The Proposal (32 page)

Penny lit up like a candle upon hearing the man’s words and reached for the door. Marianne, not quite certain what to expect, watched as she swung the door open and jumped.

“Penny!” Marianne came swiftly after her.

“She’s fine.” The deep voice of Mr Jennings came to her ears just as his hand took hers. “Are you going to jump?” he asked.

“Are the children all right?” Marianne questioned, looking anxiously beyond him.

“Swimming like fish. Shall we join them?”

Marianne forced herself to step out into the water.

“Oh!” she couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped her when the cool water soaked through to her skin.

“Are you all right?” Jennings asked, still holding her hand.

“It’s a bit cool.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” he said, a twinkle in his eyes. “Here we go!”

Marianne was wading in water only up to her knees at this point, and she walked along to the children who were already wet from head to foot. They were delighted that she joined them, and in no time at all, she was very wet herself.

What followed were two glorious hours of swimming and playing in the water. Marianne didn’t know when she’d had such fun. She spent most of her time sitting on the sea floor, water nearly to her neck, and laughing at the antics of the children. Mr Jennings proved to be a fine swimmer, and at one point he and Thomas struck out in a race. Jennings had the advantage and won easily, but he let Thomas hang on his back for part of the return trip.

When the children showed signs of becoming waterlogged, everyone changed and sought refreshments from among the stands on the beach. All a little drowsy, they took their time at a seaside table for five.

“Will we go to Morehouse tomorrow?” Thomas asked.

“We can, or do you wish for one more day at the sea?”

To Marianne’s surprise Penny and James did not immediately vote to stay. They were quiet as they relished their drinks and biscuits.

“I think I’d like to go tomorrow,” Thomas said. “Will we have time to stay a few days?”

“We can stay, Thomas. And if you feel an extended visit is necessary, you just speak to me.”

“Thank you, sir.”

They ate and talked for more than an hour. It was a slow time without interruptions or schedules to keep. Eventually they changed again and went back into the water and then back to the hotel for supper, but it was a day in which forever after James would say that time stood still; minutes had stretched into hours and hours felt like days.

By the time they reached their rooms to retire for the night, Jennings was so drowsy he could barely ready himself for bed. He was sitting on the side of the bed and staring at nothing when someone knocked on the door.

“Mr Jennings?” The innkeeper himself stood outside.

“Yes.”

“A lady asked me to give you this,” he said, pushing a paper toward him. “She’s down by the fire, ’oping to see you.”

Jennings pulled a coin from his pocket, thanked the man, and then closed the door.

The boys watched him read the note, his face thoughtful.

“Thomas,” Jennings directed, turning to him, the note going to his pocket, “lock the door. Open it for only me. I won’t be long.”

“Are you leaving?” James asking, feeling so tired he thought he could cry.

“Just down to the common room, James. Go ahead to sleep. I’ll be back shortly.”

Jennings had said all of this while slipping back into his jacket. A moment later he was out the door and to the stairs. He took them down and entered the room, a bit darker than he remembered, and the moment he did, a woman stood from her seat by the fire.

“Mr Jennings?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but I would beg a moment of your time.”

“Please sit down, Mrs...” Jennings began.

The woman didn’t answer but did resume her seat. Finely dressed and not young, she was terribly distracted, her hands twisting her handkerchief into knots.

“Are you unwell?” Jennings asked from the seat opposite her, his heart wrung with a certain measure of compassion.

“No, sir, I thank you, but I must tell you something. It’s about Mrs Smith.”

Jennings’ frame tensed, but he sat still, his mind racing with what this woman could want.

“I thought a huge injustice was being committed,” she began apologetically. “I thought I was doing the right thing when I hired Mr Hayter to represent her. Mrs Smith was our nanny for years. I thought she was wonderful. My daughter was always so quiet and well behaved.” Some emotion overcame the woman just then, and she stopped to compose herself. After a deep breath, she continued very quietly.

“I don’t see my daughter very often; she’s moved far from London,” the woman said in obvious pain and regret. “But I did see my daughter after the trial, and from her I learned the truth.” The woman raised tortured eyes to his. “Mrs Smith was horrible to my Elisabeth. She was cruel and impatient and made sure the bruises didn’t show.”

It was too much for the woman. Even knowing her daughter was no longer in harm’s way, the thought of what she’d been through was too much for her.

Jennings remained quiet while the woman cried, his heart so thankful that it hadn’t taken years to learn of Penny’s pain. Nevertheless, he didn’t think anything could be done to reverse the decision of the judge. The trial was over. He could speak to a lawyer about entering new evidence, but would this Elisabeth, who now lived far from London, wish to testify? And if she was willing, would they find Mrs Smith again?

“I don’t suppose anything can be done by the courts now,” the lady continued, “but I had to come to you. I had to make it right with you.”

“Will you tell me your name?”

“Mrs Dashwood of Bath. I was to your home at Collingbourne. I talked to your man. He was kind enough to tell me where you’d gone.”

“Thank you, Mrs Dashwood. I shall look into this when I return. If the courts do want to hear further testimony, they might need to hear from your daughter.”

“She would be more than willing to have her say about Mrs Smith. I shall write to you at Collingbourne so you’ll have my address. If you need Elisabeth, contact me.”

And with just a soft word of goodbye, Mrs Dashwood rose and exited. Jennings stood by the fire long enough to hear a carriage pull away and assumed she was safely on her way. He mounted the stairs slowly, thoughtfully.

Thomas opened the door, his eyes searching out some kind of reassurance. Thankfully Jennings caught his anxious gaze.

“I’ll tell you in the morning, Thomas,” he answered the unasked question. “Get your rest now.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Penny or Marianne, is there?”

“It was nothing like that, Thomas—just a woman desperate to set the record straight.”

Thomas nodded.

“Goodnight, sir.”

“Goodnight.”

The lantern was still burning next to Jennings’ bed. He could see that James was sound asleep and assumed Thomas soon would be. In light of that he felt free to burn the lantern a bit longer, and he reached for his Bible.

Tonight his mind was on God’s sovereignty. He remembered how frustrated he’d been when Mrs Smith had gotten off, but it hadn’t been long after that when he’d understood how God had been in control the entire time.

Jennings had it in his mind to look for a verse that spoke of God’s sovereignty when he found himself in the first chapter of Second Timothy. He began to read, going over things slowly when they did not make sense, and stopping in his tracks on verse five: “When I call to remembrance the unfeigned faith that is in thee, which dwelt first in thy grandmother, Lois, and thy mother Eunice; and I am persuaded that in thee also.”

Jennings had not been reading the Bible long, but even at that, he couldn’t recall reading about a man’s mother and grandmother in this way. It sounded to him as though Paul credited Timothy’s faith to his mother. And then his mother’s faith to her mother.

Jennings read it several times over, determining to ask Palmer or Pastor Hurst if this was usual. He thought about it as he readied for bed—he was now well and truly tired— and even after he lay down. The lantern still on, Jennings raised himself up and looked over at the other bed. The boys were sound asleep.

Jennings eventually turned the lantern down and laid his head on the pillow. His mind as full as it was tired, he fell asleep with the children in his prayers.

Chapter Eighteen

“Her name was Mrs Dashwood,” Jennings explained to Marianne and the children at the breakfast table about his evening visitor. “Mrs Smith worked for her years ago, and just as with you, Penny, she was not kind. Mrs Dashwood didn’t know this at the time. She sent a man to represent Mrs Smith at the trial, and because of his defense the court let her go free. Later when she spoke with her daughter, she learned the truth.”

“Is Mrs Smith coming?” Penny asked.

“To find us? No, Penny. We know about her. She won’t want to be anywhere near us.”

“So the lawyer lied?” Thomas asked.

“No. Mrs Dashwood thought Mrs Smith was being unjustly tried.”

“How could she not know about her own daughter all those years?” James asked, his small brow lowered.

“I don’t know, James. I’m only glad we found out so soon.”

Penny suddenly found all eyes on her. She looked at Jennings.

“I didn’t like her.”

Jennings reached over and touched her small hand.

“It’s all over now. There’s no need to worry.”

Jennings urged the children back to their breakfasts, but before he could return to his, he caught Marianne’s eyes on him. Before she dropped her gaze he thought he saw approval there. He wondered on it until they were in the carriage and on their way.

Morehouse was beautiful, set on a hill amid trees of great variety. The small band of travelers were quiet as they approached. The handful of staff began to gather when they were still a long way off, and James was the first to spot them.

“Look, it’s Murch.”

“And Mrs Murch!” Penny added.

The children tumbled from the carriage almost before it could stop and ran to these faithful servants.

“How are you, Master Thomas?”

“We’re fine, Murch. Please meet our guardian, William Jennings, and a friend of ours, Miss Walker.”

“Welcome to Morehouse.”

Penny was hugging Mrs Murch in a way that reminded Jennings of her relationship with Cook, and he now understood why the children had shown such kindness to his staff. And all of this was before stepping through the doors of Morehouse.

One of the grander homes Jennings had ever seen, the foyer alone was spectacular. The woods were all a bit dark for Jennings’ taste, but the staircase that rose from the foyer area to the second floor was unparalleled. He was on the verge of telling the children how impressed he was when he realized they had moved as a group away from him.

Jennings and Marianne watched as the children silently but resolutely approached the double-wide open doors of a study, presumably their father’s. His large desk sat directly in the middle of the room facing the door, and the children were drawn to it as though under a spell.

Jennings kept his place, but Marianne went as far as the doorway to watch.

They all seemed to be attracted to their father’s desk chair. Remaining silent and watchful, Marianne slipped in and sat on one of the sofas.

James ran his hand along the smooth leather back of the chair and then buried his face against it to cry. His tears prompted Penny’s. She stood with her arms wrapped around the nearest armrest, her sobs coming unchecked. Thomas was in no better condition. He didn’t touch the chair or his siblings but looked down at the desk, tears flowing freely down his face.

Marianne cried as well but didn’t move to the children. She knew that Jennings had come to the doorway, but she couldn’t turn to him. She could only cry and watch the heartbreak of these children she loved.

Thomas was the first to contain himself. He used his handkerchief and then glanced around the room. Only then did he notice Marianne.

“Why are you crying, Marianne?”

“Because I’m so sorry for your pain.”

It was too much for the oldest child. He again succumbed to tears. Hearing Marianne’s voice, Penny went to her, and it wasn’t long before the others joined her on the sofa.