The Widow of Larkspur Inn (24 page)

She advanced with a wide smile but stopped halfway across the room and seemed confused. Two blinks later, the short-sighted eyes seemed to focus upon the figure seated upon the sofa. “We’ve all kinds of little cakes and sandwiches,” she said cheerily as Philip pushed forward one of the tea tables.

“Just tea, please,” Mr. Clay told her, as if the effort of speaking were almost too much for him.

“Milk or lemon?”

“Plain. But do thank your cook for the tray.”

When she was gone, Mr. Clay looked up at Philip as if noticing him for the first time. “You don’t have to wait here with me.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Philip said, wincing inside at the lie. Vicar Wilson’s sermon last Sunday evening had been about how a person’s yea should mean yea, and his nay mean nay. A poor man who possessed integrity of speech, the vicar had said, had something that all the gold in the world couldn’t purchase. Inspired by those lofty words, Philip had determined he would never again allow a falsehood to pass his lips. He was glad the vicar couldn’t hear him right now, but the unsettling thought crossed his mind that God could.

“Aren’t you having anything?” the man asked with a nod toward the tray.

“No, thank you.” Actually, Philip thought a couple of seed cakes would be a fine finish to his early lunch of ham sandwiches, but he was too nervous to gobble them down in front of this visitor.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Mr. Clay said presently.

“Yes, thank you.” Philip backed into a chair. He watched Mr. Clay finish his tea and then felt compelled to break the silence again.

“Do you enjoy acting?”

Mr. Clay looked at him again. “Acting? Why, yes.”

“Where have you performed?”

“Oh, Oxford when I was a student. London, for the past fifteen years, with a tour of the States before the war.”

Then why are you here?
Philip thought, but said instead, “Have you performed any Shakespeare?”

“Quite a lot, actually.”

While it seemed that Mr. Clay didn’t resent being questioned in such a manner, it became obvious to Philip that he was too weary to volunteer any information. In spite of the refreshment he’d just taken, the man looked as if he’d
walked
from Shrewsbury, trunks and all. Philip decided that, as the man of the house, he was just going to have to plan a course of action in the absence of his mother.

“Mr. Clay?” He cleared his throat again. “Would you like to go upstairs and rest?”

“Do you think that would be all right?”

“Yes, sir.”

Relief washed across the man’s face. “I would like that very much, thank you.”

Chapter 14

“I would like to purchase a carriage and team before winter,” Julia said apologetically to Mrs. Kingston as the party of four made their way down Walnut Tree Lane, the farthest north-south road to the west of Gresham. Mrs. Kingston had expressed a desire to see the village that would be her new home and said she didn’t mind if Julia asked Grace and Fiona along. A May breeze eddied about them, full of promise and sweet scents from the cottage gardens that they passed.

“Humph!” Mrs. Kingston snorted while keeping the lead she’d enjoyed for the past half hour. “God gave us legs for a purpose. Horses and carriages are going to be the ruin of England. And the trains as well.”

Julia sent a wave to Dr. Rhodes’ gardener, who was weeding a patch of hollyhock. She wondered if Mrs. Rhodes were out on a call or in the stable tending the colt, Gabriel, recently named by Fiona because of the white circle adorning his forehead. “Surely you’ll agree that they make life a lot more convenient,” she reasoned to the back of Mrs. Kingston’s black bonnet.

“Sometimes, but everyone has gone soft because of it. I’ve walked three miles daily for the past twenty years … weather permitting. Haven’t had an aching joint or even the sniffles since I don’t remember when. Convenient indeed!”

Grace apparently mistook the gruffness in the new lodger’s tone as anger, for the tender-hearted girl took a couple of quick steps to catch up and slipped a hand in Mrs. Kingston’s. “Do you like hills? I’ll ask Philip to show you the best paths to take up the Anwyl if you’d like.”

Taken off guard, the elderly woman peered down at her and softened her tone. “Why, that’s very kind of you.”

“Blessed are the peacemakers,” Fiona murmured from Julia’s side.

As they turned left on Church Lane and headed back toward the
Larkspur
, Julia could see Karl Herrick clearing away shrubbery from the patch of ground behind the courtyard which was to become the kitchen garden.

Mrs. Kingston had obviously seen him, too, for she suddenly released Grace’s hand, quickened her steps, and advanced toward him, returning the Worthy sisters’ greetings with a cursory nod. The two managed to wave Julia to a halt, though.

“You’ve a visitor, Mrs. Hollis,” Iris said. “A gentleman.”

“Not a friendly sort, if ye ask me,” Jewel added, nodding in the direction of the kitchen garden. She peered up at Julia with a critical eye. “Just like yer Mrs. Kingston there. Do ye intend to fill the
Larkspur
up with unsociable people, Mrs. Hollis?”

“Of course not,” Julia told them, avoiding glancing over at Fiona, lest she give way to the smile she was struggling to keep inside. “And once Mrs. Kingston becomes better acquainted with you, I’m sure you’ll get along famously.”

“I don’t know about that, dear,” Iris sighed. “We had a chat with her yesterday, and she mentioned that we ought to mind our own business.”

Jewel drew her lips together. “All we did was ask her why she moved to Gresham. Never once did we say she wasn’t
welcome
here!”

This time Julia sent a pleading look to Fiona, who took a step closer and came to the rescue. In her most soothing brogue, she said, “We all have days when we feel out of sorts. And some people are more sensitive to questions than others.” She nodded down at the strips of lace upon the women’s cushions. “My, my! Isn’t it amazing that something so lovely can come from simple threads.”

As the Worthy sisters brightened and pointed out the intricacies of their patterns, Julia suddenly recalled that they had mentioned a visitor. She wasn’t expecting her second lodger, a Mr. Clay, until three days from now but wondered if he’d come early. She didn’t want to ask the Worthy sisters for details, or she would be delayed for another ten minutes.

“Have a pleasant afternoon,” she told them, even though they were too busy discussing their lace with Fiona to notice. Taking Grace’s hand, she hurried up the carriage drive. She felt guilty for leaving Fiona at their mercy but knew the housekeeper would be able to extricate herself tactfully after another minute or so.

Oh dear! Is she giving orders to the servants again?
Julia wondered, approaching Karl and Mrs. Kingston at the garden site. But when both heads turned to her, their expressions seemed pleasant enough.

“So you’ve gotten yourself away from them,” Mrs. Kingston said. “I hope you don’t mind my asking Mr. Herrick here to move this rose bush.”

“Rose bush?” Julia stepped forward to peer down at the straggled bit of thorns and reluctant buds growing near the stones of the gardening cottage. “Why, I’ve never even noticed it.”

“You don’t happen to know which variety of rose it is, do you?”

“I’m afraid I don’t. My gardening skills are lacking, as you’ve already noticed.”

Mrs. Kingston nodded agreement to that point. “Well, it’s not the proper time to transplant anything green. But the poor plant needs the morning sun most desperately, so Mr. Herrick is kindly moving it to the front. I shall just have to nurse it along and try to keep it alive.” To Karl, she said, “Careful now—a good wide circle. You don’t want to shock the roots.” Mrs. Kingston looked at Julia again and nodded toward the Alcorn’s cottage, next door to the Worthy sisters.

“I wonder if that family would let me have some rabbit droppings to use as fertilizer?”

“I’m sure they would. But how did you know …?”

“That they raise rabbits? Why, those two lace spinners told me just yesterday. Excellent work they do, by the way. I plan to purchase some lace to send to my grandchildren come Christmas.”

Julia thought about the ghost story and wondered if rabbits were all that had been discussed. “So, you had a chat with them?”

“A good long one.” Mrs. Kingston’s blue eyes shone with just a bit of mischief. “And I can assure you of this, Mrs. Hollis. If I come across Jake Pitt in some dark corridor, I shall give him what-for.”

And I’ll cheer you on,
Julia thought. When she finally hurried through the kitchen doorway, Mrs. Herrick sent a mild reproachful look from atop her stool. “So you’ve finally decided to come home.”

“Is it Mr. Clay who’s here?”

“Aye. And he’s been waitin’ for over an hour now.”

“He’s the actor,” Mildred volunteered as she paused from chopping up turnips. She was a tall and broad woman with a warm nature that belied her perpetually anxious expression. Her hair was covered with a frilled cap, except for two reddish-brown curls that bobbed over each ear. “A most handsome fellow too. Georgette is black and blue from runnin’ into tables and doors.”

“But he wasn’t due until Tuesday. Where is he now? In the hall?”

“Up in his room,” the cook answered. “Master Philip said the man looked like he needed to rest. He sure didn’t touch a thing on my tray.”

Julia found Philip pacing the hall with his hands gathered behind his back. He looked greatly relieved at her presence, and after repeating what Mrs. Herrick had already told her, he asked if he could leave to play cricket with his friends. She thanked the boy for taking care of matters and allowed him to go. “Just be back by suppertime.”

Philip did indeed return as ordered, but as the evening wore on, Mr. Clay had yet to put in an appearance. After contemplating the matter, Julia finally went upstairs and knocked softly upon his door. Normally she would not have dreamed of visiting a gentleman’s room, but she reminded herself that she was the landlady of this establishment and had a duty to know what was going on.

Besides, Mr. Clay’s actions, as described by Philip, were not those of a well man. If he were carrying some sort of contagious disease, she had to think of the welfare of her children, the servants, and Mrs. Kingston. Perhaps a coach would even have to be hired to take him to the hospital in Shrewsbury.

She sent up a quick prayer.
Please show me how to deal with this, Lord
.

“Come in,” said a voice from the other side.

Judging by the dimness of the room as she pushed open the door, Julia expected to find Mr. Clay still abed. But a face turned to her from one of the two wing chairs by the window. She could tell little about the man while standing in the light of the hallway, but the voice had been of someone perhaps a little older than herself.

“I’m Julia Hollis,” she said, taking a step into the room. “We corresponded about your taking a room here.”

“Yes, of course.”

She cleared her throat. “I’ve come to inform you that supper will be served at seven. And to discuss certain things with you, if I may.”

“Please, do come in,” he repeated, getting to his feet. Julia crossed the carpet to offer her hand. The man was clad in a plain white shirt and dark trousers, with a scarf tied loosely at his neck. A frock coat hung upon the back of the chair in which he’d been seated. The hand that he offered didn’t feel overly warm or clammy, and though his face appeared drawn, there seemed to be no flush of fever. Julia sat down in the chair adjacent to Mr. Clay’s, and he took his seat again.

“I apologize for not being here when you arrived, Mr. Clay,” Julia told him. “But I wasn’t expecting you until Tuesday.”

“The fault is mine, I assure you,” he said in a refined voice colored with a trace of Cornish accent. “I simply felt compelled to get out of London. If you’d prefer, I can go somewhere else until then.”

Julia shook her head. “Of course not.”
You have to ask him now,
she ordered herself. “But I must confess some concern about the state of your health. Why are you sitting here in the dark?”

He gave a long sigh. “I suppose you wonder if I’m ill. Not with anything that should alarm you.”