“Oh.” Charlotte’s gaze fell to the bundle at the woman’s feet. “A gift is not necessary.”
The young woman ignored Charlotte’s protest and knelt to lift the bundle of vibrant blue broadcloth and extended it toward her. “It’s a shawl, made from t’ wool of our own sheep, spun in the ’ouse by ’and.”
Charlotte accepted the beautiful piece, immediately struck by its softness. Such a piece would likely cost the young woman greatly. “This is far too much.”
The woman’s expression dimmed. “Then if you will not accept it as a gift, perhaps you will accept it as a form of payment.”
Charlotte sobered as the reality of the situation was taking hold.
“Mr.Greenwood was by, and since it is just me and my mother, we haven’t t’ money to pay t’ rent quite yet.”
Charlotte kept her tone steady. “You mentioned you were married, Mrs.Mayer. Is your husband not at your farm?”
Her face colored, and she stared down at the toes of her scuffed boots. “He left for Leeds, been gone a month now, t’ get more work.”
Charlotte had heard of this happening—of farmers and country laborers leaving their farms for the lure of steadier and more predictable factory work.
Their conversation was interrupted when Rebecca appearedwith a tray of tea and placed it on the carved table in the parlor’s center. Once Rebecca retreated and all was once again quiet, Charlotte poured the girl a cup and extended it to her.
“Oh no.” Mrs.Mayer shook her head. “I couldn’t accept that.”
“Of course you can. I insist.”
Once the tea had been accepted and Charlotte poured herself her own cup, she motioned for Mrs.Mayer to be seated in one of the wingback chairs and then settled herself in the one opposite her guest. “Tell me of your farm, Mrs.Mayer. I’ve been away for so long that there’s a great deal for me to catch up on.”
Charlotte listened as the young woman told of her sheep and the recent harvest, of the orchard and outbuildings. As she spoke Charlotte’s gaze fell to the calluses on the woman’s palms, her ruddy, wind-burned cheeks, and the patched holes of her gown. Charlotte was struck in that moment of how fortunate she was, how fortunate she’d always been, to have confidence in always having a roof over her head and food to eat. Life could be uncertain for a single woman—widowed or otherwise.
When the tea was gone and they were nearing the end of their chat, Charlotte stood. “Excuse me for a moment, Mrs.Mayer. I’ll be right back.”
She left the young woman in the parlor and hurried up the smaller staircase to her chamber. Ensuring she was alone, she moved to the floorboard where she kept her valuables, pushed the table aside, and pulled out a small pouch of coins. She selected a few, folded them in her palm, returned her chamber to its original condition, and hurried back down to her guest.
Mrs.Mayer stood as she entered.
Charlotte approached her. “I would like to pay you for the lovely shawl.”
The woman shook her head adamantly. “Oh no, ma’am. If anything, that was meant by way of rent. I couldn’t—”
Charlotte took the worn hand in hers and folded the coins in it. “This is for the shawl. It is lovely and I shall wear it proudly. As for the rent, we will address it when the next payment is due. Trust me when I say I am figuring all this out, and wewillfigure it out. Together.”
Chapter30
Anthony was rarely nervous or trepidatious, yet as Walstead and two other men thundered toward Hollythorne House atop their horses, both sensations accosted him. His conversation with Timmons was heavy on his mind, and now that Timmons knew of his past with Charlotte, he would essentially be lying for him. And that made Anthony uneasy.
Even so, another part of him was equally relieved that Walstead finally was arriving. Initially he was supposed to visit a few days after their arrival to assess the situation and provide them with a more substantial update, but days had stretched to a fortnight, and they were all eager for updated news.
Anthony met the new arrivals at the gate and opened it to allow the horsemen through, then closed and secured it. Walstead immediately dismounted and approached. His blue wool coat with wide lapels and fabric-covered buttons was a bright contrast to the courtyard’s drab grays and withered browns, and it made his sharp eyes appear even darker against the bleak landscape. The tall black beaver hat atop his head added several inches to his otherwise unimpressive height, but Mr. Walstead’s mannerisms,his pretentious comportment, made him seem as if he lorded his position above all around him.
“I received the missive about the note Mrs.Prior received,” he said, forgoing any kind of greeting. “Has there been anything else?”
Anthony looked up to the two watchmen bearing bright blue armbands who were accompanying Mr.Walstead—neither of whom he recognized—before extending the letter in his direction. “No. Here it is.”
Mr.Walstead snatched the letter and quickly read it before he folded it and tucked it in his coat. “And where was this found?”
“The back courtyard. I’ll show you the spot.”
“Not necessary.” Mr.Walstead motioned abruptly to the two men behind him. “I’m increasing the security detail here. These men are Ames and Broadstreet. They’ll report to you. I expect you to show them what to do.” The sense of detached aloofness echoed in his tone, and he looked back to the house. “So this is the Hollythorne House I’ve heard so much about, eh? Where’s Mrs.Prior?”
The desire to protect her and Henry pulsed strongly through Anthony afresh. “She and her son are both in one of the upstairs chambers.”
