The Widow of Larkspur Inn (17 page)

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 envelope 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 next day the postman brought two more letters of inquiry. As soon as she had the opportunity to slip away, Julia went to
Trumbles
and withdrew four pounds. She borrowed a wallpaper pattern book from Mr. Trumble and purchased three shiny lunch pails for sixpence each along with a card of fishing line Philip had requested for a halfpenny. Next, she went to the butcher’s and ordered a joint of lamb for Easter Sunday dinner. The rest of the money she dropped into her reticule.

She found Fiona in the hall, polishing the fireplace with leadblack. Some twelve feet away, Grace knelt upon the bench in front of the pianoforte and moved the index finger of each hand up and down upon the keys, producing inharmonious but not unpleasant sounds. Under the bench napped Buff, the yellow tabby Betty had given the girl for her sixth birthday last week. Grace was the first to notice Julia and stopped playing. “You went shopping, Mother?”

“I did indeed.” Julia set her parcel down upon one of the sofas, returned Fiona’s greeting, and walked over to kiss the top of Grace’s head. “Did your brother and sister scatter already?”

The child turned on the bench and nodded, her bottom lip trembling just a bit. Before Julia could ask what was wrong, Fiona backed out of the fireplace and got to her feet, her chore finished. Sending a sympathetic look over to Grace, she said, “Miss Wilson asked if they would help her pick some cowslips on the Anwyl to decorate the church for Easter service. I didn’t think you would mind. I’ll tidy up their rooms.”

Julia shook her head. “Thank you, but they’ll have time to finish their chores this evening.” She nudged Grace aside on the piano bench and sat down next to her. The commotion caused Buff to saunter off for more sedate surroundings. “You wanted to go with them, did you?”

Now a tear welled in the corner of one green eye. “Philip said I’m too little. He wants to look for marbles, too, and won’t have time to watch me.”

“Well, what if Fiona and I watched you?”

Grace’s face brightened, and she held out both arms and wrapped them around Julia’s neck. “Thank you, Mother!”

“You’re welcome. Now, go see if you can fish your boots out of your armoire. Those slippers will never do.”

“She’ll need woolies too, ma’am,” Fiona reminded. “The ground is still damp.”

“Of course. Just look for the boots, and I’ll be there in a minute.” When Grace had left the room, Julia turned back to Fiona. “You would enjoy a walk with us, wouldn’t you? You’ve worked so hard these past two weeks.”

The Irishwoman smiled but shook her head. “You go enjoy some time with your daughter. Besides, the fireplace in the dining room needs attention.”

“But that’s not a housekeeper’s task, is it?”

“Not a housekeeper’s task?” Fiona echoed.

Julia went over to the sofa, reached into her reticule, and pulled out two pound sterling notes. “Your past month’s wages, Fiona,” she said, crossing over to where her confused friend stood. “And welldeserved.”

Fiona shook her head again. “You haven’t a single lodger yet, ma’am—I can wait. And that’s double what I was paid in London.”

“Ah, but you weren’t the
housekeeper
in London, were you?” Julia, hardly able to contain her excitement, gave Fiona a quick embrace. “And we’re going to visit the dressmaker here in Gresham and see about ordering some gowns to replace those uniforms. Housekeepers should dress according to their station, don’t you think?”

She stopped babbling, a little hurt that Fiona’s expression did not match the joy she was feeling. “Aren’t you pleased at all, Fiona?”

“Why, yes … of course.” The maid bit her lip. “But you need lodgers….”

“And as to the lodgers, well, Jensen was right. We’re going to fill this house.”

Fiona’s violet eyes widened. “More letters?”

“Two,” Julia smiled, pulling the pair of envelopes from her reticule and waving them at her. “Two beautiful, wonderful letters!”

“I wish we had better cutlery,” Julia sighed as she and Fiona picked up the dishes and flatware from the oak table in the dining room. The table was inordinately long, appearing to have been crafted inside the room itself, and was flanked by ten chairs on each side, with two at each end. Out of consideration for Betty Moser, who took care of the cooking and scullery work by herself, the family still took their meals in the kitchen, but this was Easter Sunday. Vicar Wilson, Henrietta, and Dr. and Mrs. Rhodes had joined them after the morning service for a feast of lamb with mint sauce, green peas, creamed onions, potatoes, and cabbage. Now that the guests were gone, Julia and Fiona had offered to help with the cleaning up so that Betty could spend part of the day with her own family.

“At least the china’s nice,” Fiona consoled. “Blue goes so well with a white cloth.”

“It does at that,” Julia replied but frowned down at the fork in her hand. So many other pressing matters had kept her from considering the state of the cutlery, but today she’d noticed Mrs. Rhodes give her place setting an odd glance when she first sat down at the table. The carbon-and-steel cutlery discolored quickly and required routine tedious rubbings with a dry cork and scouring powder to retain a semblance of its original luster. No doubt her lodgers-to-be would have been used to dining with silver. Would they complain of being given substandard service, perhaps even demand a reduction in rent? But with having to order linens, wall coverings, and new carpets for the six guest rooms, as well as hire on more servants soon, she could not justify spending the remaining funds on new cutlery. And there were provisions to consider. The kitchen had to be well stocked before the first guest arrived.