“Yes, Mr. Warrington mentioned a son—a Mr. Peter Clark.” Cassandra tried to mask her enthusiasm with a steady tone. “Do you know him?”
“I’ve met him, of course, once or twice at social gatherings,” responded Mr. North. “He now runs Clark Mill. Passed down. I could manage an introduction if it would be helpful.”
“Oh, it would.” Cassandra nodded. “Immensely.”
Mrs. Pearson leaned forward, her cobalt eyes bright with interest. “And do you recall, Mr. North? Mrs. Susannah Hutton was the housekeeper at Briarton Park for many years. She lives at the end of South Lane now with her sister. People in service to great families know everything about them, so perhaps she’d entertain a question or two. But I caution ye. She’s not the friendliest sort. Guarded and severe. But never mind that. I’ll see to it that all will go well. Tomorrow we’ll call.”
“T-tomorrow?” Cassandra stammered.
“Of course. I’ve not called on her in quite some time. I’ll take you there myself.”
It all seemed too fortuitous. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t dare think of intruding on your time, and I am sure you have—”
“Nonsense! I’m forever telling Mr. North that he should call on all of his parishioners. Not just the agreeable ones.”
Mr. North slapped his knee. “That settles it. A visit to Mrs. Hutton tomorrow is in order. And setting a time for an introduction to the younger Mr. Clark will take some doing, but these things have a way of coming together.”
Cassandra was stunned at all that had been discussed. “You are both being so gracious.”
“Everyone deserves to know who their people are. Where are you staying, child?” Mrs. Pearson asked.
“I have a room at the Green Ox Inn.”
“What? No.” Mrs. Pearson shook her head emphatically. “No, no, no. That place is one step above a hovel.”
“I’m rather content, really,” Cassandra urged. “In truth, I don’t know how long I’ll be in town, so for the time being it suits.”
“Nonsense.” Mr. North stood. “Mrs. Pearson is quite right. When we’ve finished our tea, I’ll escort you over to Mrs. Martin’s house myself. She takes on boarders, and she is a particular friend of mine. I’m sure she can offer assistance.”
The afternoon passed pleasantly and quickly. As the rain subsided and it was deemed dry enough to venture out of doors once more, Mrs. Pearson retrieved Cassandra’s now-dry pelisse and gloves.
After opening the front door, Mr. North turned to face her, his usually pleasant expression growing almost grim. “In light of all that lies before you, I’ll offer this word of caution. As a rare visitor to our village, you will pique everyone’s interest. You have kindly shared your story with us, but I think it prudent if you keep the details to yourself until more can be discovered. Mr. Clark was a mill owner, and regardless of his pleasant demeanor, that alone will cast a shadow on your search. I hate to admit it, but people love their gossip and will reinvent truths in a minute. Discretion, my new friend, is advised.”
Cassandra nodded, but the warning cast a long shadow over her blossoming optimism, staunchly reminding her to guard her heart.
Chapter 5
Mr. North fell into step next to her as they traversed the cobbled street from the vicarage to the boardinghouse. With fortified tenacity and revived hope, Cassandra glanced toward him. He was a handsome man. His face was long and narrow and his complexion quite fair, but high cheekbones added to his air of authority. The directness of his personality, the candor and verisimilitude, relaxed her in his presence.
“The boardinghouse is not far from here. Just down the high street there. See?” He pointed down the street as they walked.
Her gaze followed his direction to a building that, in truth, looked very much like a smaller version of the Green Ox Inn. It, too, was built of stone and rose two stories high. Its facade featured tall, narrow paned windows and green trim, and the shingle outside of the brightly painted yellow door readMartin’s Boardinghouse.
“Mrs. Martin will take care of you. I’m confident of it,” Mr. North explained. “It isn’t a palace, by any means, but Mrs. Martin keeps a tight rein over her boarders and only takes on ladies. It will be much safer and, I daresay, quieter for you there.”
Cassandra adjusted her grip on her reticule. As humbling and difficult as it had been to ask for help, it was almost as challenging to receive it. Mrs. Denton had taught her that self-sufficiency was to be prized. She’d never known anyone, male or female, to truly helpanother without expectation for more, as Mr. North seemed to be doing. But he was, after all, a vicar. Perhaps he was sincere.
A sharp breeze swept down from the shop roofs, and with her free hand she clutched the collar of her pelisse tighter about her. “I am grateful to you for all you are doing for me, Mr. North.”
“’Tis my job, and my joy, to help others.” His manner was light as he opened the gate. “Come, through here.”
Once at the door Mr. North knocked, and a young servant girl with plump cheeks answered. She took Cassandra’s pelisse and gloves before ushering them into a modest parlor with a low ceiling. Two sofas and several mismatched chairs crowded the narrow room, and the silence of the space struck her. She had expected it to be more like the girls’ school, which was forever echoing with the sounds of footsteps and instruction. Here, the absence of sound was disconcerting.
Before long a woman who could be Mrs. Martin appeared in the doorway. The slender, striking woman was every bit as tall as Mr. North. Her coppery hair, although faded, was coiffed in an intricate display of tight curls around her long face, and her gown of gold piping and blue embroidery was anything but retiring.
She paid no heed to Cassandra but focused her attention familiarly on the vicar. “Mr. North. What business brings you to my parlor today?”
He bowed in greeting. “I must beg a favor from you yet again, Mrs. Martin.”
