls of a certain hoard of barbarians.”

Julia didn’t even have to ask of whom he was referring. “Shouldn’t you bring Constable Reed along?”

“Now, now, Mrs. Hollis. And just how receptive to the Gospel do you think that would make them? And surely Mr. Sanders has enough paternal integrity not to allow his sons to commit murder on his own property.”

“I’ve never heard Sanders and integrity mentioned in the same sentence, Mr. Clay.”

“Worrying will give you wrinkles, Mrs. Hollis,” he told her. “Now, what have you going on here that can’t wait for an hour or two?”

Casually she allowed her hand to stray over to Fiona’s name on the letter.
You’ve been planning to visit with Elizabeth for weeks now,
she reminded herself. And she certainly couldn’t expect the young woman to put forth the effort, not with two small children to tend.

She was aware of why she’d put off calling at the vicarage, and the reason had a blond beard and kind hazel eyes. If it were so that Vicar Phelps did indeed harbor romantic feelings toward her, it would be unfair to raise his hopes by making a call to his house. Wouldn’t he assume that she had some interest in him beyond friendship?

For the first time, she could see the fallacy in that assumption. Vicar Phelps clearly had so modest of an opinion of himself that she could stare at him with doe eyes, the way Georgette used to stare at Mr. Clay, and he would torment himself trying to recall what ridiculous thing he’d done lately. The thought of such a polished orator in the pulpit battling such personal insecurities in her presence made him rather endearing to her, in a nonromantic sort of way.

“What are you smiling at, Mrs. Hollis?”

She returned her attention abruptly to the actor. “Just a stray thought, Mr. Clay.”
Besides, he’ll be away most of the afternoon
. “I would enjoy a visit with Miss Phelps. Thank you for suggesting it.”

The Worthy sisters’ gift to Julia was a beautiful collar of finely woven ecru lace. It was long in front, with one side lapping over the other at her bodice, and ended about three inches above her waist.

“Why, it goes very well with that frock,” Iris declared as Julia slipped it on over her gown in their cottage.

“
Children
wear frocks, Iris,” Jewel corrected but wore a pleased smile. “Ye do look nice, Mrs. Hollis.”

“You’ve both been so kind to me.”

At Iris’s urging, Julia stepped over to an oval mirror hanging from the wall above the washstand. The face that stared back at her wore a strange expression of expectancy, and Julia realized she was actually looking forward to the afternoon’s outing. And why wouldn’t she? Mr. Clay and Vicar Phelps were pleasant company. And as for Elizabeth, any woman would be flattered to have a younger woman look up to her and seek her counsel.

She touched the fine lace of the collar, appreciating the work that went into every square inch. Turning again to the sisters, she went over to kiss both wrinkled cheeks. “It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever owned. Thank you so much.”

Iris wore a beatific smile across her face. “You’ve been a good neighbor, Mrs. Hollis.”

“A good neighbor indeed,” Jewel echoed, then darted a meaningful glance in Iris’s direction. “Even if ye were a mite reckless in the matter of Jake Pitt.”

Chapter 40

Cozy in her wrap and gloves, Julia strolled along Church Lane with Mr. Clay. Though the gardens were just starting to bud the flowers that would form tapestries of color in another month or so, the village still clung to its charm. From a spinny of gray silver aspens between Captain Powell’s cottage and Bartley Lane, one of the first woodlarks of the season serenaded them from atop a broken branch. Distinct white markings formed large triangles around the bird’s eyes, giving him the appearance of a studious little brown creature in spectacles. Julia pursed her lips and attempted to mimic his trilling
toolooeet!
Clearly unimpressed, the bird took flight from its perch.

“Do you think I offended him?” Julia asked Mr. Clay, who chuckled.

“Obviously he was mortified because your song was superior.”

She smiled at the actor. “I believe I prefer your reason.”

A dozen steps later, he gave her a quick sidelong look, wearing the expression of a boy who wishes to ask a question but fears what the answer may be.

“Yes, Mr. Clay?” Julia asked after the third such glance in her direction.

“Mildred told me that a letter arrived from Miss O’Shea yesterday.”

“Yes, that’s so. She writes that she’s doing well.”

“Do you think she means it?”

Julia had to think about that one. Fiona was too honest to lie, but sometimes there were certain gaps in her letters that she wondered about.

“She would do anything to spare us pain, Mr. Clay.”

He frowned and shoved his hands into his pocket. “Yes. And I was a selfish cad for allowing her to leave the way she did.”

“How could you have prevented her from doing so?”

“I could have moved away myself when we discovered her absence.” Turning a somber face to Julia, he asked, “Do you think she would return if I did so now?”

Julia shook her head. “Fiona knows we’ve another housekeeper. I’m positive she wouldn’t want to take any action that would jeopardize someone else’s position.”
And she’ll do anything to ensure that you stay here where you can have some peace, Mr. Clay
.

Suddenly she grew weary of the conversation. She missed Fiona more now than ever, and such talk served only as a reminder that there was an empty space in her life. But of one thing she was certain—never would she give up hope of Fiona returning to Gresham.

Mr. Clay would be allowed to refuge here as long as he found it necessary, but when the day came that the actor felt strong enough to leave, she intended to write Fiona and beg that she return. Fiona could take the room now being reserved for Jensen, and there would be ample time to fix up the groomsman’s apartment over the stables for the butler.

Julia didn’t need a new housekeeper—Mrs. Beemish was more than competent. What she wanted back was the friend who was more like a sister to her than anyone she’d ever known.

She glanced at Mr. Clay, who was walking with hands in pockets in a melancholy cloud of self-blame, and felt a surge of pity. How could she find fault with him for loving Fiona? Gently she touched his shoulder. “Mr. Clay.”

He started slightly, as if she’d pierced some deep thought. “Yes, Mrs. Hollis?”

“At least we had her with us for a while.”

“We did at that, didn’t we?”

“Do you regret it?”
After all, if you’d never met her, you wouldn’t be suffering the loss right now
.

With a glint in his eyes over a sad little smile, he replied, “Not for one second.”

Having finished copying and solving the twelve long-division problems Captain Powell had chalked on the blackboard,
and
after checking his work, Philip looked over to the girls’ side of the classroom. Laurel Phelps’s eyes still looked from blackboard to paper, and then back again, which meant she had not even begun to check her computations. She could write all the snooty compositions she wished about Mr. Disraeli, but she could never hold a candle to him in arithmetic.

I should study history now,
he thought. No examinations loomed ahead in the near future, but when did it ever hurt to learn something new?
Or in this case, old,
he thought, smiling at his own humor as he took out his copy of
History for Young Scholars
. With the school year advancing rapidly to a close, only a quarter of the book was left unread. He flipped though those pages with interest. Since the text had been published in 1862, the writers had had no idea which side would eventually win the war between the American states, nor even how long it would continue, but the advantage seemed to be with the Confederate states.
If they would have just put off finishing the book for a couple of years …

Something wedged between two of the latter pages caught his attention. An envelope, he realized right away.
How did that get there?

As soon as he saw the name on the outside, he felt a little queasy. Clearly now he could recall Mr. Trumble entrusting him with the delivery of a letter to the
Larkspur
. When had that been? His discomfort increased with the realization it had been sometime in late September or early October.
Six months ago!

Vicar Phelps himself met them at the door carrying a girl of about three years of age up on a broad shoulder. Julia remembered seeing her outside the church with her family.

“I was just about to bring little Molly upstairs,” he informed Julia after warmly welcoming them into the vestibule. “It’s time for the children’s naps, so Elizabeth will be happy for your company. Would you care to wait in the parlor?”

Julia smiled at the girl, who only regarded her gravely. “Why don’t I bring her up there myself so you two can go on ahead?”

“Thank you, but I’m afraid Dora’s visiting her sister in Stone, so I would need to show you the way anyway.”

“Yes?” She lifted an eyebrow. “And just how many people are wandering around lost up there, Vicar?”

After a brief startled look at her, he joined Mr. Clay in a chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I see your point, Mrs. Hollis.” After he’d lifted the child from his shoulders to the floor, he crouched down and said in a gentle tone, “Mrs. Hollis will bring you upstairs to Aunt Beth now.”

But Molly tugged at his sleeve while pointing at the doorway leading to the rest of the vicarage. “Read book?”

“We’ve already read two, Molly. It’s time to sleep.”

“Dabid sleep. Moll-yee read book.” Another jab at the doorway with a little finger. “Sit down in chair.”

“Looks as if she’s used to giving you orders,” Mr. Clay observed, smiling.

“As is every other female in this house,” the reverend responded good-naturedly, causing the actor and Julia to exchange amused glances. To the child, Vicar Phelps said with gentle firmness, “Another time, Molly. Now, please take Mrs. Hollis’s hand and show her where to find Aunt Beth.”

Julia realized she had been holding her breath, expecting a scene that a three-year-old would be fully capable of delivering. But Molly simply allowed her to take her by the hand.