Mr. Henshall’s golden brows again rose high. “Ye don’t say. That is excellent news. Yet another marriage since I was last here.”
“Y-yes.”
“And who is the lucky lady?”
“Her name is—was—Miss Reed. I don’t know if you would remember her. I doubt you would recognize her as the same dour woman from the night of the flood. They are so very happy together.”
He looked into her eyes and said softly, “Imagine that.”
Sarah looked away, clearing her throat. “The two have moved into a lovely cottage only a ten-minute walk away. I am sure he’d be delighted if you stopped by.” She smiled. “Perhaps play another game of chess?”
“I would like that. Although he’ll no doubt win, as he usually did. Are we quite certain he’s blind?” He winked.
“Oh yes. Though somehow he manages to see more than the rest of us do.”
“I agree.”
Sarah hesitated. She was drawn to this man, wanted to stay there with him, yet at the same time felt pulled in the opposite direction by the demands of propriety and duty.
A burst of giggles erupted from the adjoining room, recalling Sarah to her surroundings.
She retreated to the door. “Well. I shall leave you to settle in.”
SEVEN
Mirth and laughter wild, free and sportive as a child.
Hope with eager sparkling eyes, and easy faith, and soft surprize.
—Charles Hague,Glees, Rounds & Canons
On Monday afternoon, Sarah and Viola walked to the London Inn to attend the committee meeting of the Poor’s Friend Society.
With St. Thomas Day rapidly approaching, the ladies of the charity had decided that instead of the parish’s elderly widows having to go around town as “mumpers,” seeking gifts of food and coins as was done in many communities, the community would go to them.
After the formal meeting with the governors, the ladies reconvened at Sea View, where Mamma and Emily joined them. Over tea and fruit tarts Sarah had made, they reviewed and divided the names of the elderly poor between them. They made plans to deliver food, warm clothing, and a few coins to each person on the list.
Sarah and her family were happy to do their part, claiming the residents of the poor house for their special attention.
Noticing a familiar name on the list, Mamma offered to visit an additional widow who, according to Mrs. Fulford, was not only poor but also in poor health.
“Do you know her, Mamma?” Emily asked.
“I am not sure, but I once knew aMissLimbrick, so I amcurious. It’s a surname I heard often when we lived in Gloucestershire but not since. It’s possible Mrs. Limbrick is related to her. Has she been in Sidmouth long?”
“About a year now, I believe,” Mrs. Fulford replied. “Perhaps a bit longer. She came here as an invalid, hoping for a cure, as many do. Sadly, she has been primarily housebound since the summer.”
“I see. Has she no family?”
“Only a granddaughter, as far as I know. Attends the Sidmouth School.”
“Well. I shall look forward to meeting her.”
During Claire and Sarah’s trip north, Viola and Mamma—with a little, albeit imperfect, help from Emily and Georgiana—had already knitted scarves, mittens, and wool stockings, much as they had for the school children. Sarah now got busy in her workroom off the main kitchen, and over the next few days prepared doughs and fillings for biscuits, sugar cakes, gingerbread, and mincemeat pies, which she would bake fresh in advance of the big day.
Claire came over while she worked and watched, impressed, as Sarah measured, stirred, kneaded, and divided the different batters.
With a glance toward the door to make sure they were alone, Claire began, “So Mr. Henshall came here for Christmas. Is that not wonderful?”
