The Dowry of Miss Lydia Clark (33 page)

It would have to be a park
. Or else what were they planning to do? Spread a picnic on one of the storefronts? Or the middle of the street? That notion made him chuckle, and the youngest boy looked at him. Harold grinned back.

Chapter 21

You should have reminded her yesterday
, Lydia told herself, Mrs. Tanner’s admonition echoing in her mind. Then she wouldn’t have had to scurry about the kitchen this morning with her mother and the cook, boiling eggs, slicing beef and bread, and squeezing lemons for lemonade. All this caused her to set out for the Meeks’ a half hour later than she had planned. And the children, having waited in their school clothes in their tiny garden, felt nature calling the minute Lydia brought the wagon to a stop in front of their cottage.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come with us?” Lydia had asked Mrs. Meeks as the children dashed for the privy.

“I believe I would enjoy the peace and quiet more,” the woman had answered. “But will you need me to tend them?”

Lydia assured her that she could manage just fine with Phoebe’s help. But it was only when they were on the road that she found herself with misgivings over the weak-sighted girl’s ability to keep a brother or sister from tumbling from the wagon. She gave the reins another flick, coaxing Wellington and Nelson into a trot. She was actually grateful that Mr. Sanders had been on the road today. If she could make up for some of the lost time, perhaps Mr. Rosswald’s office wouldn’t be too crowded yet.

The first inkling that this was not to be was when the horses turned onto High Street, and she could find no place to leave the wagon. They had to travel another block before she could finally pull the horses to a halt, which presented another problem. If the street was this crowded, there would surely be no room for the children in the oculist’s waiting parlor. And if she managed to squeeze them in a corner somewhere, what fun would that be?

“Well, I’ll be off to that shop now,” Mr. Sanders informed her from the ground beside the wagon.

Lydia looked over at him while a thought formed in her mind. But dare she? She twisted in her seat to glance at the children, whose saucer eyes took in the shops and bustle of traffic and pedestrians with wonder.
If this impresses them, they’ll love the castle
.

This helped her to decide. “Would you mind waiting, Mr. Sanders?”

“Waiting? Uh-yes. I mean, no. Not at all, Miss Clark.”

She beckoned to Phoebe and said in a low voice, “You know we have a long wait ahead, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the girl replied. “But what are we going to do with the others?”

“What if we joined them later?”

“Yes, ma’am. But where would they go?”

Whispering that part of the plan to the girl, who gave a hesitant nod, Lydia then turned back to Harold Sanders. “Are you in a hurry to shop, Mr. Sanders?”

“No, ma’am. No hurry at all.”

His hopeful expression pricked her conscience in light of what she was about to ask him to do. She smiled. “I’m so glad. May I ask a favor?”

“What does it say, Mr. Sanders?” Trudy Meeks asked Harold as they stood looking at the carved wooden signpost among the flower beds of the castle grounds. The building, of the same red sandstone used throughout most of Shropshire, was imposing even if only three stories high, not counting the high slotted wall around the flat roof. The two towers were a little higher, so of course the children wanted to climb these first.

“Don’t you go to school?” Harold asked the girl.

“But I don’t know the big words yet.”

Fortunately, Mark came to his rescue. “It says the castle was founded in 1070.”

“What does
founded
mean?” asked Lester, who had told Harold on the way over in the wagon that he was Trudy’s twin.

Now that something had been asked that he could answer, Harold grabbed for it. “You know, they found it.”

Mark scratched his head. “I don’t think it means—”

“Well, that’s what it says, don’t it?”

“Who found it, Mr. Sanders?” Trudy asked.

“The folks looking for it, I’d wager. Are we gonter stand here all day or climb that tower?”

They decided upon the east tower first, closest to the River Severn. “Ooh, look, you can see forever,” Trudy cried while pointing her finger through one of the gaps used for aiming weapons. After the three children had made a circle, staring from each gap, they were ready for the other tower.

“Don’t you want to rest a spell?” Harold asked, having just leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets. “I’m still winded from the stairs.”

“Please, Mr. Sanders?” asked Trudy. “We’ve never had so much fun.”

“Oh, all right,” he grumbled.

At the top of the west tower, Harold watched them run from gap to gap, as before. He felt like he had pulled a plow through the pasture, and they weren’t even winded. Noticing that Lester was making an attempt to climb up into one of the gaps, Harold left his spot and pulled the boy back by the collar. “Don’t go doin’ that.”

He wasn’t exactly sure when his plan started to fail. All he knew was shortly after Miss Clark smiled at him, he was driving the wagon back through the streets of Shrewsbury.

“There are people down there,” Mark said with excitement flushing his face. “We could spit and pull our heads in, and they’d think it was birds!”

That sounded like a fine idea to Harold, who craned his head to spot any target below. Then he recalled how the schoolmistress had reminded him that he should set a good example for the children. While she hadn’t exactly mentioned spitting, he reckoned she would feel the same way about that as she did about swearing. With a stern voice he said, “Don’t go doin’ that.”

“I wasn’t going to do that, Mr. Sanders,” the boy turned to him to explain, eyes wide with sincerity. “I just meant it would be funny.”

“Well, it ain’t. Now just be good whilst I get my wind back.”

“But we want to see the main building too,” Trudy said.

“Please, Mr. Sanders?” Lester asked.

Rolling his eyes, Harold pushed himself from the wall again.
That’s what’s wrong with children these days—they don’t want to wait for nothing
.

“Is this good enough?” Mr. Pool’s nephew twisted around to ask Noelle after reining the horse to a stop in the square. He was a young man, about nineteen, with acne-scarred cheeks. Noelle had forgotten his name almost immediately after the innkeeper introduced them, for all she cared about was transportation to Shrewsbury.

“Yes, that’s fine,” she told him. When it dawned upon her that the boy didn’t intend to assist her from the carriage, she snatched up her reticule, kirtled her skirts around her ankles, and stepped down to the street. “Fetch me here at three.”

“That’ll be another two bob.”

“What?” She took two steps toward the driver’s seat. “But I already paid you.”

“Aye, for the trip down here. I’ve got to go all the way back to Gresham and then back here again.” He held up four snuff-stained fingers. “You can’t expect to pay just two shillings for four trips.”

“Very well,” she grumbled. “But I won’t pay the rest until you return. I don’t want to be stranded here while you’re in a card game somewhere with my money.”

He shrugged agreement and took up the reins again. Noelle’s glare followed him as the carriage moved on down the street, but she was just as perturbed at herself. She had considered it beneath her dignity to procure a much cheaper ride on one of the cheese wagons, as it seemed everyone else in Gresham without a carriage did. And if she would have only waited another week as Mr. Jensen had suggested, Mr. Herrick would have driven her down for nothing. But the Herricks were visiting their son in Stafford, where he was a university student or something, and Noelle had thought she would die of boredom if she didn’t see something other than sleepy lanes and cows.

After what seemed like hours, the door leading into the inner recesses of Mr. Beales’ practice opened and the dentist entered the parlor. He was as tall as Mr. Pitney, though slump-shouldered, no doubt from the years of bending over required of his profession. Meeting Julia’s questioning look with a nod, he waited until he was closer to say, “Your husband is fine, Mrs. Phelps.”

“Thank you.” Julia stood and glanced past him at the doorway. But then why wasn’t Andrew with him?

Mr. Beales looked over at the two other waiting patients, both men, whose faces wore the same mixture of pain and trepidation that Andrew’s had. Lowering his voice, he replied, “The tooth was split down into the root, unfortunately, requiring a slice in the gum. I administered chloroform beforehand, and he’s on a cot in my office sleeping it off.”

“Oh dear. May I see him?”

“There’s nothing that can be done for him now except to allow him his rest. Why don’t you come back in a couple of hours?”

Julia wouldn’t think of abandoning her husband, even if she couldn’t be in the same room. “I’ll just wait here—”

But the dentist was propelling her by the elbow to the front door, his voice gently insistent. “It’s just a tooth, Mrs. Phelps. We’ll take good care of him. Meanwhile, have some lunch, do some shopping.”

She had no choice but to leave, and supposed Mr. Beales was right. She could do Andrew no good by wringing her hands in the parlor. It was still such a new experience, having a husband who needed her as much as she needed him. Wandering about in the shops, she had little inclination to buy, and besides, she had not anticipated being in Shrewsbury when they left the house this morning, so carried very little money in her reticule.

The bell above Saint Alkmund’s chimed out the eleventh hour.
Another hour
, she thought. She supposed she might as well have the lunch the dentist had suggested. Andrew surely wouldn’t have any desire for a meal when she was finally allowed to collect him. She and the children had patronized a cafe on Market Street on a shopping trip last summer. It was a casual place—no maître d’, just a dozen tables or so, and a menu limited to soups, sandwiches, and meat pies. She stepped inside and glanced around. As the noon hour drew closer she would likely have to share a table, but as of now, she didn’t want to intrude upon any of the handful of patrons who had already staked out places.

She was about to step over to an empty table by the window when she sensed someone watching her. Julia turned to the left and met Mrs. Somerville’s eyes—just before the woman’s gaze shifted abruptly from her.