Chapter 11

11

The tariff at a respectable Boarding-House appears to bear the following average: bed and breakfast 3s.; dinner (chop or steak) 2s.; tea without chop 1s.

— Cruchley’s London: A Handbook for Strangers

Sarah, Emily, and James put on their outdoor things and walked along the esplanade toward the eastern town. It was a warm, sunny afternoon. On the beach, many ladies waited to use the bathing machines, a few young men flew kites, and children splashed and waded while their parents or nurses looked on. The scene reminded Sarah of her and her sisters when they’d first come to Sidmouth, delighted with the seaside. Sarah and Claire, hand in hand, wading in the surf, squealing every time the cold water doused their ankles...

At the memory, Sarah’s hand closed of its own accord, as if trying to capture Claire’s hand once again.

When they reached Broadbridge’s, Emily looked to Sarah to knock, and when Sarah hesitated as well, James stepped forward to do so.

Only a few seconds passed before a well-dressed gentleman opened the door. “Excellent timing. I was just passing through the hall. What can I do for you?”

James replied, “Actually, we came to see Miss Summers.”

“Ah.” Curiosity glinted in his gaze as he looked from person to person. “Of course. Come in. I will see if she is at her leisure.” His lips tilted wryly.

Assuming this was the new owner, he might very well resent a social call. He led them upstairs and into the same parlour where Sarah used to take tea with Fran.

“May I tell her who is calling?” Again that crooked grin, as if amused by something.

Emily found her voice. “Mr. and Mrs. Thomson, and Miss Summers.”

“Another Summers. I shan’t ask if you are related, for it is obvious you are.”

James clarified, “Her sisters and brother-in-law.”

“Ah. Wait here.” He turned and quit the room, closing the parlour door partway behind himself.

A moment later, Sarah heard him call, “Miss Summers, are you at home to callers? I am playing butler now, apparently.”

“Who is it?”

“Two sisters and a brother-in-law. I’ve put them in the parlour.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

Sarah’s pulse pounded as they all turned expectantly toward the door. A moment later, Claire pushed it open and stepped inside. She hovered just over the threshold, hands clasped and expression timid.

“Claire!” Emily hurried forward and threw her arms around her. “You don’t know how I’ve missed you. And how much you’ve missed! Did you receive my letters? I hope it does not come as a surprise—or at least not an unhappy one—to learn your younger sister is married.” She turned to her tall, dark-haired husband. “Please meet James Thomson, my new husband. James, my oldest sister, Claire.”

He bowed. “A sincere pleasure. Emily speaks of you often and with warmest affection.”

Claire gave an awkward curtsy. “Mr. Thomson. The pleasure is mine.” She turned back to Emily. “And yes, I received the invitation to your wedding but only after the date had passed. It was ... misdirected at first. We always knew you would marry young—as pretty and witty as you are. Did we not, Sarah?”

Thoughts elsewhere, Sarah did not immediately realize Claire had addressed her. She hesitated, then managed a flat, “Indeed.”

Sarah did not rush forward with an effusive embrace as Emily had done. Instead she hung back.

Claire darted a nervous glance at her before saying to Emily and her groom, “I am very happy for you both.”

Emily said, “Viola was actually the first to marry. Last summer.”

Claire’s eyes widened. “Was she indeed?”

“Yes. She wrote to let you know she and her husband hoped to visit you in Edinburgh, but they missed you, apparently.”

Claire glanced again at Sarah before replying, “I am sorry. I did not receive her letter.”

“That’s all right. She and the major will return soon, and you shall meet him then.”

Claire nodded. She looked ill at ease, which was understandable. And her lightly freckled skin seemed a little pale, without the glow of happiness she’d worn when last Sarah saw her, on the cusp of eloping. Otherwise Claire looked much the same. Still so pretty, with her delicate features and reddish-brown hair.

That rare thread of resentment pulled at her once more, and Sarah decided life was unfair. She felt she had aged more than Claire in the last two years, through the strain of her departure, their father’s illness and death, the loss of Finderlay, the move to Sidmouth, and working hard to establish the guest house. And all this not long after the death of her own betrothed.

Sarah stood there, feeling oddly cold. Distant. As if a thin layer of frost had enveloped her heart like an ice-glazed branch.

She became aware of the others watching her.

“Sarah,” Claire said tentatively. She took a step forward. When Sarah remained where she was, she drew no closer. “I am glad to see you. And glad for this chance to tell you how sorry I am for the way I left, for asking you not to say anything until I had gone. It was wrong of me to put you in that situation. And I hope, one day, you might forgive me.”

In Claire’s blue eyes, so like her own, she saw sincerity and regret, magnified by a sheen of tears. A cascade of memories flowed through Sarah’s mind, of all their private talks and long walks, sharing confidences and laughter and grief, Claire holding her tight when they’d learned of Peter’s death....

Sarah’s heart twisted, cracking her resentment and icy reserve.

She stepped forward to meet Claire, enclosing her in her arms. She whispered near her ear, “I forgive you now.”

Footsteps sounded behind them, and the two parted to look toward the door. The man who had greeted them reappeared on the threshold and drew up short at the sight of the teary-eyed embrace.

“Forgive the intrusion. I did not realize this was a sad occasion.”

Claire gave him a watery smile. “It is not. It is a happy one. Allow me to introduce my family. Well, some of them. My sister Sarah. My sister Emily. And her husband, Mr. Thomson.”

“James,” Mr. Thomson said, holding out his hand.

The man shook it. “William Hammond.”

Claire explained, “Mr. Hammond owns Broadbridge’s now and has taken me on as a partner in the business.”

Emily said, “We also offer rooms at our home near Fort Field. I hope ours can be a friendly competition.”

His eyebrows rose in obvious surprise. “Indeed? Your sister did not mention it.”

Seeing Claire’s discomfort, Sarah added, “It is a relatively recent development. Needs must and all that.”

“Ah. I see.”

Meanwhile James continued to study the man, head tilted to one side, expression puzzled. “William Hammond...” he repeated thoughtfully. “Your name is familiar to me for some reason.”

Mr. Hammond shrugged. “A common enough name, I should think.”

“Yes, but I heard it not long ago in connection with Sidmouth.” His eyes narrowed in concentration. “You moved here recently, I believe.”

“That’s right.”

“And you moved here from...?”

“I have lived several places. From Aylesbury, originally.” He shifted, perhaps uncomfortable with the attention, and shifted the topic as well. “And you, Mr. Thomson. Resided in Sidmouth long?”

“Not long. I came here with the Duke of Kent over the winter and stayed on after his death, having fallen in love with this lovely young lady.” He nodded toward Emily.

Mr. Hammond asked, “In the lodging business as well?”

James shook his head. “Only in that it’s a family concern. I served as private secretary to the duke and now perform a similar function for Sir Thomas Acland, recently reelected MP for Devon.”

“Sir Thomas. Ah. Well...” Mr. Hammond drew himself up. “Pray excuse me.” He gave a general bow, then turned to Claire. “I shall be in the morning room when you have a minute. No rush.” He turned away, seeming suddenly eager to depart. Sarah wondered why.

James watched him go, brow furrowed. “I believe it was Sir Thomas who mentioned a William Hammond to me. I wish I could remember why. Never mind, it will come to me.”

Claire said, “I’m afraid I don’t know much about him, although I do know he is new to the lodging business, as am I. An unlikely pair, are we not?”

Emily’s eyes shone with interest at Claire’s words. She probably hoped to find in them a hint of romance—her favorite genre.

“Perhaps Fran might advise you,” Sarah said.

“Yes! She plans to begin tomorrow, and I will gladly accept all the advice she can give me. Now, may I offer you tea?”

“No, thank you,” Sarah said. “We shan’t keep you. We know you are busy settling into your new situation.”

Emily added, “But we wanted to assure you of our love and support.” She gave Claire another hug. “We are very glad you came to Sidmouth, and hopefully Mamma will come around in time.”

Claire glanced down at her clasped hands, clearly pained by Mamma’s absence.

“Oh, and before we forget,” Emily said, “Georgiana wanted us to pass along her greetings and love. She plans to visit you again soon.”

That brought a smile to Claire’s pretty face. “I shall look forward to it. You are all welcome at any time.”

After seeing her sisters and Mr. Thomson out, Claire stood for a long moment, resting her forehead against the door.

How nervous she had been when Mr. Hammond had told her who had come to call. Having read one of Emily’s letters, she was fairly confident that sister would be pleased to see her. She’d been far less certain of Sarah’s reception. Her heart had ached to see the initial reticence, perhaps even anger, in Sarah’s expression. Claire could not blame her, yet she’d been deeply relieved when Sarah had forgiven her.

And how strangely wonderful to meet Emily’s husband and to learn that formerly reclusive Viola had married as well. She had missed so much.

Claire was of course disappointed by Emily’s confirmation that Mamma had not “come around,” but she thanked God her sisters had.

She took a deep breath and straightened, remembering Mr. Hammond wanted to see her. Was he affronted to learn her family ran a guest house in Sidmouth? She would soon find out. Squaring her shoulders, Claire walked into the morning room as requested.

Mr. Hammond looked up from the desk as she entered.

“There you are. Good visit?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Excellent.”

“I ... hope you don’t mind ... about my family’s guest house. I only learned of it recently.”

“You have been out of touch?”

“Yes.”

“And you clearly came here for more than a partnership in a boarding house.”

“I came for both. I hope that is not a problem.”

He looked upward, as if in serious consideration, yet that humorous quirk tipped his lips again. “I am never sure what to think about the old ‘two birds, one stone’ adage. Well and good for the stone, far less so for the birds.” He returned his gaze to her. “At all events, that’s not why I asked you to meet me. I was thinking you might plan next week’s menu for Mrs. Ballard. She asked me once but did not appreciate my suggestions of curries and sis kebap .”

“What is shish kebab?”

“Spiced meat roasted on skewers. Delicious.”

“Is that Indian food?”

“Turkish. Although eaten in India as well, I understand.”

She wondered how he knew. She supposed he’d spent time in India and that was how he’d met Mira’s mother. Remembering Sonali’s warning about invading Mr. Hammond’s privacy, she did not ask.

“I suppose I can understand Mrs. Ballard’s reticence to serve that here,” Claire said. “Very well. I shall attempt next week’s menu.”

After he left, Claire sat at the desk, her mind wheeling back over the many lavish, delicious dinners they had enjoyed at Finderlay over the years. Closing her eyes, she could still smell the savory aromas and see gleaming dishes of larded sweet breads, pigeon pie, salmon with fennel sauce, haunch of veal roasted to a turn, haricot of mutton, fresh salads, almond cheesecakes, sweetmeats, and more. Her stomach rumbled at the thought.

With these memories in mind, she retrieved pen, ink, and paper and began writing down possible menus. While she was at it, she also wrote a brief letter to Mr. Dumfries, as he’d requested, letting him know where she was living.

On Monday morning after breakfast, she showed the menus to Mrs. Ballard.

The cook sat at the worktable and reviewed them in silence for several minutes, frown lines deepening as she read.

“My goodness, miss. This is exceedingly fine fare for a boarding house. Veal? Duck? Pigeon? I would need a far greater budget, and we’d have to double the daily rates—that’s for certain. Has Mr. Hammond agreed to this?”

Claire’s stomach churned and bile soured her throat. “These are only ideas. Never mind. I shall give it more thought and talk it over with Mrs. Farrant. Let’s repeat last week’s menu for now, shall we?”

“Yes, miss. Very good.”

Later that day, Claire sat with Fran Farrant in the housekeeper’s room over cups of tea. She gave her the proposed menu and explained Mrs. Ballard’s reaction to it.

Fran reviewed it, then looked up with a soft chuckle.“Duck?”

Claire held her head in her hands. She was not off to a promising start.

Fran patted her slumped shoulders. “There, there, my dear. How were you to know? I assure you, your mother and sisters made similar mistakes when they first opened Sea View to guests. Never mind. I shall help. While it’s no Finderlay, Broadbridge’s can still provide filling, wholesome meals. Not with veal, duck, and pigeon, but with boiled beef, chicken, a great deal of local fish, and mounds of turnips and potatoes, with the occasional green vegetable or fruit. Sound reasonable?”

Claire straightened and nodded.

Fran turned the paper over and slid it toward Claire with an encouraging smile. “Then let’s begin.”

That evening, Claire opened the door to a couple in search of accommodation—her first guests to register and settle in on her own.

The young man bowed and said, “Mr. and Mrs. Bracegirdle.”

The woman on his arm giggled, whether from the surname itself or the newness of hearing herself thus introduced, Claire did not know.

She certainly hoped the young pair were married in actual fact and not simply pretending to be.

“Pray forgive me,” Mrs. Bracegirdle said. “I still can’t believe that’s my name now we’re married. How venerable I do sound!” She leaned her cheek against her husband’s shoulder, still holding on to his arm as though it were a lifeline.

“You are very welcome,” Claire said. “Did you write to let us know you were coming?”

“No.” The young lady sucked in a gasp. “Were we supposed to?”

“It’s not a problem,” Claire hurried to assure them. “We have rooms available.”

“Oh, good.” The young man blew out a breath between puffed cheeks.

“If you would follow me into the office here, so I can get your details?” Claire led them into the morning room, stepped behind the desk, and opened the registration book.

He said, “We saw the place mentioned in The Sidmouth Guide , and thought we might stay three weeks or so, until I ship out again.” He shifted awkwardly. “That is, if we can afford it. I’m afraid we don’t have a great deal of money. I have my savings, and dear ol’ Gran gave us some for our wedding. I hope it’s enough.”

Claire’s heart softened toward the earnest young man. “We have a pleasant room on the top floor that goes for a reduced rate. So if you don’t mind an extra flight of stairs...?”

“Not a bit. We’re both fit as fiddles.” He put his arm around his wife’s slender shoulders and pulled her close. “Are we not, my love?”

“We are indeed.” The two gazed at each other with such ardent affection that it was almost painful to witness. Claire owned to a kernel of longing and perhaps even jealousy at this display of obvious devotion.

She swallowed it down. “Excellent. The bed-and-breakfast rate for that room is two shillings, if that suits. Dinner is extra, I’m afraid, but Mrs. Ballard makes a generous breakfast. It will easily keep you most of the day.”

Apparently doing some quick calculations in his mind, the man brightened. “That will suit us nicely, with a bob or two to spare. Thank you, missus.”

Claire retrieved a key from the drawer. “Then allow me to show you to your room.”

The next morning, not long after they had breakfasted, the laundress’s boy arrived at the basement door with a load of clean laundry for Mr. Hammond. Claire thanked the lad, gave him a coin for his trouble, and carried the clean shirts upstairs.

She did not find Mr. Hammond in the morning room, nor in any of the other public rooms, so she braved the passage to his apartment above the old stable block. Finding the outer door open, and hearing voices within, Claire stepped through and onto a small landing that led to two inner doors—one closed, one open. She tentatively followed the voices to the open doorway.

Inside, she saw Mr. Hammond seated at a desk, Mira on his lap. Claire tried not to be obvious as she surveyed his private study but could not help noticing books with foreign titles on the shelves, maps on the walls, and a painting of a white building with golden domes.

Spread out on the middle of the desk were several small piles of coins.

Mira held out her palm, upon which sat three shiny silver coins. “What’s these called?”

“What are those called,” he gently corrected. “These two are piastres and that one is a beshlik. ”

She set them onto a pile of other silver coins, then held up a gold coin. “And this yellow one?”

“That is gold, my little pumpkin seed. A foondook .” He picked up another. “And this a half - myseer , coined in Egypt and rather rare.”

“Pretty,” the girl murmured.

Claire hesitated in the doorway, then feigned a smile she did not feel. “Goodness! Look at all those coins. Where did they come from?”

He looked up with a frown, then answered somewhat vaguely, “Oh, I have been collecting them for years.”

She said, “Reminds me of the strange coin I found in the hall. The one I put in the desk downstairs?”

“Ah. I forgot you mentioned that. Wondered how it got there.”

To his daughter, he said, “These will all be yours one day. But for now, let’s put them away for safekeeping.” He rose, set Mira on the chair, and moved to the door, effectively blocking Claire’s view.

Hand on the latch as if preparing to close it, he said, “Was there something you needed?”

“Only to deliver your laundry, which just arrived.”

“Thank you.” He accepted the pile. “In future, please leave it for me belowstairs. I shall carry it up myself.”

“Very well.” Claire walked away, feeling unaccountably chastised by the mild reproof.