Chapter 12

12

John Taylor, a local cobbler, made [Queen] Victoria’s first pair of shoes and received a Royal Warrant.

—Nigel Hyman, Sidmouth’s Royal Connections

That afternoon, Miss Patel and Mira returned from some outing, the woman all but dragging the child behind herself in her hurry to enter the house.

With eyes like hard jet beads and her mouth cinched tight, the woman appeared, if possible, even angrier than usual.

“What is it?” Claire asked. “Has something happened?”

Nostrils flaring, Miss Patel replied, “That Mr. Taylor would not make shoes for Mira.”

Confusion puckered Claire’s brow. “What? Why?”

“Why do you think?” Miss Patel snapped.

“Do you mean because you are not English? But that ... is...” Claire faltered as unspoken words coursed through her mind in a torrent: Unfair. Unjust. Undeserved.

Words hurled at her by Aunt Mercer came back to her, striking her like sharp pebbles: Undeserving girl. Foolish. Fallen. Ruined. Claire had done something to deserve such contempt. Mira, however, was innocent.

Miss Patel lifted her chin. “When Mr. Hammond returns, he shall have to take her himself.”

Indignant, Claire said, “No. I shall take her. Now.” Claire thrust out her hand, and after a moment of wide-eyed surprise, Mira slipped her small brown hand into hers.

“He should not have treated either of you so poorly. Where is this shop?”

Sonali told her.

Claire barely stopped long enough to plop a bonnet onto her head before marching out the door, down the steps, and up the street, moderating her agitated pace for the little girl’s sake. As they walked, Claire was vaguely aware of perplexed looks from passersby shifting from her to the child and back again, but she ignored them.

As they neared, Mira pointed to the cast-iron, shoe-shaped sign ahead. “There it is.”

Claire pushed open the shop door with more force than was strictly necessary. Mira, perhaps startled by this, or not keen to face the cobbler again, hid behind her skirts.

The man on his wooden stool, hammering away at a sole of a boot, paused in his work and turned. He took in Claire’s face, straight posture, and fine, if no longer fashionable, attire. “Yes, madam, how may I assist you?”

“I require a new pair of shoes.”

“Of course. Happily. What had you in mind? Half boots, heeled shoes, slippers?”

Claire rested a hand on Mira’s shoulder, drawing her forward. “A pair of leather shoes for Miss Hammond here.”

The man’s gaze slid down to the child and his obsequious smile faded. “You again. As I told her mother, or servant, or whatever she was, I am a very busy man with certain standards. I don’t make shoes for just anybody.” He puffed out his chest. “If you are not aware, I had the privilege of making Princess Alexandrina Victoria’s first pair of shoes, when the Duke and Duchess of Kent resided here over the winter.”

“How nice for you, Mr. Taylor. Yet you were perfectly willing to make a pair for me a moment ago, and I am not noble in the least.”

“You are English.”

“What has that to say to anything?”

The man scowled. “Who are you, anyway? To this girl, I mean?”

Who was she, indeed? “I am a ... business associate of her father, Mr. William Hammond. He recently bought Broadbridge’s Boarding House. Perhaps you have not yet met him.”

“Her father, you say?”

“Yes. A gentleman who has decided to settle here in Sidmouth with his daughter. A fine welcome this is.”

“A nabob, is he?” The cobbler’s lip curled. “Come home from India with a fortune and a kutcha-butcha ?”

Claire did not know what the term meant, but it certainly sounded derogatory. “That is none of your concern. All that matters is that his daughter needs a new pair of shoes.”

Changing tack, Claire said, “Apparently we shall have to go to a different shop where everyone is respectfully and promptly served. I believe there are several shoe and boot makers in the area. And when we find such an establishment, we shall recommend it to all our family, friends, and numerous guests. Come, Mira.” She took the girl’s hand, prepared to depart.

As she turned, she saw the man’s eyes widen and his expression transform. He rose and raised both hands in supplication. “Now, madam. Please. I do beg your pardon. I did not fully understand the situation. I will make this young ... lady ... a fine pair of shoes. Far better than you could get elsewhere.”

Claire hesitated, not wishing to appear too eager. Then she said coolly, “Very well.”

In short order, measurements had been taken and materials and color decided upon.

When they left the cobbler’s, Claire blew out a relieved breath. Back on the street, she spied a confectioner’s shop. “How about something sweet? I think we both deserve a treat after that ordeal, don’t you?”

“Yes, please!”

In the shop, Mira chose a small bag of lemon drops. Thankfully the shop clerk had no qualms about serving them. Claire, having consulted the meager coins in her reticule, decided against something for herself after all. Mira offered one of hers, and Claire popped the tangy morsel into her mouth. “Thank you, my dear. Generous of you to share.”

Exiting the confectioner’s, Mira tripped, and before Claire could catch her, the girl lost hold of her bag and several lemon drops went rolling onto the walkway.

In a flash, a man came to their aid. He lowered himself to his haunches and picked up the bag. “What a pity. Ah, but good news. Still two left.” He handed it to Mira.

Claire recognized him then—the man from the stagecoach. In his mid to late thirties, the striking man had coffee-brown skin, black hair, and very dark eyes.

As he looked at the child, his grin faded into a quizzical look, and he tipped back his beaver hat to better study her face. “I say. I have not seen you before. And I would have noticed.” He smiled at the girl, his teeth startlingly white against his deep brown skin. “Would it be terribly presumptuous to ask your name?”

Suddenly shy, the girl clutched Claire’s hand and crowded close to her side, even as her eyes studied the stranger with interest.

“Mira,” she said softly.

“And I am Armaan. A pleasure to meet you, Miss Mira. You remind me of someone I once knew. Someone I miss very much indeed.”

He rose, and Claire noticed again how tall and handsome he was. His gaze slid past Claire, then returned for a longer look. “Ah. This lady I have seen before. We traveled on the same coach.”

“That’s right. A pleasure to see you again.”

“Likewise. Are you enjoying Sidmouth?”

“For the most part, yes. And you?”

“Much the same. I enjoyed visiting London, but Sidmouth is home ... at least for now.”

Behind them, an aproned shopkeeper cleared his throat, and Armaan stepped aside.

“Well. I shall bid you both good day.”

He tugged his hat brim and walked on, and Claire was not quite sure if she was relieved or disappointed that he had not asked her name as well.

On their return to Broadbridge’s, Claire almost collided with a woman in the marketplace. “Pardon me,” she said. Then, seeing who it was, she drew back in surprise.

“M-Mamma,” Claire faltered, a catch in her voice.

Mamma appeared to be startled as well. “I ... did not expect to see you. I thought you would be busy at Broadbridge’s.”

“Just out on an errand.” She glanced down at the little girl holding her hand. “This is Mira, Mr. Hammond’s daughter.”

“Mr. Hammond is your...?”

“Business partner. He bought the boarding house from Fran and needed help managing the place.”

“I see.”

Unsure what to say, Claire stammered, “Are you ... in good health? You look remarkably well, I must say.”

“I have improved, thankfully. The sea air, long walks, and sea-bathing have done me good.”

“I am glad.”

An awkward silence followed. Mamma fidgeted with her reticule, then said, “I am ... relieved you are also well. However, your father would not be pleased you are here.”

At the words, Claire’s chin began to tremble. “I remained in Scotland as long as Aunt Mercer lived, but then I had to leave. I suppose I could have gone elsewhere, but I missed you all terribly. I came here hoping to restore our relationship.”

Mamma huffed and pushed a loose hair from her face. “I cannot go against his wishes.” Anger sparked in her eyes. “I may have failed to protect you, but I have other daughters to think of now. I’m sorry. Excuse me.”

Her mother walked away, weaving rather unsteadily through the crowd of shoppers.

Mira tugged her hand. As Claire looked down, a tear fell onto the cheek of the motherless girl.

After dinner that evening, Miss Patel took Mira upstairs for a bath. When they’d gone, Mr. Hammond turned to Claire, looking quite serious, even somber.

“Sonali told me what happened today—the cobbler refusing to make shoes for Mira. Thank you for speaking up for her. It’s maddening you had to, but I appreciate your help.”

“I felt I had to. I can’t remember the last time I was so angry.”

“I understand. Naturally it angers me too, that my child should be treated unfairly. Yet this is not the first time, and it shan’t be the last, unfortunately.”

“How is Mira, do you think?”

“She seems untroubled, thankfully. I talked to her about it and tried to encourage her. I believe people here will eventually come to know us and accept us. Until then, Mira is fortunate to have you as her champion.”

“Sonali was upset too.”

He nodded. “She has been poorly treated many times—insulted, refused service. I step in when I can, but she sometimes resents my interference.”

“Probably resented mine as well,” Claire said sheepishly. “I went charging off like some wild-eyed avenger. I hope I did not do more harm than good.”

“I doubt it. Though it is often difficult to know what is best to be done. As much as we’d like to, we can’t change the whole world.”

“Not yet, perhaps,” she said. “But hopefully in time.”

Her duties done for the day, Claire again left the boarding house for an evening stroll. Reaching the esplanade, she descended the slope to the beach. She stood there, watching the restless grey waves, the white caps breaking into frothy surf and advancing, diminishing, and finally lapping the pebbled shore.

What was it about the seaside? It drew her. Refreshed her. Soothed her weary soul. For a moment Claire closed her eyes, breathing deeply of the cool, moist air and listening to the rhythmic roar.

Footsteps crunched over pebbles nearby, interrupting her solitude. Realizing it was a little late to be out on her own, Claire nervously glanced over. With relief and pleasure, she recognized the approaching figure. “Fran!”

“Good evening, Claire. I stopped by Broadbridge’s, and Mary told me you’d gone for a walk.”

Claire nodded. “Mr. Farrant having another pint while he waits for you?”

“He was called out on an urgent repair. But yes, I imagine he will soon reward himself with a pint.” Fran smiled and looked around the deserted beach, the sun setting to the west over Peak Hill. “You’re out here late in the day.”

“I like it best when the crowds have gone.”

Fran slanted her a knowing look. “And you’re less likely to encounter a relative.”

“There is that as well. I understand Mamma sea-bathes here during the day, and I would rather not thrust my presence upon her more than necessary. She has made it clear she intends to keep her distance.”

Fran gave her arm a sympathetic squeeze.

Claire said, “Thank you again for helping with the menus. Mrs. Ballard was pleased with them, as was Mr. Hammond.”

“My pleasure.”

Claire returned her gaze to the sea and inhaled another long breath of fresh air. “I have not been to Sidmouth in years. Yet I feel as though I have come home.”

“Despite everything?”

“Despite everything.”

After a quiet moment, Fran said, “Give her time, Claire.”

Tears stinging her eyes, Claire nodded.

“Speaking of time,” Fran said, “I find I have plenty to spare these days, should you ever need more help with anything.”

“Really? That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

Arm in arm, the two walked together back to the esplanade and then up the street. At the marketplace, they parted ways, Fran to reunite with her husband, while Claire turned toward the boarding house.

As she neared, intending to take the outside stairs down to her room, Claire heard something along the side of the house. She stepped closer and looked down the long narrow alley that led to the old stables.

There in the deepening shadows, she saw two men talking in eager, confidential tones. Mr. Hammond and a slight, bespectacled man Claire did not recognize. Why were they standing there in that dim, overgrown lane, all but hidden from view?

The men turned and began walking toward the street. Claire quickly started down the stairs, not keen to be caught eavesdropping.

From above, she heard Mr. Hammond say, “Yes, but let’s keep it between ourselves.”

And the man replied, “As you wish. I will be in touch when I receive it.”

As the man turned away and Mr. Hammond walked toward the front door above, Claire waited in the shadows, all the while wondering, Receive what?