While they sat together over their needles, Anne asked, “Remind me—how did you and Mamma become friends?”
“Good question,” Lotty said, her eyes taking on a distant look. “Deborah and I both grew up here and saw each other at church and whatnot. She was several years older, and I looked up to her. So elegant, I thought. So kind and well-spoken. If I’m honest, I was surprised she befriended me. When she discovered I was fond of reading and gardening, sometimes both at the same time, she declared we were kindred spirits.”
Anne chuckled. “Sounds like Mamma.” The needles clicked for a few moments while the women were silent, then Anne said, “Thank you. It’s good to hear about her. To talk of her.”
Lotty nodded. “For me as well. I miss her, but seeing you is very like seeing her again.”
“Is it?” Tears heated Anne’s eyes, and Lotty’s filled in response.
The older woman swallowed and then added with a wink, “Although she was a much better knitter.”
On Sunday, Anne attended the divine service at St. Mary’s with Miss Birt. With a nostalgic pang, Anne glanced toward the pew her grandparents used to occupy, now filled with people she did not know. How she missed them. After the service, she met the young curate, several neighbors, and a few old friends of her grandparents. She then returned to share Sunday dinner and all the latest news with her housebound host.
On Monday, Anne tended the little garden behind the cottage and helped Dinah with the dusting and sweeping, determined not to be a burden.
“You are my guest, Anne,” Miss Lotty protested. “You are not here to work.”
“I don’t mind. I like to be useful.” Anne was glad to help, especially on an afternoon like this one, when Miss Newland had invited guests to tea—Painswick’s two physicians—so there was a lot to do.
“In that case,” Miss Lotty said, “would you be a dear and go to Parrats’ bakery for something to serve with tea? Pastries or muffins, or anything suitable they still have this late in the day. Dinah’s attempt at a seed cake has failed. And she still needs to tidy up before they arrive.”
So that was what Anne had smelled burning. “Of course. Happily.”
“There’s pin money in the tin there. Take what you need.”
“Never mind. I have it.” Her father had given her a small amount of spending money for the trip—a very small amount. But Anne wanted to contribute in some way while she was there.
She put on her bonnet and gloves and left Yew Cottage. The many bells in the church tower began to peal, the ringers practicing a new sequence of “changes,” as they often did. The cheerful sound followed Anne as she walked around the churchyard, bordered by streets on three sides and the grounds of Painswick Court on the fourth. She passed the town hall, which housedthe poorhouse, boys’ endowed school, and stock-house—its pair of iron stocks out front. Reaching the bakery near the market in Friday Street, she paused at its bow window displaying breads, buns, and cakes. Inside, the shop was warm and filled with the delicious smells of yeast bread, cinnamon, and nutmeg. People lined up at the counter to be served by the aproned baker and his wife.
Leaving Parrat & Son a short while later, parcel of teacakes in hand, Anne bumped hard into someone’s shoulder—a very solid shoulder.
A man’s strong hand reached out to steady her, and in a deep voice he said, “Careful.”
He smelled of vanilla, with a hint of something else—something sharp and familiar.
Her gaze landed on the sack in his other hand. From it protruded a child’s stuffed toy rabbit.
She looked up from its button eyes into a pair of arresting brown ones. “I’m sorry. I ...”
The face before her was handsome and faintly familiar—the face she had seen through the gap in the thicket—straight nose, fair side-whiskers, high cheekbones, and a strong jaw. A fringe of dark blond hair showed from beneath his beaver hat.
“Pray, excuse me,” he said with a slight bow. “I was not looking where I was going.”
Then looking up at her more closely, his eyes widened in surprise. “Oh.”
Was she familiar to him as well?
At the same moment, an older man and a young woman stepped from a nearby shop. Anne recognized him as the town crier, in his red greatcoat and tricorn hat, accompanied, she guessed, by his daughter. The town crier hailed the blond man. “Good day to ye, sir.”
“Ah, Mr. Parker. How are you?” The younger man surreptitiously shoved the toy deeper into the sack.
“Quite well now, thank ye.”
“Good, good.”
The young lady blushed and smiled, dimples blazing. “Thank you again for your call.”
“My pleasure.”
