“As I think of you whenever I sit before a fire,” she said. “I still have a pile of your wood left.”
He smiled at her, and she smiled at him. And the sadness was a dull ache about her heart.
“Good night, Harry,” she said. “And thank you for the ride.”
“Good night, Lydia.” He raised one hand to hook behind her ear a lock of her hair that had come loose when she lowered her hood. He kissed her forehead.
But the wind blew the door open again as he did so, and he turned, tucked the scarf beneath one arm, raised his umbrella, ducked beneath it, and hurried back to his carriage.
Lydia shut the door, leaned back against it, closed her eyes, and touched the fingers of one hand to her forehead.
Thirteen
The first sign of trouble came the following morning when Mrs. Piper arrived on Lydia’s doorstep. She had brought Lydia’s plate.
“How good of you to return it so promptly,” Lydia said with a warm smile after she had opened the door. “I did not expect it so soon. And I daresay the road is very muddy after all that rain. Was it not torrential? But do come inside. The kettle is close to boiling. I’ll make a pot of tea.”
She was actually not sorry for the distraction. She had been feeling melancholy all morning despite all her efforts to concentrate upon the happy memories she had of the assembly.
Mrs. Piper was not responding either to her smile or to her invitation to step inside out of the damp, chilly air that had succeeded the overnight rain, however. She held Lydia’s plate against her bosom. Her lips were drawn into a thin, hard line. Her eyes were expressionless.
“I put your cakes on the plate with my own last night and called after you to take your plate,” she said, thrusting it suddenly at Lydia, who took it from her. “You did not hear me because you were too eager to go off with Major Westcott. Jeremy was waiting outside to walk me home and offered to run over to your house with the plate right then even though it was pelting with rain. I have a good boy there, always eager to do things for his mother and his neighbors. He ran all the way, but when he got here he was too shocked to bring you the plate. You were standing in your doorway kissing the major while his coachman had his back turned, pretending not to notice.”
“Oh.” Lydia was too startled for the moment to say anything else. “Major Westcott was kind enough to give Mrs. Bailey and me a ride home in his carriage after the Reverend Bailey was called away with Dr. Powis to old Mrs. Wickend’s sickbed. He insisted upon escorting each of us all the way to our door because the rain was heavy and he had an umbrella in the carriage. I am so sorry to have embarrassed Jeremy after he had come all this way in the rain. But he did misunderstand what he saw, poor boy.”
Good heavens. Oh, gracious heavens.
Mrs. Piper’s expression had not changed. “The reverend gave his life for my son,” she said, her voice trembling with some emotion that might well be rage. “The Reverend Tavernor, that is. A heavenly martyr he was. I will never forget him as long as there is life in my body. He was one of God’s holy angels come down to earth. The last thing I expected— the last thinganyoneexpected—was that his wife would turn out to be a woman of loose morals.”
“Mrs. Piper!” Lydia stared at her, aghast, and now she was the one clutching the plate to her bosom. “Jeremy misinterpreted what he saw. But even if he had not, even if I really had beenkissingMajor Westcott, would that be such offensive behavior that it must reflect badly upon my morals? I am a widow, not a wife. I was unwaveringly loyal to my husband while he lived. That must have been evident to everyone here. I amsorryJeremy saw what he did and was embarrassed and drew the wrong conclusion. But I must admit to resenting the hasty judgmentyouhave passed upon me based solely upon what he reported to you. If you care to listen to my explanation, I will give it, though I do not recognize any obligation to do so.”
Mrs. Piper clearly did not care to listen to anything. She took a step back, though she did not immediately turn away. “Oh, it is not just that one thing,” she said. “You had him chopping wood here for you all one morning, and then you had him inside your house for more than an hour afterward—with the door shut. And you had him back again that same night for more of what he got in the morning. I suppose it all got started when you talked him into walking you home from Tom Corning’s one night—yes, I heard all about it—and from Mr. Solway’s the week after. And last night! That dress you were wearing, if you don’t mind me saying so, was shameful for a woman who had the privilege of being the reverend’s wife before he became a holy martyr and gave his life for my boy. Youdancedand you smiled and laughed and made an exhibition of yourself, though everyone knows the reverend believed dancing to be sinful and putting oneself forward in company to be immodest in a woman. If he could have seen you last night he would have turned over in his grave. He was the most upright and pious and godly man that ever walked this earth. And I never did think you were worthy of him. I always thought you were a sly one. I am sure a lot of people thought so too, though we have kept our mouths shut until now out of respect for him because he doted on you.My helpmeet, he always called you. Some helpmeet!”
Oh, gracious heaven! Lydia watched, half paralyzed, as Mrs. Piper turned and strode out of her garden, leaving the gate swinging behind her, and along the street until she was out of sight behind the copse. Snowball trotted along the path, though she stopped outside the gate and stood in the middle of the road looking after her before trotting back in, wet mud and all.
Lydia closed the door and stood with her back to it, her eyes squeezed shut, the plate hugged to her bosom with both arms. It took several minutes for the jumbled ball that was her mind to sort itself into coherent thought.
So that morning when she had seen Jeremy’s head above her fence, it had not been the first time he had looked. He had seen Harry chopping her wood. He had seen him come inside for refreshments. He even knew the visit had lasted one hour, though it was very unlikely he possessed a pocket watch. He knew about the visit that evening.Oh, dear God, he knew about that.He knew she had walked home from Tom and Hannah’s with Harry—Mrs. Piper had not been at that social gathering, but Jeremy must have seen her anyway. He had seen Harry kiss her forehead last night.
Had he been spying on her for some time, then? No, that was not a question. He had been spying.
But why?
Because Isaiah had saved his life and he had taken it upon himself to make sure she was safe? Quite frankly that did not sound convincing. Because he wanted to be a sort of watchdog, then, making sure that she was honoring Isaiah’s memory with upright living? That would make sense surely only if he hoped she was not. He must know that his mother disliked and resented her—butwhy?—and would like nothing more than something specific with which to reproach her. Mrs. Piper had always been a bit of a gossip. A spiteful one, for the gossip she spread was never of the happy variety.Viciously piouswas how Lydia had sometimes thought of her. She had loved nothing better than to bring to Isaiah’s notice the perceived transgressions of her neighbors. To his credit, he had never encouraged her.
Other peopledid, however.
Most people, of course, if they were strictly honest with themselves, enjoyed a bit of gossip, especially if it was basically harmless. There were some, though, who thrived upon the sort of gossip that tore someone else’s reputation to tatters. Such people generally showed little concern for facts, especially if the facts threatened to disprove what they wanted to believe.
Lydia drew a deep breath and released it slowly. It was too much to hope, she supposed, that Mrs. Piper would keep her moral outrage to herself. Or that she would keep to herself all thefactsshe had amassed, courtesy of Jeremy’s spying, to prove that she, Lydia, was a woman of loose morals who had set out to get her hooks into Major Westcott. Of course it was too much to hope. And those bare facts, she did not doubt for a moment, would be fleshed out and embellished until they were quite unrecognizable as truth.
And the facts themselves? Well, she was not entitled to feel the full force of righteous indignation, was she? She hadlainwith Harry.
But yes, of course she was entitled to her fury. They were both adults, she and Harry. They had both passed the age of majority long ago. They were both unmarried and unattached. It was no one’s business what they did together in private. Yet they had both been aware that in a place like this people would make it their business. They had bowed to that awareness and given each other up—as lovers and even as friends.
They had given each other up precisely because of the possibility of what was now happening anyway.
For there was no possible chance that Mrs. Piper would keep her outrage and herfactsto herself. Lydia was about to become the victim of an explosion of salacious gossip. Her life, her precious life of quiet freedom and independence, was about to change. Forever. She did not believe she was overdramatizing.
