Chapter Thirty

M r. Trewe’s sermon was, as always, focused on the godly quality of hard work. The lecture Evangeline heard in her heart, however, was one on honesty.

She hadn’t been fully truthful with Dermot, but what choice had she had? When she’d first arrived, she hadn’t known him well enough to trust him with such a sensitive bit of information. And Lucy’s well--being depended upon Evangeline keeping her position, which meant keeping her secret. But she hadn’t told him even after she knew she could depend upon him. Doing so hadn’t even occurred to her.

Heavens, now I’m lying to myself in a church.

She had nearly told Dermot everything Friday evening when he’d held her and reassured her despite her nervousness to face her family. He hadn’t even known they were her family. The words had hovered unspoken on her lips—but she hadn’t told him.

Evangeline closed her eyes, shutting out the sights and sounds of Sunday services. She should have told him long before now. But if he’d known her true origins, he would likely never have allowed her to be his friend.

Friend. He was so much more than that to her. She loved him. She’d known as much for weeks but hadn’t admitted it to herself until that late, lonely moment outside his door. Had he been awake after all but simply hadn’t wanted to see her? He had probably known about her family by then.

I have ruined everything.

Mass came to a close. She followed the townspeople out of the chapel, though her thoughts were far away. Dermot and Ronan did not attend services in Smeatley, and their absence was both relieving and disheartening. She missed them both and wished they were nearby. She wished she knew how to set things right between herself and Dermot.

She still struggled to find comfort in the churchyard—it was hard not to think of her lost family—yet she found a measure of peace as she made a slow circuit of the grounds. The townspeople stood about, chatting as they often did after services. Evangeline didn’t join them immediately. She kept to the edge of the churchyard and breathed through her worry and loneliness. Somehow it would be made right again. Somehow.

She pasted a smile on her face and approached the spot where the Crossleys, Haighs, and Palmers had gathered. They all turned to look at her when she arrived.

“A good morning to you all,” she said.

No one said anything.

Daniel Palmer, a cousin of Hugo’s who worked at Hillside House, stood among them as well. Perhaps he would take up a conversation.

“How are you, Daniel?” she asked.

He dipped his head. “Well enough, Miss Blake.” With a bow not unlike those he offered to Aunt Barton, he slipped quickly away.

Odd. She turned to Mr. Palmer. “I hope I did not offend him somehow.”

Mr. Palmer held his hat in his hands and didn’t look her in the eye. “It’s not for we to be offended, Miss Blake.”

“I understand Mr. McCormick intended to visit you and discuss an opportunity for Hugo,” she said.

Mr. Palmer nodded. “He were very generous. Hugo’ll be back at school tomorrow, mark tha.”

“I am so pleased to hear it.”

Mrs. Palmer snatched up her husband’s hand and they left as quickly as Daniel had. Evangeline often spoke at some length with the Palmers on Sundays. Yet they were clearly anxious to avoid her today.

She turned to the Haighs. “Is Cecilia here today? I did not see her.”

“Aye.” Mrs. Haigh spoke the single syllable in a clipped tone.

“Is something the matter?”

“Neya.” Mrs. Haigh nudged her husband away, but paused to offer Evangeline a curtsey.

A curtsey? Why had she curtseyed? And why had Daniel bowed?

Only the Crossleys remained. Though she was confused and concerned, she was eager to speak with Mrs. Crossley. She had not been able to visit with her for far too long. Her friend had been at the factory; Evangeline had been drowning in her uncertainties.

“How have you been?” she asked.

Mrs. Crossley smiled fleetingly.

Evangeline looked to Mr. Crossley for some kind of explanation.

“Daniel tells we tha are kin to t’ Bartons,” he said.

Her breath froze in her lungs. Daniel had told them. They knew. They all knew. “And—and that is why they don’t want to talk with me?”

“What are we to say?” Mrs. Crossley said.

“The same as always,” Evangeline insisted.

But Mrs. Crossley shook her head. “It i’n’t t’ same, though. It can’t be.”

They stepped away. She received no final word of parting. They offered no indication of regret at the chasm spreading between them. Dermot had left in much the same way the day before. He’d not looked back even once. He hadn’t hesitated even a moment.

Evangeline was alone. So very alone.

The next day, Evangeline pushed through her lessons with a heavy heart. The children behaved differently than they had before. Some of her students had grown quieter, others more defiant. They eyed her with suspicion and a degree of worry that broke her heart. Word of her origins had clearly spread.

The factory families came to claim their children at the usual hour. Evangeline stepped outside to offer her farewells, wishing she knew what to say to mend things between them. Seeing the distance growing between her and these families who had become her friends deepened her heartache.

Mrs. Haigh, who usually greeted her with a wave and a friendly “Ey up,” offered only a quiet “Good evening, Miss Blake” with her head lowered as if she were a servant greeting her mistress.

The Shaws and Sutcliffes struck similarly humble miens. Mrs. Bennett didn’t greet her at all, but hurried off as quickly as she came. No one stopped for a chat. No one offered the usual friendly farewells.

She set Ronan to the task of reading aloud the nursery rhymes she had written down for him. He seemed to like reading, though he did it so quietly she could hardly hear him. If that was what made him comfortable enough to undertake the work, she didn’t mind.

“Rub a dub dub,” Ronan read in a mumble. “Three men in a tub.”

Evangeline stepped to the mantel as Ronan continued. She touched the pad of her finger to her family’s image tucked behind its protective glass.

I am helping here. I think you would be proud of that. She knew this was not the life they had envisioned for her, but she was pleased by all she had achieved. The struggle of facing uncertainty—and the sense of accomplishment she felt at having overcome it—had made her a better person. Stronger. If only her family were with her to share in that.

Into her moment of quiet reflection came a most unwelcome interruption: Aunt Barton’s voice. “Is this how you undertake your teaching? By ignoring your student?”

Evangeline met her mother’s photographic gaze and, for just a moment, could so easily see the expression she had often worn when speaking of her sister. Forbearance mingled with frustration mingled with a kind of sad affection. Evangeline offered a brief smile of condolence; she had come to understand that same blend of feelings quite well over the past months.

She turned away from the mantel and, as serenely as she could manage, said, “He prefers to practice his reading with a certain degree of privacy. Knowing that is how he learns best, Imake certain he is afforded it.”

A smirk turned the corners of her aunt’s mouth. “Does his father also prefer a ‘certain degree of privacy’ at this house?”

That was too pointed a remark to be misunderstood. “There are times when I am surprised that you and my mother were at all related. She comported herself with utmost decorum and ladylike civility. She would never have lowered herself to utter such base and unfounded remarks.”

“Yes. Your sainted mother.” Aunt Barton’s nose wrinkled. “She knew how to capture a man’s attention.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Be careful who you idolize, Evangeline.” She moved to one of the narrow back windows and looked out, though not with any obvious purpose.

“If you have come here only to insult me and my family, Iwould ask you to leave. This is my home, and I will not allow your words to sully it.”

“Is that so?” Aunt Barton actually laughed. “You seemed to have little objection to bandying about my husband’s good name only two days ago.”

“I did no such thing.”

Aunt Barton brushed a finger along the windowsill, then eyed it with distaste, apparently finding more dust than she deemed acceptable. “Mr. Barton was subjected to an inquisition over the running of the mill, something he has not been called upon to endure even once thus far. That, no doubt, was your doing.”

What could Evangeline say to that? To an extent, the inquiries were partially her fault—she had told Grandfather what she’d heard of the mill, after all. She was not obligated to respond as, in that moment, Dermot did, having apparently arrived in the doorway.

“Mr. Farr’s questioning of your husband can be laid at the feet of a few people, though the necessity of it lies firmly with his own self.”

Aunt Barton spun about. Her surprise quickly gave way to displeasure and a narrowing of her eyes. “You make yourself quite free here, walking in unannounced and unbidden.”

“The door was open,” Dermot said. “Your disparaging remarks would’ve brought any decent man in to defend an innocent lady such as your niece.”

“Your niece.” Aunt Barton flung an accusatory glare at Evangeline. “You have been telling people of our kinship? That was a specific requirement of your living and working here. This is grounds for dismissal and eviction.”

“She told no one.” Dermot stepped further inside. “Mr. Farr did. He referred to her as his granddaughter within the hearing of one of her students, though I believe the knowledge has grown more general since the dinner Miss Blake took in your home—a more subtle revelation but, again, one brought about by Mr. Farr. If you mean to rake anyone over the coals for this, it’d best be him, though I’d pay a year’s salary to watch you try.”

“You would speak so flippantly to the wife of your master?”

“I have no master, and I work for no man.” Dermot eyed her for a long, unhurried moment. “What’s more, Miss Blake does not work for you, either, nor does she work for your husband. She’s employed by the school board, of which you’re not a member and of which your husband is only acting head. Mr. Farr’s opinion is the only one that truly matters. I saw him here Saturday. Her position seems quite safe. Yours and your husband’s, however ...” The thought dangled unfinished.

Aunt Barton’s lips pursed into a tiny bud of anger. “Very brash words for one of your birth.”

“And very uncouth words for one of yours.” Dermot did not shrink in the least.

Evangeline didn’t bother hiding her pleasure at being so fiercely defended. “I need to assist my student in gathering his supplies, so I am no longer in a position to receive visitors. Good day to you, Mrs. Barton.”

Aunt Barton crossed in front of her, slowing long enough to whisper in menacing tones, “This day’s work will cost you your sister’s company. Mark my words.”

“You do not frighten me,” Evangeline answered in full voice. “I have every confidence that Grandfather took your measure long ago, and I believe he is fully capable of taking mine.”

No more was said, though Evangeline felt the truth of her words. Her grandfather was not one to be swayed by petty resentment or vindictiveness. He might not side with Evangeline in the end, but she did not believe that would be the result of anything her aunt said or did.

Aunt Barton left in a huff.

“Come along, Ronan,” Dermot said. “We’re for home.”

He faced Ronan, his back to her. His tone was colder than she was accustomed to.

“Are you still angry with me?” Evangeline asked.

“I was never angry with you, woman. Frustrated and disappointed, yes, but not angry.”

Her heart sat heavy in her chest. “And now you mean to treat me differently as well. The whole town does.”

“’Tis difficult to know how to act around you when none of us is entirely certain who you are anymore.”

“I’m still the same person,” she insisted.

“Aye, but none of us knew the whole of that person. You lied to us.”

Long after he’d gone, his words hung heavy in her mind. “You lied to us.” She hadn’t wanted to, but what choice had she had? She would have lost her position. Aunt Barton had been quite clear that Grandfather had insisted—

The truth of things struck her quite suddenly. Grandfather had not hidden their connection. His invitation to supper had been one way the town had learned the truth. Yet Aunt Barton had insisted the secrecy was his requirement. Evangeline had been misled from the beginning. What else had been a half-truth at best?

She had lost Dermot’s good opinion over a lie—two lies. The one her aunt had originally told, and the one she herself had maintained in the months since. She had come to Smeatley alone and now feared she would return to that isolation.