As the coach continued eastward, Aleda’s brother looked at her and said, “Gabriel’s a good man.”
“One of the best,” Aleda said.
Philip hesitated. “You still feel nothing for him but friendship?”
“Nothing but friendship? Since when is friendship a ‘nothing’?”
“Point taken.” He gave her a contrite smile. “I just want you both to be happy.”
Aleda thought, As you are?
Philip’s expression sobered, as if the same thought crossed his mind.
She elbowed him in the ribs. Now was not the time to be thinking of Loretta.
“Watch that!” he said with mock scowl.
“Why don’t we get out at the lane and surprise them?”
“Won’t they be surprised enough when we come rolling up?”
“Please?”
“You’ll have to carry my medical bag and your satchel, if I’ve got to lug my portmanteau,” he grumbled.
But at least the sober look had been replaced by one of anticipation.
Creeping along the corridor in her stocking feet, Aleda smiled at lamplight spilling from the parlor doorway. A rustle of papers met her ears, then her mother’s voice.
“I wonder why the navy stopped giving them lemons in the first place.”
“I don’t know.” Father’s voice. “Three, four generations pass, and they forget all about scurvy.”
Aleda stepped into the parlor. The two sat on the sofa, each with a section of The London Times. Mother looked up over the page and smiled. “Aleda?”
Father lowered his newspaper. “Why, good evening, daughter.”
Aleda took a breath. “Now, stay calm. I have a surprise.”
She turned to motion to Philip. He slipped into the room beside her. “Hello, Mother and Father.”
It was Mother who reacted first, pushing aside the newspaper. A second later, she was standing with her arms around him. “So, you came!”
“How could I not?”
Aleda turned again to Father. His eyes met hers. She braced for the worst, but inexplicably, he smiled at her. Then he shifted his gaze back to Mother and Philip. They were turning toward him with arms linked.
He rose from the sofa with eyes filling. “Son.”
Philip moved from Mother’s arms to his. “I’m going to take care of you. You’ll be fine.”
Aleda wiped her eyes with her fingertips and left to collect her shoes from the vestibule. She walked on down to the kitchen and was fishing a pot from the rack when Dora padded inside, wearing her wrapper and with hair rolled in papers. “What’s going on?”
“I thought to make some hot chocolate.”
“Not in my kitchen, you won’t. That’s not even the right pot.”
“Then I insist on serving it, at least.”
The cook was vain over being seen in curling papers and would need to go to the trouble of taking them down if she brought in a tray herself. Opening the lid of the cocoa tin, Dora said, “Very well. And for how many?”
“Four.” Proudly Aleda added, “Philip is here.”
“Mr. Philip? How grand! So, that’s why you went to London. By the by, Luke carried some lamb stew and asparagus and half a currant pudding over to your guests for supper. Milk for the girl, and a jar of lemonade, too.”
Aleda froze. “How did you know I had guests? And that I went to London?”
“Well, your mother went over to your place. I suppose they told her.”
“Was she upset?”
“Not that I could tell. Why should she be?”
Dora was right, Aleda realized. Father was the only one who had not wanted to contact Philip. She sometimes forgot that her parents were two individuals, not always of the same mind. “May I rob you of some bacon and eggs for their breakfasts?”
“Of course. I’ll set some out for when you leave.”
Minutes later, Aleda carried the tray into the parlor, where Mother sat alone on the sofa.
“Philip wanted to examine your father,” she said, clearing newspaper pages from the tea table to make room for the tray. “They won’t be long. He said Gabriel came with you?”
“Just until a day or so after the surgery.”
“He could stay here.”
“He insisted on the Bow and Fiddle.” Aleda set down the tray and sat beside her. “You knew I was in London.”
“Well, yes. Mrs. Libby followed your orders, so you mustn’t blame her.”
Aleda could not remember even mentioning her plan to Mrs. Libby. Leave it to Mother to figure it out. “I won’t. But you seemed genuinely surprised when we popped in.”
Mother smiled and rested a hand upon her shoulder. “While I was quite certain what was going on, there was that tiny bit of uncertainty. It was good of you to do that. And very good of you to take in Mrs. Libby and Becky, with your privacy meaning so much to you.”
“It was my pleasure,” Aleda said lightly while basking in her mother’s praise. Regardless of what she had said to Elizabeth, she realized even grown daughters appreciated a well done from their mothers. “Thank you for sending food over. I didn’t have time to restock the larder or even find out why Vicar Treves sent them.”
As her mother told her of the letter, chills prickled Aleda’s arms. She had heard of such twisted men from a couple of her Newnham College mates in late-night whispering sessions.
When the men entered again, Father wore dressing gown and slippers and a pleased expression.
“Philip wants to bring me back here as soon as possible.”
“How soon?” Mother asked.
“I must speak with Doctor Rhodes first,” Philip replied, “but hopefully . . . two days after the surgery.”
“Isn’t that risky?”
“The greatest risk is infection. There is much less chance of that here at home. We’ll put a padded stretcher in Mr. Pool’s coach and walk the horses the whole way. We’ll first have to bring one of the spare beds down here, for he’ll not be able to take the stairs for some weeks.”
“You’re agreeable to this?” Aleda asked. A silly question, given Father’s serene expression, but the concept was quite radical so she wanted to hear it from his lips.
“Most agreeable. I dreaded the weeks in hospital more than the surgery. It’s a relief to have Philip here to take charge.”
Aleda busied herself pouring hot chocolate. She could not help but feel a small slight. Philip deserved his status as the knight in shining armor who would save the day. But did Father even appreciate her part in this?
She handed over his cup—or rather, half a cup, per Philip’s orders. “Careful,” she cautioned.
He smiled up at her. “Thank you, daughter.”
The warmth in his hazel eyes was clearly meant for more than the cup in his hands.
The chimneypiece clock had just struck eleven when Jewel heard a squeaking sound. She held her breath, listened. The gate? Hours ago she had tucked Becky into bed with the cat curled at her feet. She sat in a parlor chair, reading Miss Hollis’s stories in copies of Argosy.
The adventures were quite good. Norman, who had never been to school, would have enjoyed having her read them to him; especially the latest, with a ship’s crew stranded on an island battling all sorts of hardships.
She heard cat feet thumping down the staircase, and then footsteps outside the kitchen door. She replaced the magazines in their basket and crossed into the kitchen.
“Now get some rest!” a feminine voice called out.
Jewel hurried to open the door. Miss Hollis came through it, carrying satchel and basket. She set both upon the table. “I was afraid you’d wait up. My brother insisted on walking me to the gate.”
“Is he to perform your father’s surgery?” Jewel asked.
Miss Hollis gave her a bemused look. “Why, yes. Did my mother tell you about Philip?”
“No, Mrs. Treves did.” Jewel gave her an apologetic look.
“But I did meet Mrs. Phelps. I’m so
rry if I gave away your whereabouts.”
Tiger was yowling for attention. Miss Hollis lifted him into her arms and smiled. “You didn’t, really. Mother figured everything all out herself. And actually, it gave her the opportunity to prepare my father. He wasn’t keen on having Philip do the surgery.”
Jewel did not quite understand but was glad she was happy.
“It smells so clean in here.” Miss Hollis eyed kitchen and pantry. “You even put away the laundry?”
“It was the least I could do to thank you for taking us in.”
Aleda’s insides cringed. Taking us in sounded permanent. She felt such pity for this mother with her young daughter. But the solitude she had gotten so used to seemed in danger of slipping away.
Carefully she said, “You understand it’s only until we find you a position and place to stay?”
Mrs. Libby nodded. “I believe in paying my own way, Miss Hollis.”
The cleanliness of the cottage validated that statement. And, Aleda discovered minutes later, so did the bedclothes turned back upon her tidy bed, and the pair of slippers greeting her upon the rug.
She opened her wardrobe doors and noticed the sharp creases in sleeves. She even ironed!
Chapter 17
Philip woke before sunrise, as was his habit. A cuckoo’s notes tolled from the garden, clear and sweet as a silver bell.
The snores from the next room were not so sweet, but twice as endearing.
He dressed quietly and carried a lamp downstairs into the parlor to retrieve his cravat and pin. Something stirred; he directed the lamp closer to the sofa. Mother rose to her elbow, squinted into the light.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
“Is it morning?”
“Yes, but the sun’s not up yet. Go back to sleep.”
“I’m glad you woke me.” She yawned and swung her feet around to sit. “Time to go back upstairs.”
“Why didn’t you go to Aleda’s old room?”
“Habit. I started coming down here when your sisters were still here. This sofa’s comfortable.”
“What will you do when we move Father’s bed down here?”
She smiled. “Not sleep?”
“We’ll take turns.”
“We’ll see. Must you leave so early?”
“I want to see what sort of arrangements Doctor Rhodes has made. He’s an early riser, too. Don’t plan on me for lunch. I’d like to ride down to Shrewsbury and look over the surgery facilities.”
“You’re a dear.”
He left through the front door instead of the kitchen. Dora had hearing like an owl and would try to push breakfast on him. Walking around the house to the stable, he wondered how long his mother had been slipping out of her bedroom to escape the snoring. He had a feeling Father was blissfully unaware. This latest example of their mutual devotion was touching, and yet brought a stab of pain. Would Loretta do such a thing?
Actually, she did it all the time. Just not for the same reason.
A mist lay upon the grass, to be burnt away later by the warmth of the sun. In the near distance, Saint Jude’s stood in a solemn quiet of its own, as if to guard the repose of the sleepers in its hazy shadow. Belle was eager to be out and away, and took bridle and bit with no resistance. Her hooves fairly danced across the cobbled stones as she pulled the carriage. Gresham rested dew-spangled and tranquil against the first low rays of the sun. Past the rooftops, the Anwyl dawned a soft azure.
A thousand memories swept over him. This village had nurtured him when he needed it most, after his father’s death. It was here that Mother had met and married Andrew Phelps, and doubled the number of his sisters. They teased him sometimes, tormented him others, but never had he doubted their love.
And even later in Edinburgh, when so absorbed with texts and lectures and dissections that some days he did not even think consciously of his family, he carried them in his heart.
And then, to be loved by a beautiful woman! Not in the tranquil way of family, but with the excitement of Columbus finding the New World. When Doctor Trask introduced them, Loretta seemed as smitten with him as he was with her. In fact, she had almost frightened him away with the intensity of her dedication, the hints she dropped of marriage. He knew his faults. Could any woman, so willingly blind to them, be stable?
The scales were tipped by her father’s position at Saint Bartholomew’s. Not that Philip sought to advance his career, for his work spoke for itself. But to have such a respected man treating him as a son was a heady thing, adding to the allure of the daughter. Only fractionally, however, for Doctor Trask did not accompany them on their honeymoon, a month in Tuscany that was almost magical.
Within weeks of returning to London, however, she was giving off signs of disappointment with him. Making little complaints. She hated his beard, which he had cultivated for the Edinburgh winters and retained because he disliked shaving. He gave up cigarettes. They were a nasty habit anyway, picked up to ease the rigors of medical school. He ceased balking at her parents’ insistence on paying for a coach, horses, and a coachman’s wages, even when accepting the gift of the house had made him feel less than a man.
No amount of praise from his peers and superiors at Saint Bartholomew’s could compensate for coming home and finding his wife absent. Even when she was present. When he questioned what was wrong, her stock answer was “nothing.” Their conversations eroded to either trivialities or banter. They excelled at the latter. Humor was a great distancer.
He felt his cheek. His auburn hair was fine, and so the stubble barely stood out against his fingertips. In his haste to leave the vicarage, he had not shaved. But then, perhaps he would not tomorrow, either.
Sunlight through the gap in the curtains was warm on her face. Jewel slipped out of bed and into her wrapper. Becky snored softly on her side, her curls tumbled about the pillow.
On the landing, Jewel was relieved to hear movement in the other bedchamber. Even though Miss Hollis was meeting a friend for breakfast, she might care for a cup of tea.
The kettle was boiling when Miss Hollis came downstairs, fastening the cuff buttons of a crisp white poplin blouse. “No one will recognize me without the wrinkles. Tea? Wonderful! I tossed and turned so.”
“I’m sorry.” Jewel poured her a steaming cup.
“My fault. I can’t drink hot chocolate in the evenings.” She covered a yawn, then took a sip. “It’s useful, when I must work all night, but not when I want to sleep. Will you have some?”
Jewel poured herself a cup and joined her at the table. “Thank you for the eggs and bacon. And I’d like to buy some food.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll get some money. . . .”
“I have money,” Jewel said respectfully. Only two pounds, but with her usual frugality at the market, she could stretch it for a while.
“I’m not going to allow you to do that.”
“I can’t do all the taking, Miss Hollis. Will you tell me where to go?”
Miss Hollis sighed. “Take the southward path around the fence until you reach Church Lane. Set out to your right, and you’ll eventually come to the crossroads. Any of the shops there will deliver if you need them to.”
After breakfast, Jewel and Becky set out on foot. The village was twice as charming as it had seemed from the coach. Tree branches meandered over the lane. Stone and half-timbered cottages boasted flower gardens and pots of geraniums in windows. The shade-cooled air felt invigorating. A farmer passing in the lane doffed his hat. An elderly woman waved from her garden. Becky skipped along at her side, chattering happily.
“I hear a cow, Mummy. Do you?”
Jewel cocked her head to listen. “I do. But not just one. Miss Hollis said there are dairy farms here.”
“What’s a dairy farm?”
“Where people keep cows for their milk.”
They passed a schoolyard, where four children were sending up squeals from a merry-go-round. Becky sent a half-shy, half-longing look that caused an
ache in Jewel’s heart. They were no longer in Birmingham, but not quite part of Gresham, either. Even though school was not in session, were only students allowed to play here?
“Why don’t we look for some cows?” she said impulsively. “Oh, may we?” Becky clapped her hands.
Jewel smiled. There was no hurry to return; the cottage was almost spotless. Outside the cluster of shops at the crossroads, she asked directions of a barber sweeping the pavement. Before even reaching the stone bridge to the north, they could see black-and-white cattle grazing in distant rolling pastures.
“This is far enough, mite,” Jewel said. “I don’t want to have to carry you back the whole way.”
“Just to the bridge? To look at the water?”
“Very well.” Truth was, Jewel was having just as much fun. Once she found a position, the opportunities for exploring might be limited. But leisure time was an abnormality, as stiff as a pair of Sunday shoes.
At length they returned to the shops. Jewel purchased bread from the baker, soup bones from the butcher, potatoes, onions, carrots, and peas from the greengrocer. The parcels in her arms were bulky, but manageable.
Near the end of the path, Becky hurried ahead. “I’ll open the gate.”
“There’s a good girl.”
Seated in the wicker chairs were Miss Hollis and a large, pleasant-faced man wearing a gray tweed suit. He rose to his feet and advanced.
“Please allow me, Mrs. Libby,” he said in a familiar accent.
“You’re very kind, but I can manage.”
Miss Hollis said from her chair, “Mr. Patterson has few opportunities to play the gentleman. You may as well humor him.”
“Aleda exaggerates. One can be a gentleman even while alone. How very good to meet a fellow Brummie.” Taking the parcels, he inclined his head toward Becky, gaping up at him. “Two fellow Brummies, that is.”
Jewel could not help but smile.
“Please, sir, what’s a Brummie?” Becky asked.
“Why, it’s the nickname for those of us from Birmingham.” He smiled. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Gabriel Patterson. And you are, of course, Mrs. Libby and Becky.”
The Jewel of Gresham Green Page 15
