Chapter 29

On Monday morning a week later, Jewel passed through the parlor with her basket of cleaning soaps and rags, to happen upon Mrs. Hollis and Becky seated together upon the sofa. Still in dressing gown, Mrs. Hollis read from a book of nursery rhymes while Becky held Tiger in her lap.

“Solomon Grundy,
Born on a Monday,
Christened on Tuesday,
Married on Wednesday,
Took ill on Thursday,
Grew worse on Friday,
Died on Saturday,
Buried on Sunday.
That was the end of
Solomon Grundy!”

“What a morbid one!” Mrs. Hollis said with an exaggerated shiver, which made Becky giggle.

As any mother, Jewel was pleased with any proper attention shown to her child. “That’s very kind of you, ma’am. But are you over your headache?”

She had lain up with one all day yesterday. Jewel had overheard her insist that Doctor Hollis go on to church and dinner with his family without her, saying Jewel could stay to bring up a tray. Which she did.

“I’m much better. I just feel like reading. She’s such a bright little sprite.” She waved a hand at Jewel. “Now, run along with you, so we may find some sunnier rhymes.”

“I thought to pick some blackberries for tarts,” Jewel said. “Perhaps I’ll—”

“Oh, Mummy!” Becky exclaimed, torn.

“We’ll wait till tomorrow,” Jewel said. In a couple of hours she would have to prepare lunch, and then after Becky’s nap they would be off to the manor house. Supper preparations and cleaning up would take over the remainder of the day.

“No, go with your mother,” Mrs. Hollis said, nudging the cat from Becky’s lap and helping her scoot forward on the sofa cushion. “We’ll resume where we left off another time.”

She was in the kitchen when Jewel came out of the pantry with the pail.

“I’m almost tempted to go with you.”

“Please do, ma’am,” Jewel said. “The woods are so peaceful.”

“Perhaps some other time.”

“If you change your mind, just follow the path to the left when it forks.”

It was good to see her happy, Jewel thought as she led Becky up the dark, cool path. And yet her heart felt heavy. It was obvious her newfound happiness lay in Mr. Gibbs’ daily visits.

From the evidence of tray and dishes left in the garden every afternoon, the two did not venture into the cottage. But for how long? And what of Doctor Hollis? She lived in the same cottage, and knew Mrs. Hollis had not informed him of these afternoon teas.

They filled their pail, or rather, Jewel filled the pail and Becky filled her stomach. On their walk home, she realized she had not reminded Mrs. Hollis that it was laundry delivery day. But Vernon Moore usually came later in the morning, when she was starting lunch preparations. And so she was not surprised when the canvas sack did not rest beside the umbrella stand.

“Let’s brush your teeth before they stay that way,” she said to Becky.

“Yours are purple, too, Mummy.”

Jewel laughed. “So we both can use some grooming.”

When they reentered the kitchen, Mrs. Hollis had come downstairs trailing perfume, her fair hair pinned up into ringlets, her slender figure draped in blue silk with ruffled bosom and waterfall bustle. She admired the bucket of blackberries, which pleased Becky.

“Shall we read some more while your mother prepares lunch?” she said.

Jewel thanked her, happy for the distraction, for Becky’s eager help in the kitchen made it twice as difficult to cook.

Today’s lunch would be salmon with caper sauce. She was beginning to enjoy experimenting with recipes as her confidence increased. It helped that Doctor Hollis usually took breakfast and lunch at the vicarage or at Doctor Rhodes’, and that Mrs. Hollis wanted only tea for breakfast, sometimes with toast. She and Becky were content with cheese and fruit in the mornings, with the two regular meals coming later.

They ate far better than they had in Birmingham. And there were no rats in the walls! God had answered her prayer, and then some.

As she dotted bits of butter onto the salmon in the pan, she could hear Mrs. Hollis’s voice from the parlor, faint, but clear enough for the words to be recognizable.

“Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells, and cockle shells,
And pretty maids all in a row.”

An unsettling thought struck Jewel. While Mrs. Hollis had always been kind to Becky, today’s doting had almost a frantic feel about it. As if the hours lay so heavy that she felt pressured to fill them; the equivalent of pacing the floor. There could be only one reason: Mr. Gibbs would be calling again this afternoon. But why the agitation of nerves? What would be different?

Two worrisome answers rushed into her mind. Did they plan to run away together? That did not seem probable, with the squire on the verge of dying.

The other answer sent a shiver down her spine. Today would she not find the tray and cups in the garden chair? Would they bring indoors what appeared to be more than friendship?

While running away together would be the more drastic action, there was something more repulsive and even sinister about the latter.

You don’t know this to be for certain. She prayed, O God, please let me be wrong.

But it did not seem that way, for when she and Becky went downstairs after Becky’s nap, Mrs. Hollis was actually pacing the kitchen.

“Ah, there you are. I was just about to come up for you. Best be on your way . . . the squire’s waiting.”

This could not happen. Jewel had to say something. She ushered Becky through the door.

“Wait for me by the chairs.”

“What is it?” Mrs. Hollis asked as Jewel closed the door.

Jewel drew a fortifying breath, albeit a trembling one. “Mrs. Hollis, I’m more grateful for your kindness than you can know. But I feel I must say something.”

“What is it?” Mrs. Hollis repeated.

“My Norman was a simple bricklayer. But he would have died for Becky and me. And actually he did, to give us food and a roof over our heads.”

“I’m sorry, Jewel. But why are you saying this?”

“Because Doctor Hollis is a kind, decent man.” Jewel swallowed. “Far better than Mr. Gibbs, who pretends to love his uncle but barely looks in on him.”

Mrs. Hollis’s lips thinned into a disapproving line.

“I know I’m speaking out of turn. But it’s so hard to stand—”

“That will be quite enough,” Mrs. Hollis said softly, but with tiny nostrils flaring. “You’ve been listening to servants’ gossip.”

“I saw it for myself. . . .”

“We each handle grief in different ways.” She went to the door, opened it. “Mr. Gibbs is hardly one to confide in his staff. I suppose I should appreciate your concern, but I will thank you to keep your opinion to yourself. Now, go make your visit.”

“What’s wrong, Mummy?” Becky said as Jewel opened the gate.

“I just needed to remind Mrs. Hollis of something important,” Jewel replied with a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“Will we move to another house?”

“I don’t think so, mite.” If Mrs. Hollis were inclined to dismiss her, surely she would have done it on the spot.

As they were about to turn onto Bartley Lane, Jewel heard, “Yoo-hoo! Jewel!”

In the near distance, Mrs. Raleigh waved from the side of her garden, the younger children visible through the fence pickets.

“You’re visiting the squire?” she asked when Jewel and Becky drew closer. “Would Becky care to play?”

“We’re going to blow bubbles with hoops!” Claire enthused.

“Bubbles . . . hoops!” Samuel echoed.

Mrs. Raleigh motioned Jewel aside as the children chattered. “My parents stopped by on their way to see the squire. Doctor Rhodes said he could go any minute. It might not be good for her to be there.”

“Oh dear. You’re very thoughtful.”

Mrs. Raleigh nodded. “Just drop her off every afternoon. It won’t be that much longer. Anyway, she’s good for Claire and Samuel. They’re much calmer with an older child about, but I can’t ask John to give up playing with his friends all the time.”

Jewel thanked her and hurried up the carriage drive. As much as it had seemed to comfort the squire to see Becky, she was too young to be exposed to dying. Vicar and Mrs. Phelps were coming down the manor house steps, toward a horse and trap tied to a post. Mrs. Phelps embraced her, and the vicar took her hand.

“At last we meet, Mrs. Libby.”

“How is your health?” she asked.

“I’m almost fully recovered. In fact, I preached yesterday while you were with Loretta. It was good of you to take care of her.”

“The squire’s still hanging on,” Mrs. Phelps said. “I’ve never see such strength of will.”

A lightning-quick glance passed between husband and wife. They bade her farewell and moved toward the trap, but then Mrs. Phelps turned.

“We wonder if we should look in on Loretta. We don’t want her to think we don’t care. Philip is working so Doctor Rhodes can be here, so we’ve not had the chance to ask if her headache is gone. But what do you think? Would now be a good time?”

“No, ma’am,” Jewel said, and hoped not to be asked to explain. As much as she loathed lies, she feared she might slip into one. “This wouldn’t be a good time.”

They thanked her and moved on. As Jewel knocked at the door, she wondered if she had given the wrong answer. This could possibly be the best day to visit. Surely Mr. Gibbs was with the squire. Surely even he would not abandon an uncle hovering on the brink of death.

“In Nottingham there lives a jolly tanner,
His name is Arthur-a-Bland,
There is never a squire in Nottinghamshire,
Dare bid bold Arthur stand.”

Donald sang softly, pleased with himself. He had made plenty of mistakes in the past, but all for all, if cleverness was worth as much as gold, he would be as wealthy as Midas.

He was seriously considering theatre, once his life was reestablished. His good looks and talent would go a long way, given the right contacts. Had Ambrose Clay known Uncle Thurmond? Perhaps the actor would be caught up in the wave of sympathy soon to flow his way and agree to write letters of introduction.

For his performance before Doctor Rhodes and Vicar and Mrs. Phelps had been nothing less than stageworthy. As the clock hands had neared the appointed time, he had put his increasing agitation to good use by kneeling by the old man’s bed and weeping profusely into his hands.

“I’ve failed him in so many ways! I can’t bear the shame! Vicar, pray tell me . . . is it too late? Can God ever forgive me?”

It was like dangling a worm before a carp. He had smiled into his hands at the touch upon his shoulder, the sound of the vicar’s gentle voice.

“God will forgive anyone who truly seeks repentance, Mr. Gibbs. Why don’t you go off to a quiet place and pour your heart out to Him?”

Wiping his eyes with his handkerchief, Donald had sniffed and said, in a touch of genius, “It has been my custom of late to walk among the trees, where I felt His presence so strongly as a young man.”

And thus, his feet trod the path to the cottage.

Manufacturing tears had been easy. All he had had to do was think of Reese.

Reese!

He blinked as new tears threatened. Reese, who would come begging when Donald became the toast of England. The thought stretched his lips into a bitter smile. He would ignore Reese’s pleas for forgiveness. For a while. Show the consequences of abandoning him. Ride around London in his uncle’s coach. Flaunt his fortune.

But alas, his fingertips could not quite touch the money. Because of legal steps Mr. Baker must take, the will would not be executed for at least a fortnight into the old man’s stay in the ground.

There was still the issue of the August mortgage payment, due in eleven days. Though he would have enough to take the house out of possible foreclosure when his hands closed about his inheritance, there was the chance some greedy investor would have snapped it up before then.

And thus, he must step up the hints to Mrs. Hollis, though she bored him to tears with her complaints about her marriage and having to spend one whole month in Gresham. Some people had genuine problems.

Just inside the gate she stood, stunning in a Wedgwood blue gown flowing from the waist with fluid movements. She usually waited in a chair, ofttimes reading, as if she had planned to be out in the garden anyway and was a little surprised that he happened by.

“Mr. Gibbs!”

The anxiety in her face unnerved him as he drew closer.

“Is something wrong, Mrs. Hollis?” Was her husband aware of their little meetings? Had Jewel gotten her revenge after all? Not that they had committed any mortal sins, but he had heard of husbands so jealous that a tipping of a hat could invite a thrashing.

“I must speak with you of something important. It kept me awake for hours last night.”

“Pray, what is it?” he said, escorting her to a chair. “You’re obviously in distress. What may I do to help you, dear lady?”

Her smile was a mixture of gratitude and relief. “And yet your first thought is for me. My doubts over this decision have vanished.”

Decision? Donald thought, holding his breath. “They have?”

She leaned forward earnestly. “Forgive my indelicacy for asking, but how much longer can your uncle last?”

“You must be psychic, Mrs. Hollis. As we speak, Doctor Rhodes and others keep watch over his last breaths. I am only here because, even in my grief, I could not bear the thought of your wondering if”—he allowed himself a bashful shifting of his eyes away from hers—“if I had lost interest in our friendship.”

“Dear Mr. Gibbs! I would never think such!”

His eyes met hers again.

Her face was positively glowing.

She held up her palms. “Please hear me out. You mentioned your fear of not being able to meet your next mortgage payment.”

He gave her a pained look. “Did I? Inexcusable! I was in dire straits, talking out of my head. No doubt you thought I was dropping hints.”

“You’re too honorable for that.”

He willed a blush to his cheeks. Could the mighty Mr. Clay do this?

“I’ll ask Father to lend me the money. He never refuses me anything, as if to make up for siding with my sister. How much is your payment?”

“Your friendship is more valuable to me than money,” Donald replied. “I fear I would be trading one for the other. It may be that I can buy back the house once it’s foreclosed.”

He got to his feet. “And, kind lady, I must return to my uncle.”

She rose, as well. “Friends bear each other’s burdens, Mr. Gibbs.”

“Fifteen pounds,” he finally said, shoulders rising and falling with a theatrical sigh. It was more than the actual mortgage, but his purse missed the feel of crisp pound notes.

“Now, was that so hard?” She smiled. “I’ll telegraph my father and ask him to send a cheque at once.”

Already his wisdom in requesting extra money was becoming evident.

“Dear Mrs. Hollis! Words cannot express what a difference you’ve made in my life!”

Impulsively, theatrically, even gratefully, he took her into his arms and held her, murmuring into her hair how he would do anything for her if she ever found herself in need of help.

At the sound of a twig snapping, he jumped back as if she were on fire. Both heads turned toward the gate. Not a soul. Donald drew closer, noticed a canvas sack propped against the fence.

“What is this?”

“Oh dear.” Mrs. Hollis rushed over and began wringing her slender hands. “The boy who delivers laundry. He had to have seen us! Philip said this village thrives upon gossip.”

“But we’ve always been aboveboard.” Fatigued by all the emotion of the day, Donald wished very much to go back to the manor house and smoke a cigarette. “I was distraught over my uncle, and you were comforting me.”

“Yes, perhaps.” She bit her lip, gave him a worried look. “If we end up divorcing, Philip could use even a rumor of . . . adultery . . . to his advantage.”

“Ah.” Donald nodded understanding. “Then I should stay away. Just in case.”

She was shaking her head, eyes filling. He put a finger beneath her chin and said softly, “Remember London? Where we shall both end up very soon? I will look forward to renewing our friendship . . . Loretta.”

She sniffed and smiled up at him. “Yes, of course. You’re right. I’ll have Jewel deliver the cheque to you when it . . .”

She frowned.

“What is it?”

“I’ll have to send it another way. Jewel . . . Jewel’s not so fond of you. She warned me that we shouldn’t be friends.”

Donald chuckled. “Indeed? And did she say why I dismissed her?”

“No.”

“A small thing. Becky stole something valuable, but Jewel practically accused me of hiding it in her trunk for an excuse to dismiss her.”

“That doesn’t sound like Becky. Or Jewel.”

“No doubt Becky only meant to play with it for a while and forgot to return it. Young children are prone to plunder. But Jewel took offense. I’ve forgiven her for that. Why don’t you put the cheque in an envelope addressed to Mrs. Cooper? I’ll ask her to keep a watch for it, and Jewel won’t know what she’s delivering.”

“Yes, I’ll do that.”

He touched her cheek. “Is that all?”

She smiled. “I’ll do that . . . Donald.”

Whistling a jolly ditty below his breath, Donald tramped the path through the woods. His house was saved, and he no longer had to work for it.