“Good heavens! And your mother has been gone, what, less than eight years?”
Anne nodded.
Worry creased Lotty’s brow. “Forgive me. Perhaps I should not have mentioned her.”
“That’s all right. She is never far from my thoughts. I think of her every day.”
“I am sure you do, my dear. I miss her too. Still, I’m surprised you’ve had time to act as nursery maid. I thought you helped in your father’s surgery and apothecary shop, and with his female patients and such?”
“I used to ... and took great satisfaction in doing so. But Nancy disapproved. Said it was part of the reason I had yet to marry.”
“Your stepmother forbade you? And your father went along with it?”
“Well ... yes.” Pain pricked Anne anew.
“Evil stepmother, indeed,” Ursula Birt muttered.
“No, not evil. She just doesn’t understand me, even after all these years. All she wants is to contrive a suitable match for me. For that is her definition of happiness.”
“Like she did for Fanny?” Lotty asked.
“Yes.”
“How is your sister?”
Fanny’s pinched, teary face appeared in Anne’s mind, and she heard again her sister’s bitter tone. With a glance at Miss Birt, Anne mustered a smile. “She’s fine. She asked me to pass along her greetings.”
It was one thing to share her own personal woes, but quite another to spread her sister’s. Fanny sometimes chastised Anne for being indiscreet as it was.
Perhaps noticing something amiss in Anne’s expression, Miss Lotty changed the subject. “Well, let’s get you settled.” She rang a small bell on the side table.
The maid of all work hurried in again and bobbed a curtsy.
“Dinah, if you could please show Miss Loveday to the guest room.”
“Yes, miss.”
“You remembered to take up fresh water and towels?”
“I did, miss.”
“Good.” Lotty turned back to Anne. “I would take you myself, but the doctor insists I avoid stairs for the time being.”
“I agree.” Anne picked up her case and valise, while Dinah hoisted her small trunk. “Thank you again for having me.”
After a simple meal, Anne excused herself to take a stroll, eager to stretch her legs and see Painswick again.
She crossed the street to St. Mary’s and started up one of the churchyard paths. She stopped to pluck and smell a stalk of lily of the valley and then paused under the wedding tree to recall again that last happy family picnic.
Next, she visited her grandparents’ grave. The two had died within a fortnight of each other. Their names and birth and death dates were carved there, as well as an epitaph they had chosen themselves:
Farewell vain world, I’ve seen enough of thee,
In grief and pain, sickness and misery.
Thy smiles I value not, nor frowns do fear,
Thanks be to God, I sleep at quiet here.
