Chapter 10

Caroline stopped to shift the basket containing a crock of Nora's soup from her right hand to her left. The distance between the vicarage and Sarah Trilby's house seemed considerably longer when it was traversed on foot rather than in a horse and trap, and the crock of soup seemed to be gaining weight with every step she took. At least on the way back, the basket would be empty.

She'd been wanting to visit Sarah again for several days, and when Nora made an exceptionally large batch of soup, it had seemed the perfect opportunity to take something to the Trilby family. Indeed, her plan would have been perfect had her father not already gone out in the trap. He was not expected back for some time, so Caroline had decided to leave Meg with Nora and walk.

Whooshing a persistent fly off the towel covering the crock, Caroline started up again, grateful when she turned the corner and caught sight of the small cottage up ahead. In truth, she had a great deal more than that to be grateful for. The long walk had tired her, certainly, but three weeks ago, she would not have been able to travel a quarter the distance without stopping to rest. She'd noticed the difference in her endurance between her first visit to Farwell Farm and the last. Lord Benning had not been there to bring her a stool, and she'd stood for half an hour, watching Meg ride Ginger around the yard. Her legs had been a little unsteady on the walk home, but she'd been pleased to see such tangible evidence of her improvement in health.

Young voices reached her now, coming from the cottage's back garden. As she drew closer, she caught sight of several children playing together. She counted the heads. Five. Even if baby Peggy were among them, the Trilby children would account for only four. Her feet slowed. Hesitant to interrupt if Sarah already had visitors, she considered leaving the basket on the doorstep. Doing so would prevent her from discovering how Sarah was faring, but Caroline could come back later in the trap to collect the container and could speak with her then.

She started up the short path to the front door and had almost reached the doorstep when the door opened.

"Good day, Caroline." Sarah stood in the doorway, Peggy on her hip. "I saw ya comin' through th' window."

"Good afternoon, Sarah." Leaving without exchanging a few words was no longer an option. She offered her the basket. "I brought you some of Nora's soup, and I came to see how you and the children are managing."

She took the gift, her gratitude obvious. "Thank you, kindly. We shall all enjoy it." Stepping aside, she gestured toward the parlor. "Come in. I've friends who've come t' visit. You must meet 'em."

Almost without thinking, Caroline straightened the veil attached to her bonnet. "I would be happy to," she said.

Sarah led her into the parlor. Two young women rose from the armchairs. One was short, with dark hair and eyes. The other guest was taller and had reddish-brown hair. Her fair skin was covered in freckles. An ugly scar ran from her right ear across her cheek, distorting the skin around one corner of her mouth. Heavy with child, she stood with one hand at her back, as though needing the extra support.

"Caroline," Sarah said, "this is Molly Lumley an' Hester Simkins. They're both Farwell tenants and moved 'ere after ya left fer Portsmouth. Ladies, this is Caroline Granger. She's Reverend Moore's daughter."

While the women exchanged polite greetings, Sarah went into the kitchen, deposited the crock of soup, and returned with a stool. "You'd best sit down," she said, claiming the stool for herself. "'Specially you, Hester. I don't want ya 'avin' that baby in my 'ouse."

"When do you expect the baby to arrive?" Caroline asked.

"Any day now. Least ways, that's what I'm 'opin'."

"I'm sure you are." Caroline remembered that uncomfortable stage all too well.

"This is Hester's first," Sarah said. "Molly 'as two. They're out back with mine."

Caroline smiled. "I saw them as I came down the lane. It made me wish I'd brought my daughter with me."

"'Ow old is yours?" Molly asked.

"Four."

"Same as my Isaac."

"Caroline's recently widowed," Sarah said.

Expecting the awkward silence that usually accompanied such an announcement, Caroline was surprised when Hester simply offered her a sympathetic nod. "These things 'appen, don't they. Make no mistake, that trial's one o' th' 'ardest t' overcome, but I reckon, one way or th' other, this life will try us all."

"Yes," Caroline said. Hester's simple and honest appraisal was refreshing. "I believe you are right." Without knowing their stories, Caroline instinctively knew that each of these women had experienced hardship. They might not know what it was to lose a husband or live with the aftereffects of smallpox, but they knew what it was to suffer. That knowledge gave them empathy, which, by some miraculous, heavenly means, lightened the loads of those they associated with. "If you don't mind my asking, what has been one of your greatest trials?"

Hester raised her fingers to touch the dark-red ridge running across her cheek. "I reckon that would be th' injury t' me face." She released an accepting sigh. "It weren't anyone's fault, really. I wus workin' in th' fields when th' blade flew off the 'andle of another worker's scythe. Terrible, it was. Blood everywhere."

"It must 'ave 'urt somethin' awful," Sarah said.

"Oh, it did. I cried meself t' sleep fer weeks 'cos o' th' pain. An' then I cried 'cos I didn't want anyone t' see me lookin' so frightful." She shook her head slightly. "Silly, ain't it? I should've been countin' my blessin's that I still 'ad me eyes and nose, an' that no infection set in, but instead, I was worryin' 'bout what others thought of me."

Tears pricked Caroline's eyes, and no words would come. Hester could have been describing Caroline's current battle.

"Jim loves ya with or without yer scar," Molly said.

Hester's smile was soft and sweet. "'E do, don't 'e? An' I daresay th' same can be said fer all th' other people who really care 'bout me."

"Is... is that what helped you overcome your fear of showing your face in public?" Caroline asked.

"I s'pose so. It took a while, mind. But after I'd been with them that accepted me as I was fer a bit, I forgot what I was scared of."

Rejection, pity, scorn, horror, discomfort. Caroline could muster a fairly extensive list, but in the face of Hester's bravery, each one seemed trivial.

"I hardly notice yer scar anymore," Sarah said.

"Others 'ave said the same." Hester's eyes twinkled mischievously. "But the best is them who notice it right off end up not payin' attention t' me dratted freckles."

Molly giggled, Sarah appeared mildly amused, and Caroline marveled. At present, it was all but impossible to conceive of making light of her situation, but she found herself looking forward to that day with new hope and significant longing.

Showing her face to Lord Benning had been a courageous first step. She now knew what should be her second. With trembling fingers, she tugged at the ribbons tied beneath her chin. "I understand what you have endured more keenly than you know," she said. "My husband died of smallpox. I contracted the disease after him, and although I survived, I was left severely scarred."

Slipping her bonnet off her head, she lowered it onto her knee. For two heartbeats, there was complete silence in the room. Forcing herself to raise her head, Caroline met Hester's eyes.

"Caroline," Hester whispered. "Yer beautiful! I thought fer certain ya were hidin' two noses or no teeth under that veil."

"No teeth?" Molly said. "She'd be talkin' like old Mr. McElroy if that were the case, spittin' and whistlin' with every word."

"Oh, fer goodness sake, you two," Sarah said. "I'm sure Caroline didn't take off 'er bonnet to discuss missin' teeth and extra noses. Show 'er yer 'ands, Molly."

Molly set both her hands upon her lap, and for the first time, Caroline noticed that they were almost as scarred as hers. She studied Molly's face. It was clear of blemish.

"How did you acquire the scars on your hands without your face being affected?" she asked.

"It weren't smallpox that did this t' me," Molly said. "It were cowpox. I wus workin' as a milkmaid fer Farwell Farm a couple o' years ago. All of us girls went down with it, an' all of us came back t' th' milkin' parlor with 'ands like this."

"Were you very ill?" Caroline asked.

"Four days o' feelin' poorly is all."

"You were fortunate."

"I wus," Molly said. "But I reckon there must be some'at special 'bout bein' a milkmaid, 'cos even though we all took our turn havin' cowpox, I've not 'eard of a single one goin' down with smallpox after."

If there was any truth to Molly's claim, Caroline was glad for the sake of the young girls working with the cows. A shortened, less severe illness with limited scarring was what she would wish for anyone.

"I've 'eard the same 'bout milkmaids and the pox," Hester said. "Though it seems like if there wus any truth t' th' claim, everyone'd want t' be a milkmaid."

"Maybe not enough people know milkmaids are magical like that," Sarah said. "Me an' Caroline didn't."

"Well, now ya do." Molly laughed merrily. "I've never been called magical afore, but I rather like it."

"I certainly don't 'ave any magic in me," Sarah said, lifting Peggy off her knee and setting her on the floor before coming to her feet. "But I daresay I can conjure up a pot o' weak tea fer us all. I don't 'ave sugar, mind, but I've plenty o' milk."

"Tea would be lovely," Hester said. "Don't worry 'bout th' sugar. That's almost as 'ard t' find as wheat flour these days."

Hester's comment caused Caroline to ponder Nora's recent baking—or, rather, the lack thereof. She'd not made bread since the batch that had provided a loaf for the Trilbys. There'd been no biscuits since the ones she and Meg had made together.

"I certainly hope the upcoming harvest turns the shortage around," she said.

"I reckon we all do." Molly's expression became serious. "But whether or not it 'appens will likely depend on where th' Farwell wheat goes. After th' last 'arvest, Mr. Abney up at th' mill ground two sacks o' grain. But that's all they delivered t' 'im."

"Where did the rest go?" Caroline asked. She'd seen the Farwell wheat field. It would produce far more than a couple of sacks of grain.

"Couldn't tell ya. Mr. Abney's mill is th' closest t' Farwell, but maybe Lord Farwell prefers another one."

Lord Farwell. Of course. With how involved Lord Benning was on the farm, Caroline had all but forgotten that it was his father, the earl, who was truly in charge.

Molly sighed. "We'd best all be prayin' fer a better 'arvest this time round. There are some round 'ere who won't make it through another winter without better provisions."

"Even amongst the Farwell tenants?" Caroline asked. Sarah had suggested that there were others in the parish who were suffering, but she'd assumed it was the other villagers.

"The Farwell tenants 'ave been 'it as 'ard as anyone." Hester rubbed her stomach, and Caroline was struck by how difficult it must have been to be expecting a little one when food was scarce. "Although, if we visit the milkin' parlor when Lord Bennin's around, he 'as us fill a crock with milk afore we leave."

The mention of milk spurred Sarah into action again. "Gracious me! Standin' 'ere's not goin' to start th' water boilin'. Give me a few minutes, an' I'll 'ave the tea ready."

As much as she did not wish to take from Sarah's meager supplies, Caroline sensed that this gesture of hospitality was important to her new friend. "Thank you, Sarah," she said. "A cup of tea would be lovely."

"It would," Molly said. "But tell th' water t' boil fast so we can enjoy our tea afore th' young ‘uns come lookin' fer us."

With a knowing look, Sarah turned and disappeared into the kitchen.

* * *

By the time Caroline arrived home, weariness had well and truly set in, but she could not help but feel a spark of elation at what she had accomplished. The walk to Sarah's house and back had been the longest she'd attempted since becoming ill, and she'd managed it unaided. Along with that, she'd made new friends. Women close to her age who had accepted her into their circle and made her feel normal again.

Lifting the latch on the front door, she let herself into the vicarage. Voices reached her from the kitchen, so she made her way down the passage and stepped into the warm, sunny room.

"Mama!" Meg was the first to spot her. She jumped off her chair and ran to greet her.

Caroline put an arm around her daughter. "Well, this is a fine welcome!"

Caroline's father rose. "Nora and I were starting to worry. You've been gone a long time."

"I apologize," Caroline said. "Sarah had two friends at the house—Molly Lumley and Hester Simkins—and we chatted longer than we likely should have."

"It sounds as though it was time well spent," he said. "I am only sorry that I wasn't here to take you in the trap." His forehead creased. "How did you manage?"

"Remarkably well." She lowered herself onto the nearest chair, grateful to be off her feet. "Although, I confess, I am very tired."

"I 'ave the soup on the hob," Nora said. "You shall 'ave some right away. A little sustenance will 'elp perk you up."

"But first you must read our letter," Meg said, extending her arm so that Caroline could see the white envelope in her small fist.

"Our letter?" Caroline looked to her father for clarification, but he simply shrugged.

"It arrived in today's post," he said. "It's addressed to Mrs. Caroline and Miss Margaret Granger. Meg has been most anxious to open it, but I told her it would be best to wait until you were here to read it with her."

Caroline could only imagine how difficult that must have been for Meg. Patience was a significant challenge when one was four years old. Caroline studied the bold script. She did not recognize the penmanship, nor could she think of anyone who might write to both her and Meg.

"Can I open it now, Mama?"

"Yes," Caroline said. Already, she was as curious about the envelope's contents as was Meg. "Break the seal carefully so as not to damage the letter inside."

Obediently, Meg slid a little finger beneath the folded paper and carefully popped the seal free. Then she peeled back the paper and withdrew a single sheet from within.

"Here," she said, handing it to Caroline. "What does it say?"

Caroline unfolded the paper and silently read the short note.

Farwell Hall

16th June 1796

Dear Caroline and Meg,

You are cordially invited to a private toy-boat regatta featuring the Farwell red and blue sailboats of yesteryear. Weather willing, the race will occur on the portion of the Leyfield River that runs through Farwell Farm's north pasture on Thursday, 23rd June, at 2 o'clock in the afternoon.

I hope you are available to attend this incomparable event.

Yours sincerely,

Lord Benting

PS I feel it my duty to inform you that it is the red sailboat's turn to win.

Caroline's lips twitched. She wasn't sure what amused her the most, Benedict's use of the muddled name Meg had given him or his reminder that his boat had almost always fallen short in their childhood races.

Meg gave a little hop. "What does it say?" she repeated.

Caroline looked up to see that her father and Nora were also watching her expectantly. "It is from Lord Benning," she said. "It seems that the toy boats we played with as children are still at Farwell Hall, and he asked if Meg would like to try sailing them on Thursday."

Meg's eyes widened. "A sailboat like Papa's?"

Caroline blinked. Meg so rarely mentioned Fred that the question startled her. But it was not a great surprise that Meg associated her father with boats. She and Meg had often walked the seashore in Portsmouth together, and every time, Caroline had told Meg that her Papa was on his ship out at sea.

"No, dear." Caroline pulled her into an embrace. "These are little boats, not much bigger than your grandpapa's hand. One is painted red, and the other is blue. When I was young, I used to enjoy playing with them, and I believe Lord Benning thought it likely that you would also."

"Yes." Meg's face shone with excitement. "Lord Benting is right." She hopped free of Caroline's arms and turned to face Caroline's father. "Little boats, Grandpapa. The letter was about little boats."

Caroline's father chuckled. "I must say, that does sounds very exciting. And it's very good of Lord Benning to invite you to play with them."

"Yes." As though only now realizing that Caroline had yet to do more than share the invitation, Meg swung back around. "May we go, Mama? Please, may we go?"

Caroline hesitated. She wished to participate in Benedict's regatta as much as Meg did, but should she accept? She was a recently widowed daughter of a vicar, and he was a peer. Although they shared many childhood memories and Benedict seemed to have a desire to create similar childhood memories for Meg, their future lives were worlds apart. Was it wise to further their association—and Meg's attachment to the gentleman—when it could not possibly last? Benedict's grand world of nobility did not include them any more than Fred's naval world had.

She glanced at her father. Her indecision must have shown on her face, for he gave a subtle nod.

Whether Nora saw the signal, Caroline could not tell, but the older lady cleared her throat and began to speak. "Far be it from me t' interfere," she said, "but it seems like spendin' time outside in th' sunshine might be just th' thing fer both of you."

Caroline battled a smile. This was likely not the moment to remind Nora that she had just walked to Sarah Trilby's house and back in the sunshine. In Nora's mind, an errand such as that was a different matter entirely.

"I shall write to Lord Benning this evening." Her father's and Nora's support made her decision easier. "I shall tell him that we would both be delighted to join him."

Meg clapped her small hands together and cheered. Nora beamed and went back to her soup pot.

Her father stepped closer, and with a tender look in his eyes, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "It will be well, Caroline. I trust Lord Benning to be mindful of your situation. His kindness to Meg is a good thing; his long-standing friendship with you will buoy your flagging confidence and, as such, is an even better thing."