Chapter 18

18

PROFILE MINIATURE PAINTER

Profiles neatly finished, shaded in water colours ... Children in colours, and full-length, 5s.

—J. H. Gillespie, printed handbill

A few days later, Mr. Hammond said he would be busy in his study most of the afternoon. Finding the house quiet and her tasks completed, Claire went down to her room. As she opened her shutters to let in more light, she noticed men wearing Hessian boots with swords at their sides march past. Military men were a fairly common sight in Sidmouth, so Claire gave them little heed and sat down at her small table with the satinwood sewing box.

She had meant to make herself a new dress straightaway, but as Mr. Hammond had said, she was up early and up late most days as it was, and the project seemed overwhelming to her. She had progressed no further than sketching out the basic design. Where would she spread the fabric to do the cutting? And what if she made a major mistake and ruined the gifted material? Perhaps she should ask Sarah for help. Or begin with something smaller.

She had made a good start on her wraparound stays, which the French called corset à la paresseuse or “lazy stays.” Contrary to the name, constructing and stitching the undergarment had proved to be more work than she’d anticipated. She still needed to add boning and gussets, but even so, the project was coming along well.

In the meantime, she had grown thoroughly weary of her few frocks. Mr. Hammond’s words, “I notice you wear the same few dresses in rotation ” —though kindly delivered—revealed others were aware of her limited clothing as well.

Her gaze strayed to the trunk against the wall. Mr. Hammond had said she should feel free to wear anything that suited her or to make something over for herself.

She remembered the almost-strangled look on his face—the repressed emotion, the tight voice—when he’d said, “Vanita’s clothing. I have not looked inside since she...”

Claire had not yet looked inside either, but surely he’d expected her to by now.

Curiosity rising, Claire opened the trunk. She carefully began extracting the garments within and laying them on her bed—a spencer, two chemises, and two day dresses.

She paused to consider the day dresses. One was of gauzy white muslin, which did not seem practical in her situation. The other was of a sturdier green cambric with dainty embroidered flowers on the bodice. A flounce had been sewn to the hem of the skirt and a wide strip of shiny satin ribbon stitched at the waist. After studying it, Claire decided she could easily remove the flounce and waist trim. At the neckline she could wear the fichu Sarah had returned to her. These changes combined would hopefully render it less recognizable for Sonali’s sake as well as Mr. Hammond’s. Claire had no wish to provoke the one or sadden the other by parading around in a gown that had obviously belonged to Vanita.

Claire set aside the green day dress to alter and returned to her perusal of the trunk. She pulled out an evening dress of ivory silk embellished with tiny seed pearls. Lovely. Too lovely. She would not dare wear it. Beneath it lay a matching reticule, a few pairs of stockings, and a marigold-yellow embroidered sari and matching skirt.

One final item lay nestled on the bottom. A small tissue-wrapped parcel. A jewelry case, perhaps? She unwrapped it and found a framed miniature portrait.

Claire lifted it closer. For a moment she thought the subject was Mira. But as she studied the image, she realized the figure depicted was an adolescent girl or young teen. She wore a sari like Sonali’s and a beaded veil over black, center-parted hair. A jewel adorned her forehead, and gold earrings dangled from her ears.

This must be Vanita Aston when young. She wondered if Mr. Hammond knew the miniature was in the trunk, and guessed not.

Rising, she carried it upstairs and across the passage to his apartment. There she hesitated, then knocked on the outer door.

A few moments later, Mr. Hammond opened it a mere crack.

“Ah, Miss Summers. Um...”

He glanced over his shoulder. At what? A visitor? The aforementioned guards? She thought again of the soldiers she’d seen marching past. Delivering the secret project, whatever it was?

He slipped out through the narrow opening and quickly shut the door behind himself. “Everything all right?”

“Sorry, I did not realize you had a guest. I just found something in the trunk I thought you should have.”

She extended the portrait, face up.

He stilled, expression transfixed. He slowly reached out and accepted it gingerly. Reverently.

“I forgot this was in there. I packed in a hurry, without much forethought.”

“Your wife, I assume?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

His chin trembled. He turned his face, but not before she saw the tears in his eyes.

“Forgive me,” Claire said. “I should not have given it to you so abruptly, without warning.”

“No. It’s not ... It is only the surprise of seeing it again.”

He paused, throat working, and she knew he was fighting for control. After an audible swallow, he continued. “It’s the only portrait I have of her, painted when she was quite young. I meant to have another commissioned after we married. I meant to do a lot of things....”

His shoulders shook. Claire reached out to lay a hand on his arm but stopped herself before touching him. “Again, I apologize. I shall leave you.”

She turned and retreated. At the opposite door she glanced back and saw him still standing there, shoulders hunched, apparently gathering himself before returning to whatever—or whoever—awaited him inside.

Two days later, alterations complete, Claire donned the modified day dress, feeling supremely self-conscious as she did so. She looked at herself in the small mirror in her room. It was a rather plain dress, except for the small embroidered flowers on the bodice. And with her own fichu knotted like a neckerchief, the ends dangling over her chest, those adornments were barely noticeable.

She began her workday as usual by helping Mary carry up the breakfast things for guests and family alike.

“Pretty dress, miss,” Mary said.

“Thank you.”

Sonali came into the morning room. Mira sometimes insisted, Claire knew, on charging over to her father’s room in the mornings and walking down with him. So Sonali entered alone.

Sonali looked at Claire, gaze riveted on the dress and a scowl upon her face.

She muttered something in a foreign tongue, then said, “That is Vanita’s dress. Why are you wearing it?”

Claire’s stomach sank. “I am sorry. I did not intend to upset you. I selected the plainest of her dresses and thought I had changed it enough that it would not be obvious.”

“I embroidered those flowers myself. I would recognize them anywhere.”

“I had no idea. You may have the dress. I shall change and give it to you.”

Sonali shook her head and threw up her hands. “What would I do with it? Vanita wore English clothes. I do not.”

Claire studied the woman’s agitated profile. “I hate to see you so unhappy. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Leave.”

Claire’s head jerked back as though slapped, and she chastised herself for inviting the rebuke. She turned to go, but Sonali called her back.

“No, wait. That was unkind.”

Claire took a deep breath to summon self-control, then managed to speak calmly and gently. “Do you regret coming here with the Hammonds? Do you wish to go somewhere else?”

“If I am unhappy here, I should just leave—is that it? Easy for you to say. You are brave and white, with the means to travel. You want me gone.”

“No! I am only trying to understand why you stay if you are so miserable.” She lowered her voice. “You mentioned you ... admired Mr. Hammond. But if that is not to be...?”

“Of course I stay. An unmarried woman, alone? A foreign woman, with little money of my own. What else can I do? When he asked me to come with them to England, I thought...” She shook her head almost violently. “He says I misunderstood. He only asked me to remain for Mira’s sake. To help keep alive memories of her amma , whom I knew so well.”

“You are given a generous wage, I believe? Or allowance, if you prefer the more genteel term.”

“I do,” she snapped. “Yes, I have been paid to care for Mira so he can climb his precious hills and hide away in his study. I have made his life easy. Too easy. He uses me when it is convenient.”

Claire winced. “Please don’t phrase it like that. If someone overheard, it could be misconstrued. I have never seen him treat you with anything other than respect and propriety. Do you say otherwise?”

“No. Despite my efforts, he is cold to me. You alone seem to warm his blood. Yet I wonder, Miss Summers, if you are truly the ‘respectable female’ he advertised for?”

Claire stilled. Had the woman somehow discovered her secret? “What do you mean?”

Sonali raised her head high and looked down her long nose. “What truly ‘respectable’ lady would answer such an advertisement? Would live under the same roof as an unmarried man and do such menial tasks, and not possess her own sewing things!” She turned and stormed off.

When Miss Patel had gone, Claire took several more calming breaths and prayed for both the woman and herself. She stepped into the hall and drew back abruptly to find Mr. Hammond and Mira standing there. How much had he overheard?

He tucked his chin and gave her an apologetic look. “Sorry. I did not intend to eavesdrop, but I heard some of that as we came downstairs.”

She nodded in acknowledgment, wondering what he would say.

He gestured his daughter into the morning room. “I see Mrs. Ballard has made your favorite muffins. Why not go in and start with one of those? We shall join you in a moment.”

Mira hurried to comply.

When she had gone, he heaved a sigh. “I did not realize I was inviting trouble when I asked Sonali to come here with us. Nor that she believed I might marry her after we’d both mourned a suitable period. I have tried, gently, to discourage her.”

“You knew she hoped...?”

He grimaced. “I noticed the gradual change a few months after Vanita died. I pretended not to notice her hints at first. Lingering after dinner, standing closer than before, the seemingly accidental touches in passing or when handing Mira into my arms. I hoped it would pass when she realized I did not reciprocate. It has not.”

Another grimace. “Perhaps it was selfish of me to ask her to remain for Mira’s sake. Yet Mira had already lost her mother. I did not want her to lose Sonali as well.”

“I understand.”

“If she were any other servant, treating others rudely as she does, I would have dismissed her long ago. But she was Vanita’s friend. And as far as what she said about you ... I can only apologize on her behalf and assure you that her bitter words reflect poorly on herself, not you.”

Claire managed a halfhearted smile and excused herself, saying she would go down and see if the coffee was ready.

As she walked away, she wondered how quickly his gallantry would fade if he knew there was at least some truth to the woman’s words.

After Sonali’s explosive reaction to seeing her in one of Vanita’s dresses, Claire once again looked through the pile of folded fabric and considered making a new dress for herself. The project still seemed too daunting.

She decided she would begin with something smaller. A simple dress for Mira. If she failed, at least the attempt would waste less fabric.

She borrowed one of the girl’s current frocks from the laundry for size, sketched a rudimentary design, and set to work.

Emily tapped on her window while she was sewing, and Claire rose to open the door to her. Her sister invited her to take tea with them at the York Hotel. “Perhaps tomorrow? I’m not sure who all will be able to join us, but Viola and Georgie certainly. Maybe Sarah, too, if we can pry her away from her to-do list.”

“What time?”

“Whenever it is easiest for you to get away.”

“I usually take a respite in the early afternoon, if that suits.”

“Perfectly.”

Claire agreed, and the plan was arranged.

At the appointed time the next day, Claire changed into her blue carriage dress and stopped by the morning room to remind Mr. Hammond she was going out. His gaze lingered briefly on her dress, but he said nothing.

Claire then left the house and walked the short distance to the York Hotel on the seafront.

Emily had said nothing about Mamma coming, so Claire was not especially nervous. It was only tea with her sisters. Not a court-martial to try her for desertion.

Claire walked into the hotel and found the door to the dining room. She stepped over the threshold and stopped midstride. Her mother sat at a table with her sisters. Seeing her enter, Mamma shifted in her chair, looking uncomfortable. Sarah appeared similarly uneasy.

Emily rose and pulled out the last empty chair for Claire before a waiter could do so. “You’re here. Excellent. Come and join us.”

“Are you ... sure it’s all right? I hope this is not a shock to you as it is to me, Mamma.”

“No, Mamma agreed to come.”

“Please sit down,” Mamma said, with a glance around. “No need to draw unwanted attention.”

Claire sat, feeling uncertain and out of place.

Viola said, “We’ve ordered tea and cake, but if you prefer something else...?”

“No. Sounds fine.”

Georgiana said, “I still don’t understand why we could not all take tea together at Sea View, but the cakes here are delicious.”

“I have told you why,” Mamma said in a quiet undertone.

Heart burning, Claire spoke in an equally hushed voice. “I am sorry, you know. I never imagined it would come to this. I truly thought he loved me and planned to marry me.”

Mamma huffed. “I don’t doubt you are sorry. I am sorry as well, but it does not change what happened.”

“To Papa, you mean? I know you blame me for his death. Aunt Mercer told me so.”

“She never!” Viola exclaimed, incredulous.

“Shh. Let’s keep our voices down,” Mamma warned. “This is not a conversation for a public place.”

“But you won’t let her come to the house,” Emily reminded her.

A waiter delivered tea and slices of cake to their table. When he had departed, Mamma sipped her tea and leaned in to make her low voice heard.

“I will not sprinkle sugar on the facts. God may be merciful, but our actions, our sins, always have consequences. We may not like it, yet that is the way the world works.”

Claire sighed. “Perhaps I should have married Harrison Welch as Papa wished, then none of this would have happened.”

Georgie turned to Viola beside her and whispered, “Who’s that?”

“The son of Papa’s friend, Mr. Welch. Papa wanted her to marry him.”

Mamma’s lips tightened. “That boy turned out to be a grave disappointment to his parents.”

“We have that in common,” Claire murmured.

“Then, why did Papa want her to marry him?” Georgie asked.

“We did not learn until later that he was not all we believed him to be. Your father thought if she married his friend’s son he would keep her close. He did not like the idea of her marrying some stranger with a house in London or some far-off estate. But he would not have wanted to see her miserable, which she would have been, if half of what I’ve heard about Harry Welch is true.”

A fashionably dressed, middle-aged woman stopped at their table.

“Good day, ladies. A pleasure to see you.”

“Good day,” Mamma returned the greeting, although not very eagerly.

The woman’s gaze swept the table and landed on Claire. “Have a friend visiting?” she asked.

Mamma’s smile seemed forced, but hopefully the woman did not notice. “Y-yes.”

When Mamma failed to make the introductions, Sarah said, “Lady Kennaway, please allow me to introduce our sister Claire.”

Claire dutifully rose and curtsied. “A pleasure, my lady.”

“Likewise. Ah. Now I see the resemblance. I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

“No,” Claire replied. “I have only lately come to Sidmouth.”

Sarah hurried to explain, “She had been caring for an ailing relative in Edinburgh, until her recent death.”

“I see. Most admirable. Well, I won’t keep you. Enjoy your reunion.”

After she left, Mamma hissed, “Now, that’s enough of the past. Let’s speak of topics more appropriate to our surroundings.”

Sarah obliged by asking Claire how things were going at the boarding house, and how often she saw Fran.

Claire, in turn, asked how long they had been hosting guests at Sea View and how it had all come about. She also asked what advice they would give her, still relatively new in her situation at Broadbridge’s.

When Viola raised the subject of Mr. Hammond’s surprising connection to the major’s friend Armaan, Claire explained that Mr. Hammond had come to Sidmouth, at least in part, in hopes of meeting his wife’s half brother. She also described the sweet bond between Mr. Hammond’s young daughter and her uncle Armaan.

Viola nodded and said, “Mr. Hammond brought her to Westmount the other day. Such a sweet little girl. Oh, before I forget, I brought her a little something. Just a little ribbon with a silk flower I saw at the market. I thought it would look well in her hair.” She handed over a small paper-wrapped parcel. “Armaan is happy about it as well. How wonderful to discover connections to a family he thought he had lost.”

Claire swallowed a hard lump. “Yes.”

A short while later, tea drunk and cake eaten, the ladies rose to depart. As they did, Claire said softly to Mamma, “I know you don’t wish me to come to the house, but perhaps you might call on me at Broadbridge’s as my sisters have done? Would that be all right? I miss you.”

Mamma held her gaze, throat convulsing. “I ... shall think about it.”

“Thank you.” Claire longed to reach out and touch her mother’s hand but resisted.