Mrs. Kirk’s face brightened at once. “You are an angel! I know I can always depend on you.” Then turning to Phoebe, she added, “I don’t believe you are acquainted, as illness has kept her from attending services of late. Mrs. Godwin, allow me to introduce Mrs. Jameson. She is the most stalwart member of the parish—an angel who can always be relied upon to lend a helping hand.”
Mrs. Jameson inclined her head, though a hint of weariness weakened her smile. “Your praise is too effusive, madam. I only do what is right.”
Then turning to Phoebe, Mrs. Jameson added, “Again, I apologize for not doing my due diligence in paying a welcome call, but illness is never considerate enough to strike us in a timely fashion. It travels from child to child, each in their turn, before eventually coming for their parents. Unfortunately, I haven’t been in a fit state to see anyone.”
“Think nothing of it,” said Phoebe, her own smile settling carefully into place. “It seems the afternoon owes a great deal to your diligence, Mrs. Jameson.”
The lady acknowledged the remark with a brief nod, already half-distracted by the next task that required her attention, but just as she moved to leave, Mrs. Jameson hesitated, her brows knitting as though some small but important matter had just come to mind.
“Oh, Mrs. Godwin,” she said, the words emerging slightly broken, “I had thought… that is, I expected… that you might pay a call once you were settled, and I know you have been in town for some weeks now.”
“A call?” Phoebe could not imagine why a new addition to the neighborhood would be expected to do so, especially as a bridewas granted a good month to settle into her home and marriage before she ventured into society.
Mrs. Jameson’s surprise was immediate and poorly concealed. Glancing at Mrs. Kirk and back again, she added, “You were not informed? Forgive me—I assumed, as you are the rector’s wife…” She drew a breath, collecting herself. “I thought you would want the christening boxes.”
The words were spoken as though their purpose was clear enough, and Phoebe supposed the name meant they had something to do with the infants of the parish, though that was the limit of her understanding.
“The boxes for the less fortunate of the parish,” clarified Mrs. Jameson. “They contain the linens and clothes the little ones require for their first weeks of life, including a christening dress. I was asked by your husband’s predecessor to maintain them after his wife passed.” A pause followed, weighted but unintentional. “I do hope you will take over the responsibility. I fear that, between my own children and all the work I do within the village, I haven’t the time to give them the proper attention they deserve.”
“As I said, Mrs. Jameson is an angel,” said Mrs. Kirk. “If you require assistance, ask Mrs. Jameson. She eagerly accepts any assignment, no matter how big or small. Whenever the need for volunteers arises, hers is the first name on my list.”
The smile on the angel’s face grew strained, and the expression brought to mind Mrs. Audley, who was Haverford’s own “angel of mercy,” forever rushing about to do good. Though Phoebe thought it admirable in many ways, she couldn’t help noticing the frenzied manner in which the lady lived her life, thrumming with the need to complete the next task, and always first on the list because she never said “no,” even as her sanity frayed.
Was that what Mr. Godwin wished her to become?
“I see,” said Phoebe at last, the phrase shaped with care.
Mrs. Jameson nodded, already retreating a step. “I do not mean to press the issue. I can manage the boxes if you wish, but there are quite a few births in the coming weeks, and I thought you might take up the mantle before then. One is currently at the Johnson house, though it needs to be fetched soon, and the other must be delivered to the Tally family. I had meant to bring it today, but the time got away from me.”
“I can fetch it on my way home and deliver it tomorrow, if that suits you,” said Phoebe.
“I live on the high street, the third cottage on the right after the crossroads. You should pass by it directly on the way to The Parsonage. I will be here for some time, but the maid knows where it is,” said Mrs. Jameson, and with that, the lady’s attention drifted back to the details that needed seeing to.
Mrs. Kirk watched her go with a look of approval, while Phoebe remained where she was, the sense of having missed something unspoken settling around her like a garment she had not known she was meant to wear. Mr. Godwin had spoken of the duties of a rector’s wife, but what were they?
Phoebe had considered them more vague in nature, but if Mrs. Jameson were correct, this was a tangible item that was required of her. Were there more? No doubt Mrs. Jameson would’ve mentioned others if they were left for her to manage, but for all that Mr. Godwin wished her to do something good for the parish, Phoebe wasn’t certain what that was.
Attending the Royal Humane Society lectures? Giving a few coins when pressed? Surely there was more. He had his sermons and rites, but what was left to her?
Giving Mrs. Kirk a final word of farewell, Phoebe drifted from the church. Meandering along, she followed the path now familiar enough that her feet knew the way. Shop fronts stood open to the light, their wares arranged with care, and the baker’sdoor released a burst of heat as someone entered just ahead, the scent of yeast and baking bread swirling through the air. Life moved on around her, each person fulfilling their well-defined purposes.
How could she be of use? The concept seemed odd, for Phoebe Voss had never needed to prove her worth. Though she didn’t care for that word. Existence alone imbued a person with value, yet Phoebe couldn’t deny that she had been entirely useless since coming to Kingsmere, and the more she considered what she ought to do, the more she wondered if she had ever been anything more than a self-indulgent ornament.
Kingsmere stretched ahead, ordinary and unassuming in the autumn light. The street bore no sign of her uncertainty or the questions crowding her thoughts. Phoebe continued down the lane, a chill in her heart chasing away the lingering heat of summer as the sense of wrongness settled upon her. Or was it simply discomfort? Uncertainty?
Miss Phoebe Voss had known her place in the world, but Mrs. Phoebe Godwin hadn’t the slightest notion what she was to do or how to rectify it, and it was long past time for her to learn.
Chapter 16
In quick order, Phoebe passed by the Jamesons’ home and fetched the small wooden chest, and thankfully, it was just the one (as she wasn’t certain she could manage two of the unwieldy boxes). Her pace quickened without her quite deciding upon it, and the weight of the chest tugged at her arms, awkward and unbalanced, yet she welcomed the strain.
Little though this might be, it was something to do and held far more meaning than learning a skill she would never use.
Each step fell more firmly than the last, her shoes striking the path with a purpose that had been absent only moments before, and turning the corner, Phoebe took the last few steps to The Parsonage with renewed speed as her thoughts raced ahead, already sorting, planning, and imagining how order might be coaxed from neglect.
Passing into the parlor, she set the chest upon the sofa and lifted the lid; the scent of infant and soap permeated the interior, and inside sat the well-used remnants of countless beginnings. Nappies, their linen softened to near translucence, lay stacked with careful precision, and beneath them sat a few gowns and even a blanket, though they were as plain as plain could be.
At the bottom rested the christening gown. It was finer than the rest, and it was easy to see the love and attention that hadbeen given to that small piece. No doubt, it had begun its life amongst one of the grand families of Kingsmere before being cast off in favor of new fashions; bits of ragged lace clung to the cuffs and hem, and though feather-soft, the exquisite muslin was yellowed with age.
