A shrill, distant whistle sounded through the window glass. Julia and her children turned to peer over their shoulders at the terrace below. Two of the neighborhood boys were squinting up at them, and their jaws dropped at the sight of Julia.
“They’ve come here for the past three days,” Aleda sniffed indignantly. “They want Philip for cricket.”
Julia’s eyes went to Philip, who was directing a negative shake of the head to the boys through the glass. “Would you like to play?”
An eagerness lit up his eyes for a fraction of a second, but then he shook his head again. “It wouldn’t be right. Not yet, anyway.”
Touching her son’s shoulder, Julia said, “You’ve all shown great respect for your father’s memory. But if he were here right now, he would tell you that it’s time to start seeing your friends again.”
“Are you sure, Mother?”
“I’m sure. As much as he loved you, he wouldn’t want you to spend the rest of your lives grieving over him.”
When the children were gone—Philip to his cricket match at Hyde Park, and the girls, under Frances’s watchful eye, scouting for friends with whom to play dolls—Julia rested her head against the window frame and closed her eyes. What she’d just told the children about their father came back to her.
It’s true, she thought. Anger and hurt had caused her to doubt it earlier, but Philip had loved his children. As much as he was able, that is, for his capacity for loving was obviously not as great as it should have been. How did that happen? Even though he’d been orphaned as an infant, Philip’s late Uncle George and Aunt Winnifred had provided a loving home, had even doted upon him. In fact, his upbringing had been similar to hers, with every need and almost every want provided for. His becoming a surgeon had not been out of a necessity to earn a living, but because the science of medicine had always fascinated him.
She wondered now. Had the lack of any real hardship undermined Philip’s character, as it had so obviously stunted her own spiritual growth? Was he unable to love deeply because he had never experienced a loss?
And were the children on their way to becoming just as handicapped? The notion was too taxing for her weary mind to comprehend fully, but it occurred to Julia to wonder if God were forcing them out of their soft lives to save them.
“But I don’t care about keeping my position here,” Fiona insisted one week later after packing one of Julia’s skirts into a gaping leather trunk. “I’ve no family but you and the children, ma’am. Please allow me to come with you.”
Julia folded another pair of wool winter stockings and set them down into the trunk. She had never helped pack before but figured it was past time she learned how to perform some of the chores that had always been done for her. “How can you say that, when you’ve family all over Ireland?” Fiona’s violet eyes darkened, making Julia wish she could snatch back her words.
“Aye, they’re family. But I can’t see them or talk with them. And none have treated me as kindly as you have.”
It would be wonderful having her with us, Julia thought as she leaned down to pull open another drawer from her walnut Empire-style chest of drawers. The argument had gone on for the good part of an hour now, with neither side giving quarter. I wouldn’t worry so much about the children with Fiona there to care for them while I’m away at work.
But she didn’t want to be selfish. Philip’s selfishness had all but ruined her life and the children’s. How could she ask someone she cared so much about to suffer the hardships that would be forced upon them? To consign herself to a future that promised to be bleak, at best? Straightening, she turned to face the maid again.
“Fiona, there is something you should know.”
“Yes, missus?”
The hateful words swelled and stuck in her throat. Only sheer will allowed her to give them vent. “The children and I aren’t moving away just because we wish to live in the country. We have no other place to go. My husband gambled away his fortune and left us in debt.”
The maid gave a solemn nod. “I’m aware of the debts. I didn’t realize the cause, though. I’m so sorry.”
“How did you know about the debts?”
“Your wedding ring,” Fiona explained. “After those gentlemen from the bank left last week, you no longer wore it. And when Alice asked Mr. Jensen if you’d be taking the silver cutlery with you to Gresham or crating it with the rest of the household goods, he told her that there would be no crating of anything.”
“The silver is to be auctioned … with everything else,” Julia said bleakly but dry-eyed. She wondered if her tear ducts had simply worn themselves out during the past four weeks. “It was a wedding gift from my parents.”
“Is there no other way?”
“None that I can see.” She drew in a long breath. “Oh, well. It’s foolish to grieve over cutlery, isn’t it? Especially when I’ve some very real concerns about keeping the children fed.”
“And that’s why I should be with you,” Fiona said. “I can help.”
“But I don’t see how I could pay your wages.”
“I don’t care about wages. You saved me from starving. Won’t you allow me to return the kindness?” As Julia fumbled for an answer, the maid said, “I’m a grown woman, ma’am. Old enough to choose my own lot in life, just as I did by coming to England seven years ago. And this is the path I wish to take.”
“Excuse me, missus.” Betsy, one of the downstairs maids, stood just inside the doorway. The sight of the calling card on the silver tray in her hand caused Julia’s pulse to quicken.
Please not another creditor, she prayed silently before answering, “Yes, Betsy?”
“It’s Mrs. Pankhurst downstairs for you.”
Mrs. Pankhurst? Why would the chairwoman of the Saint Thomas’s Women’s Auxiliary be calling, when she’d already made a perfunctory condolence call two weeks ago? Especially considering that Mrs. Pankhurst had never acted overly warm toward her? “Did she say why she’s here?”
“No, missus,” the maid shrugged.
Julia had been reared to consider hospitality one of the most important virtues, but the thought of sitting through a social call seemed absurd after all that had happened lately. Small talk did not mix well with worries about her children going hungry. “Please tell her I’m not free at the moment.”
“Yes’m.”
The maid was already turning when Julia added, “And please be sure to offer my regrets.”
When the door was closed again, Fiona gave Julia a concerned look. “Don’t you think you should see her, ma’am? She may be offering to help you.”
“I’ve told no one but you about the state of our finances,” Julia answered with a shake of her head. “No doubt she wants me to provide decorations for some fund-raising fete.”
“With you in mourning?” Fiona’s voice was skeptical. “How could it hurt to hear her out?”
“I just don’t want …” Reluctantly, though, Julia stopped to ask herself Are you going to allow your pride to get in the way of your children’s well-being? With a sigh, she handed the chemise in her hand over to Fiona. “Very well.”
She quickly walked over to open the door. “Betsy?”
Footsteps could be heard upon the stairs, and then the maid reappeared in the doorway. While her posture was attentive, her eyes betrayed some annoyance at being called back. “Yes, missus?”
“I suppose I can see Mrs. Pankhurst after all. Would you send for some tea?”
After Betsy was gone, Julia turned back to the Irish maid. “Are you quite sure you want to do this, Fiona? You won’t know a soul in Gresham.”
Fiona smiled. “Why, I’ll know four people straightaway, missus. And dear to my heart they are, too.”
Tears welled again in Julia’s eyes. Lord, you knew how much I needed a friend. “Then, we would be happy to have you with us.”
As footsteps faded on the other side of the door, Fiona O’Shea bent down over the trunk and began taking out the items
of clothing that her mistress had packed. She smiled weakly at the folds in all the wrong places, straightened out each article, and replaced them. Perhaps I should have shown her the right way, she thought. But with all that was troubling Mrs. Hollis, it seemed cruel to burden her with a reminder of her helplessness.
And word was all about the house that she would be seeking work at a cheese factory! Fiona’s lips tightened at the recollection of how Frances had smirked at the news. It had taken her years to figure out why some of the servants felt such scorn toward Mrs. Hollis, even though she’d never raised her voice to any of them. Mr. Jensen clearly regarded her with little affection, and since he ruled the house, there were some who would do anything to curry his favor.
“Even bite the hand that feeds them,” Fiona muttered. Because they’d figured out long ago that the hand would never strike back.
Fiona sighed and crossed the sleeves over the front of a black silk blouse before refolding the whole garment. Mrs. Hollis would last perhaps two days at a factory—not because she was unwilling to work, but because she’d never been forced to develop the strength required for grinding physical labor. And that’s why I must come along. While she had never taken on anything besides domestic chores, she was used to staying on her feet from sunup to sundown. Mrs. Hollis would have to learn to keep house, but at least it would require less stamina than factory work. And she would be able to spend some time with the children—so precious were they, and so much in need of their mother!
But the main reason Fiona was determined to follow the Hollises to the end of the earth, if need be, was that they had been kind to her, the missus and children. After eighteen years of mistreatment, it had been a wondrous thing to be treated as a person with feelings and needs. She did not take any of that for granted. They would have food on their table if she had to work her fingers to the bone. And You’ll help me, won’t You, Lord? she prayed while brushing the wrinkles from a poplin skirt. Because You love them even more than I do.
Chapter 4
“And when I heard you were leaving London, I said to myself, ‘Irvetta, it’s your Christian duty to do what you can to help those good people!’” Mrs. Pankhurst said from the sofa after a sip of her tea. Inclined toward overplumpness, the woman managed to restrain her generous bosom within rigid stays that pushed so much flesh up under her chin that her neck seemed short to the point of deformity. Rings bedecked every pink finger, and a gown of chartreuse taffeta billowed about her like a frothy cloud.
“I do appreciate your concern,” Julia told her. After all, it was thoughtful of Mrs. Pankhurst to go to the trouble of paying another visit. She was not surprised that news had spread about her family’s impending relocation to Gresham. Fortunately, few people were aware of the tragic events that had forced such a move. “I’m sure it has been the prayers of people like you that have helped us through the past month.”
“Ah … yes.” Mrs. Pankhurst drained her cup and set it down upon the tea table. She then scooped up another iced cake and bit into it appreciatively. When it was gone, leaving a smear of icing on her upper lip as evidence, she gave Julia a sympathetic blink of her little eyes. “You have been in my prayers, Mrs. Hollis. Constantly, in fact, you and your two precious little ones.”
“Three,” Julia reminded her tactfully.
“Oh, dear me, yes! How could I leave out little Gladys!”
Grace, Julia thought. She stole a glance at the grandfather clock against the wall.
“In fact, I’ve wracked my brains to find something I could do for you, Mrs. Hollis.” The woman’s mouth stretched into a broad smile. “And the answer came as I was having my breakfast this morning!”
“Something you could do for me …” Julia was slightly wary now. “Just keep us in your prayers, Mrs. Pankhurst.”
“Oh, you can be sure of that. But let me tell you my idea.” Mrs. Pankhurst licked her lips and pressed her fingertips together eagerly. “No doubt you’re aware that my daughter, Coralie, is engaged to be married this summer. You’re at the very top of our invitation list, by the way, but I suppose with your living elsewhere …”
Managing another smile, Julia stole a second glance at the clock. In another forty-five minutes, the children and their tutor would be taking their noon recess. The mid-March day was so unseasonably pleasant that she had asked Mrs. Capshaw to send lunch out to the terrace, where she planned to join them. Small luxuries like that would likely become nonexistent in the future.
“Coralie’s fiancé—he’s the second cousin of an earl, by the way—hails from Bristol, and of course, Coralie will live with him there.”
“I see.” Julia didn’t see, actually, why this information would have propelled Mrs. Pankhurst over to her drawing room this morning, but she maintained a pleasant expression.
“Naturally, we would love for Coralie to have a beautiful trousseau so that her new husband’s family will recognize that she comes from quality. But you can imagine how expensive everything is … the wedding and trousseau.” Giving an exaggerated roll of the eyes, Mrs. Pankhurst added, “And here we are with five more daughters at home! It’s staggering, when you consider the expense …”
The children have never been anywhere but London and Brighton, Julia thought. She found that she could keep up her end of the conversation simply by keeping her eyes focused on Mrs. Pankhurst’s face and nodding every few seconds. Oh, Father, please don’t let them be too homesick.
“ … and how nice it is that you’ve managed to keep your waist so trim after three children. Why, you and Coralie appear to be the same size.”
Julia nodded again. We won’t have room in our trunks for all of their toys. But the children will need some reminders of their lives here. Perhaps we could pack a small satchel with their favorite keepsakes.
“ … likely you’ll be wearing black for at least a year, won’t you? By the time you start wearing colors again, the styles will have changed. What a shame to waste such lovely gowns!”
Surely there will be enough lawn for a vegetable garden. I wonder when it’s the proper time to plant seeds?
“ … and ordinarily, I wouldn’t dream of buying used clothing,” Mrs. Pankhurst said, wrinkling her pert little nose. “But with Coralie living in Bristol, no one would be the wiser.”
Those last words caught Julia’s attention. She cocked her head, not sure that she had heard correctly. “I beg your pardon?”
“It’s a way to help both of us … don’t you see?”
Realization sunk in. “You’re offering to buy my clothes?”
Mrs. Pankhurst gave her a shrewd smile. “Not at the price you gave for them, of course. After all, they aren’t new. And with Coralie being somewhat shorter than you … there is the cost of altering the skirts to be considered. But I’m sure you could use every little extra bit now, couldn’t you?”
Suddenly Julia recalled being introduced to a cousin of Mrs. Pankhurst’s at a hospital auxiliary dinner party last year. His name was Waldegrave—and Mrs. Pankhurst mentioned that also being her maiden name.
She knew now with dreadful certainty that Mrs. Pankhurst and the bank officer Mr. Waldegrave were related. In all likelihood, the woman sitting before her had known of Philip’s debts before she herself had been informed! Struck speechless, Julia could only stare at the woman, who had obviously not noticed her shock and was going on about the exorbitant price of hiring a skilled alterations seamstress.
The door from the hallway opened before Julia could find her tongue. Jensen walked into the room carrying a wool wrap and snapped to attention at the side of the sofa. “Here is your wrap, Mrs. Pankhurst.”
Mrs. Pankhurst was startled into silence for a fraction of a second, then lifted her chin. “Oh, but I wasn’t leaving.”
“Oh, but you were,” the butler insisted, his expression benign.
“You misunderstand, I’m sure.”
“On the contrary, madam. I understand everything.”
Her cheeks flushing cr
imson now, Mrs. Pankhurst raked Jensen with a withering look before leveling her eyes at Julia. “I say, Mrs. Hollis, do you allow your servants to treat your guests so rudely?”
Staring up at Jensen with her mouth agape, Julia could only mumble, “Apparently so.”
The older woman heaved herself up to her feet and snatched the wrap from Jensen’s hand. “Well, I’ve never heard such cheek!”
“I shall be happy to show you to the door, madam,” the butler offered, unruffled.
“When pigs fly, you will!” Mrs. Pankhurst’s skirts made a hissing sound as she stalked to the drawing room door. There, she wheeled around and stabbed the air with a plump finger. “Everyone said that Dr. Hollis was foolish to marry such a child, Julia Hollis, but I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Now I can see it was only the beginning of his road to ruin!”
She grabbed hold of the doorknob and seemed poised to slam it, but then turned again to direct a parting gibe.
“And those cakes were practically tasteless, by the way!”
The door thundered shut, rattling teacups against their saucers. Her face burning from the insults Mrs. Pankhurst had flung at her, Julia stared at the silent butler for one long moment. “Thank you, Jensen,” she said when her heart had finally stopped pounding against her ribcage.
He acknowledged her gratitude with a nod. “Is madam all right?”
Julia glanced back at the closed door, and a shudder caught her. “I’m fine. I think. But she was quite odious, wasn’t she?”
“Quite so, madam.”
“I suppose I should have accepted her offer to buy my gowns, though. Every little bit would help.”
The Widow of Larkspur Inn Page 4
