As she hurried down the corridor toward the hall, she heard voices and realized that Fiona had answered the door. Indeed, a tall woman of about forty-five was accompanying the maid into the room and introduced herself as Mrs. Ophelia Rhodes.
Julia stepped over to extend her hand. “Julia Hollis. And this is Fiona O’Shea.”
“Forgive me for not calling earlier,” the woman said as she took Julia’s hand. “But I just returned from Nonely last night after two days away. A cow birthed premature triplet calves and we almost lost them.”
“I’m happy to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Rhodes.” Julia noticed then the iron pot that Fiona was holding by the handle.
“Mrs. Rhodes brought us some mutton stew, ma’am. I’ll take it to the kitchen and brew up some tea.”
Julia thanked Fiona and turned to her visitor again. “How thoughtful of you. We were going to have to resort to tinned foods for supper tonight.”
“Then I came just in time, didn’t I?” Mrs. Rhodes said, feigning a little shudder. “Actually, Mrs. Bass, my cook, produced the stew. I can’t boil an egg.” She was unfashionably tanned and robust for a woman, wearing an unadorned gown of umber poplin, and her brown hair was drawn into a careless knot. The moss-colored eyes were warm, though, and Julia suspected that she’d found another friend in Gresham.
“Please make yourself comfortable,” Julia said, indicating the cluster of chairs and two sofas.
Mrs. Rhodes looked around the room on her way across the floor. “Why, it looks just as it did in the old days.”
“Yes?”
“Ethan Banning and my husband were good friends. Have you had many calls?”
Julia shook her head. “I suppose the ghost and all …”
“Oh, they’ll get over that. Trust me.”
“That’s what Vicar Wilson says.”
“There now, you see?” The two settled themselves on opposite ends of a sofa.
“Do you live on a dairy farm, Mrs. Rhodes?” Julia asked.
The woman smiled. “Hardly. I’m an amateur veterinary. When Miss Wilson told me you had been a doctor’s wife, I felt compelled to meet you.” Her face became sober. “I’m sorry your husband passed away. Is it terribly hard for you?”
The little ache came to Julia’s chest, but this time induced by guilt. For the first time in the almost six weeks since Philip’s death, she’d gone through the good part of a day without thinking about him. He’s still the father of your children, she reminded herself.
“We’re managing, thank you,” Julia finally told her, and then steered the subject away from herself. “Is your husband a doctor as well?”
“He is at that. Of people, not animals.”
They spent some time in small talk, with Mrs. Rhodes asking about Julia’s children and her plans for the Larkspur, and filling in bits of information about Gresham and its townsfolk that Henrietta and Vicar Wilson had inadvertently left out. When Fiona returned with tea, Julia asked her to join them. She hoped Mrs. Rhodes wouldn’t mind having a servant sit in on the conversation, but after all the recent sacrifices Fiona had made for her family, it was getting more and more difficult to think of her as anything less than a friend. And if Mrs. Rhodes did mind, well, she had misjudged her.
Mrs. Rhodes didn’t appear to take offense at Julia’s invitation, but as it turned out, it was Fiona who demurred politely, saying she had some tidying up to do elsewhere. I’m content to stay in my place, the eyes above the knowing smile she gave Julia seemed to say.
“How did you become a veterinary doctor?” Julia asked her visitor over their cups of tea after Fiona had excused herself and left the room.
“Amateur,” Mrs. Rhodes reminded her. “And I have my husband to thank for it. It saved my life, I believe.”
“How so?” Julia asked.
The corners of Mrs. Rhodes’ moss-green eyes creased as she related how she’d spent twelve years grieving over the childless condition of her marriage. And then one day her husband, Isaiah Rhodes, came back from a trip to London with a stack of books on animal husbandry. “He said he was weary of being called out every time a cow suffered mastitis or a dray horse had colic. I was irritated at first. My father was a glover in Manchester. What did I know about animals?”
But she became interested in spite of herself, she said, and her informal practice grew—so much that farmers as far away as Hammerhill sometimes sent messages requiring her services or showed up at her house with a pig or favorite ailing dog in the back of a wagon. Two years ago she’d had to hire the churchwarden’s nephew to assist her with calls. “I complain incessantly about how busy I am, but I wouldn’t give up my little practice for anything.”
“It has given you a purpose, hasn’t it?” Julia said.
“As my husband so wisely assumed it would. One has to have a purpose in life.” Tilting her head to study her, Mrs. Rhodes added, “And if I may say so, Mrs. Hollis, you sound as if you’ve learned that lesson yourself.”
Julia smiled. “I’m learning it as we speak.” She then told Mrs. Rhodes how making plans for the lodging house gave her new hope for the future after her husband’s death. There was no need to bring up Philip’s gambling—spousal betrayal wasn’t a subject comfortably discussed with new acquaintances over tea.
As the three Hollis children set out for the Larkspur that afternoon, Philip was not surprised to learn that Aleda didn’t share his opinion about school. “I think all the girls in the fourth standard are dullwitted,” she sniffed. “Even if they didn’t bring up that awful ghost story. And none even tried to be my friend.”
Philip looked back over his left shoulder at the school building. During break he’d struck up friendships with two boys his age—Jeremiah Toft, whose father was a groomsman for the squire, and Ben Mayhew, the wheelwright’s son. Some of the other boys did happen to seize upon the subject of the Larkspur’s ghost as a method of tormenting the new fellow, but when it became obvious that their barbs couldn’t penetrate Philip’s armor of humor, they gave up and became sociable.
Turning back to Aleda, Philip said, “Well, of course they aren’t going to be friendly if you think they’re dull-witted.”
“But I never said that to them.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Philip told her, shifting his books from one arm to the other as they turned the corner onto Market Lane to head for the front door. “They could tell you were thinking it. And Mother says you have to be a friend before you can have one.”
“The Good Book says that too, dearie,” came a voice across the lane and off to their left as soothing as an old blanket. The three turned their faces as one to where the two lace spinners sat in a patch of sunlight between a pear and a yew tree. One of the Worthy sisters—Philip couldn’t tell them apart yet—nodded her head at them, while the other shook hers just as adamantly.
“It don’t say that at all, Iris,” the headshaker said. “What it says is that ye should show yourself friendly if ye want to have friends.”
“Well, it sounds like the very same thing to me,” the one who’d first spoken replied. Both sets of gnarled fingers never stopped moving even as their owners spoke. Turning back to Aleda, the woman said, “Many a smile has won many a friend, dear. Try smiling tomorrow, and things will be different.”
The headshaker was now nodding agreement. “Ye can attract more flies with honey than with vinegar, dear.”
Aleda, who now wore two spots of color upon her cheeks, nonetheless managed to stretch her lips into a grimacelike smile. “Thank you,” she said, then indicated the two textbooks under her arm. “Well, we have homework.”
Both wrinkled faces beamed. “Makes the mind grow, dear.”
The children came through the front door from school, and after Julia introduced them to Mrs. Rhodes, Grace asked timidly if the veterinary lady could take a look at her sparrow.
“Why, I would be happy to,” Mrs. Rhodes replied. Minutes later, Grace came back into the room with her bird, now housed in a roomier
wire cage that Aleda had found in the gardening cottage yesterday. Mrs. Rhodes reached into the cage and scooped the sparrow into her lap. The tiny bird, which must have been all chirped out after four days in captivity, simply sat there blinking its eyes as its wing was probed.
“Hmm, this is as fine a job of splinting as I’ve ever seen. Is this your handiwork?”
“Jensen, our butler in London, did it,” Philip told her, leaning over the back of the sofa.
Mrs. Rhodes nodded. “Well, since the bones are so light, they knit together much more quickly than other animals’. You should be able to release him in another two weeks.”
“Him?” Grace asked with eyes wide.
“Why, yes. It’s a male of the species.” Mrs. Rhodes gave the child standing at the sofa arm an indulgent smile. “And I take it you’ve gone and dubbed the little fellow Florence or Helen or something in that vein?”
“Christine,” Grace replied sheepishly.
“Ah, another equally feminine name. Well, I’m certain the trauma will not impede his healing in any way.”
“But I should change the name, don’t you think? I shouldn’t like to be called by a boy’s name.”
“How about Bertram?” Julia asked. Back in London, Bertram was the younger brother of one of Aleda’s playmates, and the girls had always seemed fond of him.
But Aleda wrinkled her nose. “Bertram always cried whenever he lost at croquet.”
“I once had a parakeet named Freddie,” Mrs. Rhodes offered.
Grace considered this, studying the bird, but then shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said politely. “But he doesn’t look like a Freddie.”
Fiona came into the room bearing mugs of chocolate for the children and set the tray down upon the nearest tea table. As she handed out mugs, she listened to Aleda’s account of the situation. “What about Tiny Tim?” she suggested right away. “You know, from Mr. Dickens? Being crippled and all …”
Grace brightened, and Mrs. Rhodes clasped her hands together. “Why, it fits perfectly.” To Fiona, she said, “You’ve obviously a gift for titles.”
“Not that I’m aware of, ma’am.”
“Oh, but I believe otherwise and must confess to some envy. Naming animals is a talent that has eluded me, which explains why my poor parakeet was named Freddie. And my favorite mare, Lucy, will be foaling in another month. May I send for you after it happens?”
“But I’ve never named a horse before,” Fiona confessed.
“Well, it would do no harm for you to give it a try, would it? I can always decline if you suggest something like Nero or Jezebel, which I doubt most seriously will happen.”
With that understanding Fiona agreed, saying she felt honored to be asked. Mrs. Rhodes then got to her feet and apologized for staying so long. “I hope I’ve not kept you from anything important,” she said to Julia.
“Absolutely not,” Julia said, walking her to the door. “I’ve enjoyed your visit tremendously.” And she still had time to walk to the vicarage before supper. But it occurred to her suddenly that Mrs. Rhodes might know of a prospective cook.
“Excuse me, but perchance do you know of someone looking for a temporary position as a cook?” Julia asked.
“Why, I certainly do,” the woman answered after a thoughtful silence. “Betty Moser. She’s moved back to Gresham with her family, the Upjohns, just for a month or so while her husband is working as a laborer on a railroad extension in Wolverhampton. I sewed up a gash on her father’s collie just last week, and Betty complained of sharing a bed with three sisters. I believe she would be most anxious to have a little peace and earn wages at the same time.”
After Mrs. Rhodes was gone, Julia gathered her children around her on the sofa and listened to accounts of their day at school. Only Aleda’s face crumpled with the telling. “They didn’t like me.”
“I’m so sorry,” Julia told her. “But they don’t know you, Aleda. Put forth a little more effort to be friendly tomorrow, and I know your day will be better.” Thinking that a walk would cheer her up, Julia asked the girl if she would like to accompany her across the river to speak with Betty Moser, but Aleda seemed more content to stay home and mope. Grace was absorbed with her sparrow, and Philip had expressed a desire to get right to his homework, so Julia bade them all farewell and started out alone. She got no farther than the gate when she heard the front door open, and Philip caught up with her.
“I don’t want you to be alone,” he said protectively.
Julia was touched but resisted the urge to kiss his cheek out in the light of day—such displays of emotion seemed to embarrass this thirteen-year-old of late. “But I’ll be fine. If you have studying …”
“I can study later.”
They walked north up Market Lane, passing the Bartley Subscription Library and the smithy forge before crossing the bridge over the Bryce. To their right were two red-brick barnlike buildings that housed the cheese factory, followed by three neat rows of cottages inhabited by factory workers and their families. The rest of the area was taken up by vast hedged pastures of black-and-white cows.
It was in the garden of one of the cottages that Julia found the Upjohns. Two women sat knitting on a bench, surrounded by several rowdy children of all ages, with straw-colored hair as curly as watch springs. Julia presumed the younger woman on the bench to be Betty Moser.
“Me dotter can cook just fine,” Mrs. Upjohn said in answer to Julia’s timidly stated question.
She had forgotten to inquire of Mrs. Rhodes if the young woman had even seen the inside of a kitchen. Mrs. Upjohn was a square-jawed woman with bad teeth and a chaotic topknot of the same straw color as the children’s. She leaned forward in her chair to fix Julia with an appraising eye.
“All me gels—they can cook, clean, iron … even help out wi’ butchering pigs come thet time o’ year. Would you be needin’ a chambermaid or two?”
“Not yet,” Julia said, taking a backward step from the intimidating stare. When she could finally speak an uninterrupted word to Betty, she asked if the girl would care to move into the cook’s chamber at the Larkspur. Betty’s eyes widened at the suggestion.
“Thank you kindly, ma’am, but me brother can take me in every mornin’ and fetch me in the cart after supper.”
“Are you quite sure?” Julia asked, darting a quick look at the size of the cottage in proportion to the number of children milling about. Surely the young woman would be longing for some privacy by now.
The fair head bobbed. “Thank you kindly, ma’am,” she repeated. “But I’d just as soon stay t’home.”
There was nothing more to discuss, so Julia said a polite farewell and turned with her son to start back.
“Maybe if you agreed to put elder twigs in her room …” Philip whispered when they were almost out of hearing range.
Julia started. “Surely you don’t think that’s why she won’t stay.”
“Looks that way to me,” the boy answered, then sighed. “And it’s that Jake Pitt’s fault. You’d think he’d have better sense than to allow himself to be carried through a door headfirst.”
Chapter 10
By Good Friday, two weeks after they’d moved into the Larkspur, Philip had regained full use of his finger, the sparrow Tiny Tim was finally set free, and Betty Moser proved herself a fairly decent cook. And as things improved in the kitchen, they improved at school for Aleda. Once she finally faced up to the fact that longing for the past was keeping her from enjoying the present, she snapped out of her self-imposed misery and began to apply herself to making friends. She even resumed practice on the pianoforte in the hall. Upon discovering her talent for the instrument, Captain Powell had asked her to accompany the class with hymns during Monday morning chapel. Philip and Grace had acquired playmates from school as well, and it did Julia’s heart good to see the children have some fun during the times that they weren’t needed to help with the household chores.
And now this! Julia thought, turning the envelo
pe over in her hand.
Fiona leaned upon her hoe. “Aren’t you going to open it, missus?”
Julia had earlier declared it a perfect day to restore the front garden to a semblance of order, even though neither she nor Fiona had ever gardened. Unfortunately, they found it difficult to tell the legitimate plants from weeds and had to call upon passersby several times to seek advice.
Every villager who passed seemed to have more gardening knowledge than they did. And they all appeared willing and even flattered to share their expertise—often while sending occasional curious glances at the upper windows, perhaps in hopes of catching a glimpse of a spectral face. Mrs. Sway, the greengrocer’s wife, was also kind enough to suggest that an elder tree planted on each side of the gate would be a tried-and-true repellent for ghosts.
And then Mr. Jones, the postman, had paused at the gate.
“I don’t know a Mr. Norwood Kingston from Sheffield,” Julia said, staring down at the return address. “This just has to be an inquiry about a room.”
Three long weeks had passed since she’d sent off several advertisements, reading, The Larkspur, temperance boardinghouse located in the tranquil village of Gresham, Shropshire, to let rooms …
“Would you like me to open it?” Fiona asked, setting her hoe aside and wiping her hands upon her apron.
Julia gave her a nervous smile and handed it over. “If you wouldn’t mind. And please read it to me.”
The seconds seemed leaden as the housekeeper carefully broke the seal with a dirt-crusted fingernail. “‘Dear Mrs. Hollis,’” she finally said. “‘I read with interest your advertisement in The Sunday Visitor….’”
The Widow of Larkspur Inn Page 11
