Chapter 21

21

The idea of walking for leisure ... resonated with artists in the 19th Century. Painters, poets and writers turned to woods and mountains to connect with their surroundings.

—Jolan Wuyts, Europeana

Claire rose at dawn the next morning to get an early start on her tasks. She sorted a load of clean linens from the laundress, exchanged the towels in the water closet and bath-room, and helped the kitchen maid lay breakfast for guests and family. Mary was not feeling well and joined them rather late, apologizing profusely.

After that, Claire reviewed the registration book. No new guests were expected that day, and hopefully none of their present guests would need anything while they were gone.

At breakfast, Mr. Hammond made a request of Sonali. “Miss Summers and I will both be out for an hour or two this morning. Would you mind listening for callers?”

Claire tensed, awaiting a sharp retort. But Sonali remained silent as her dark gaze slid from him to Claire and back again.

He added, “Perhaps Mira might draw here at the table for a time so you would be closer to the door?”

“Oh yes!” Mira clapped. “I want to try the new colors.”

Claire expected Sonali to protest that it was not her responsibility.

Instead the woman said evenly, “Very well.”

“Thank you. We’re not expecting any guests but it’s possible someone may walk in looking for a room. I’ve left the key to number six on the desk, just in case.”

Sonali nodded and finished her tea.

Claire was surprised at her acceptance but made no comment.

After cleaning up the breakfast things, Claire put on sturdy half boots, a bonnet, and a long pelisse over her day dress, as Mr. Hammond had warned her it might be windy and cooler on the hilltop. Then she went up to meet the men in the hall.

In his shabby brown suit, Mr. Filonov put her in mind of a pack mule carrying a heavy load: easel, canvas, folding stool, and a case of art supplies. She offered to carry something for him, and he handed her the collapsed easel. Mr. Hammond carried the heavier stool.

Mr. Hammond, dressed in his usual kit, led the way, stool under one arm, walking stick in the other. They took the Byes footpath along the River Sid, then crossed the wooden bridge near the water mill.

They walked along the road for a time, passing a wagon loaded with produce and a man in a donkey cart. Eventually they diverted from the road and took a narrow path, which grew steeper as they went.

As the path curved and the foliage thinned, the sea below came into view. Breathing heavily, Mr. Filonov stopped and said, “You go on. I will paint here.”

They helped him set up his stool and easel before continuing onward and upward.

Mr. Hammond strode in front of her, occasionally swinging his stick at some unsuspecting bush or sapling growing along the path.

After a time, Claire called, “May I go first for a while? You are taller and blocking my view.”

He turned to face her, then stepped to the side of the trail. “Of course, madam. Would you like to borrow this?” He held out his walking stick, which seemed to her an affectation.

“No, thank you. I am not yet feeble enough to need a stick.” She grinned at him, hoping he would not mind her teasing.

“Feeble, am I?” he replied with a crooked half grin of his own. “Well, I am older than you are, after all.”

“Exactly. And I would not want to deprive you of your crutch.”

A sparkle lit his eyes, which she credited to her playful gibe. He gestured her ahead of him with a lift of his hand and a little bow. “Watch how you go.”

She swept past him, feeling oddly triumphant, and led the way up the path as it wove between shrubs and brambles. She called over her shoulder, “Now the view is much better!”

From behind her, he said, “I disagree. I find the view from here pleasant indeed.”

Claire’s mouth slackened and her cheeks warmed from more than the exertion. Had he meant ... Surely not. She considered delivering a set down, but at that moment something fell across her face.

She shrieked and stopped midstride, swiping at the web that had draped itself over her like a filmy veil. Something crawled down her neck, eliciting another shriek of alarm. “Get it off! Get it off!”

“What is it?” Mr. Hammond hurried forward, dropping his stick as he came.

“A web. I think a spider crawled down my neck. Look. Is it still there?”

He took his time inspecting her—neck, bodice, waist—then he braced her shoulders and turned her the other way. “If there was a spider, it probably jumped for its life when you shrieked like that. No, wait, here it is.”

She felt him graze her back as he flicked it off. She shuddered.

Then he turned her once again toward himself, studying her. A translucent string hung from her bonnet, and he carefully peeled it away, then dipped his head to look beneath the brim to better search her face.

“All gone?” she asked.

He reached out and gently cupped her jaw, tilting it one way, then the other. Then he brushed light fingertips down her nose and across her cheek.

“Find something?”

Humor danced in his eyes. “Only a few freckles.”

She huffed and pushed away from him. “Not very gallant to mention them—especially when you have some too.”

He picked up the stick from where he’d dropped it and once again offered it to her.

She looked from it to him. “Are you telling me that’s why you carry a stick and swing it about?”

He nodded. “To clear the path. That, and in the event we should meet with some wild animal unhappy to be disturbed. Unlikely, yet I prefer to be prepared.”

She was about to accept the stick and carry on, but recalling his comment about enjoying the view from behind, she gestured him ahead, saying, “In that case, after you.”

He hesitated. “About that. I apologize for what I said earlier. When you shrieked, I feared it was in anger! I suppose I was accustomed to teasing Vanita like that, but I do not have the right to treat you with the same familiarity. I hope you will forgive me.”

Sincerity now shone in his green eyes, capturing her gaze like another sticky web. She had a difficult time looking away. “You are forgiven. And I suppose I share the blame as I teased you first.”

“True, although only to criticize my age and infirmity.” He winked and continued on in an exaggerated hobble before lengthening his stride once more.

There was certainly nothing infirm about the man. In fact, he appeared to be in excellent physical condition.

When they reached the summit of Salcombe Hill, Claire paused to catch her breath. The view stretched before them to lofty Peak Hill and beyond, much as she remembered and just as Mr. Filonov had depicted it in his painting. Sidmouth lay below them, a hodgepodge of roof lines, chimney smoke, and there, the church tower. The esplanade ran parallel to the town beach with its rocky outcroppings, all the way to grassy Fort Field. On the far side of the field, she could just make out Sea View. It seemed very far away. Almost unreachable. Tears sprang to her eyes at the thought.

She became aware of Mr. Hammond beside her, his expression concerned. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head. “The wind makes my eyes water.”

Inhaling deeply of the brisk breeze, Claire pushed aside her sadness and admired the scenery. “It is beautiful up here.”

Feeling his gaze on her once more, she turned and found him watching her.

“I completely agree.”

That night, tired from rising at dawn and the strenuous walk, Claire went to bed early and quickly fell into a deep sleep.

At some point, her door creaked open.

“Miss Summers?”

Claire struggled to waken. “Y-yes?”

“Is Mira with you?”

“What?” Startled, Claire looked at her caller with wide eyes and recognized Sonali, holding a candle lamp.

“Is she not in her bed?” Claire asked.

“No. I thought she might have come down here again.”

Claire rose on her elbows, then sat up in the dark, reaching her hands to search beneath the bedclothes.

“She is not here.”

“Oh no.”

“What time is it?” Claire asked as she climbed from bed, her thoughts becoming clearer.

“About half past four.”

She slipped her feet into shoes and reached for her pelisse instead of a dressing gown, pulling it on over her nightdress.

“Perhaps she has gone to her father. Have you looked in his bedchamber?”

“Not yet. He made it clear he does not wish me to trespass there.”

“We shall go together.”

Leaving her room, Claire remained close to Sonali, who held the light as they went up the stairs and across the passage to the apartment over the stables.

The outer door was ajar, and Sonali pushed it wide with her free hand. The two inner doors, however, were closed. Light shone from beneath the study door. Sonali hung back while Claire walked resolutely forward and knocked.

After a moment’s hesitation, Mr. Hammond called out a tentative, “Yes?”

Claire opened the door, surprised to find Mr. Hammond at his desk, dressed in trousers and shirtsleeves, shirt open at the neck.

“What are you doing up?” she asked. “It’s half four in the morning.”

“Is it? I was working on ... something, and lost track of time.” At that, he closed the leather cover of his portfolio as though to shield the documents from view.

“Mira is not here with you?”

“With me? She should be in bed.”

“She was,” Sonali said, joining Claire in the doorway. “But something woke me, and when I looked, I found her bed empty.”

He frowned, then rose with his candle lamp. “I’ll look in my bedchamber. Perhaps she went there.”

They followed him to the next room and found it unoccupied, the bed not slept in.

He turned back to Sonali. “You said something woke you. What was it?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps a door closing.”

He paused to light another lamp and passed it to Claire. “Let’s search the house before we panic—or wake the others.”

“Yes,” Claire agreed. Then, to reassure herself as much as them, added, “We’re sure to find her somewhere.”

“Let’s spread out. Sonali, please start on the top floor. I’ll start belowstairs, and Miss Summers, perhaps you could begin by searching the public rooms. If we don’t find her, I’m afraid we shall have to wake the guests. When we’ve searched everywhere, let’s meet back in the hall—hopefully one of us with Mira.”

The women nodded and the three parted ways, Sonali up the stairs and him down the back stairs, while Claire looked first in the water closet, bath-room, and parlour, then went down a flight of stairs to look in the dining room and morning room.

Nothing.

Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she walked back up and knocked at Mr. Filonov’s door. He answered a few moments later, hair awry and dressing gown hastily donned.

“I am sorry to disturb you. We can’t seem to find Mr. Ham mond’s daughter. You have not seen her, have you? Please do not be offended, we are asking everyone.”

“I have not. How upsetting! Please look all you like.”

He opened his door wide, and Claire quickly swept the candle’s light over the room, then looked inside the wardrobe and under the bed.

She did the same in Monsieur Lemaire’s room to the same result.

Sonali came down the attic stairs with Mary trailing behind.

“No sign of her,” she said. “Mary woke the Bracegirdles and Mr. Jackson as well. No one has seen her.” Miss Patel shook her head, dark eyes large and luminous. “I fear it is my fault. I complained once when she woke me in the night. I never thought something bad might happen.”

Claire squeezed her hand.

Mr. Hammond came up from belowstairs with the cook. Mrs. Ballard was still wearing her outside things, clearly having just arrived for her day’s work.

She said, “If that little lamb had come to the kitchen, the top would be off the biscuit tin. There’s no sign she came down there.”

As they gathered in the hall as planned, Claire’s gaze fell to the front door and her stomach cramped.

It stood ajar a few inches, the key still in the lock.

She pointed. “The door is open.”

They all turned toward it as though at an unwelcome intruder.

Claire said, “I locked it before I went to bed. I know I did.”

Yet the door could easily be opened from the inside.

Mr. Hammond ran a hand through his hair. “If she left the house, where would she have gone? While it is still dark, for heaven’s sake? And alone. At least, I assume she is alone.”

“All the guests are accounted for.”

Claire’s mind scanned through the possibilities. Where would Mira go? The shops were closed, and she had not yet made any friends here in Sidmouth....

Except one.

“Armaan,” Claire whispered. “Perhaps she went to find her uncle.”

“Why would she do that?” Mr. Hammond asked. “Westmount is all the way on the other side of town.”

“Does she know the way?”

“I took her there once. I suppose it’s possible she remembers. Still, I can’t fathom why she would go there now.”

“Have you another idea?”

“No. Let’s go and see.” He retrieved a coat from the hall closet. “If nothing else, we’ll enlist Armaan and Major Hutton in our search. I don’t even know if there’s a constable in town or where to find him.” He shrugged into his coat. “For once, I wish I had a horse.”

“It is not so far,” Claire assured him. “We shall walk quickly.” She was glad now that some instinct had told her to don a pelisse over her nightclothes.

Mr. Hammond turned to Sonali, still in her dressing gown. “Stay here and keep watch. She may not have gone to Westmount at all and may wander back, or someone else might bring her home.”

Sonali nodded. “I will watch for her. And pray.”

“And I had better get breakfast started for the guests,” Mrs. Ballard said.

Claire and Mr. Hammond left the house as the faint glow of dawn began to warm the top of Salcombe Hill.

“I think the footpath would be faster,” she said.

He nodded his agreement, and the two started off at a brisk pace, walking north from the marketplace toward the parish church, passing quiet houses and shops still shuttered. From the church, they took the footpath that led across Fort Field— a back way between the eastern and western towns, and the path her family took to church.

They walked on, tense and barely speaking.

Breaking the silence, she said, “I wanted to come along and help find her. I am sorry if it was presumptuous of me.”

“Not at all. I am glad you are here.” He took her hand and squeezed it. Hard.

Their footsteps quieted as they moved from cobbles, to gravel, to the damp grass of the field. What might have been a leisurely stroll of ten minutes was accomplished in half the time. When they reached Glen Lane, they turned onto a wooded drive.

“There it is,” he said.

Nearing the house, Claire was heartened to see a single light in one of the lower-floor windows. Advancing purposefully to the door, Mr. Hammond knocked loudly, despite the early hour. A few moments later, the door was opened by a man in a stained apron.

“Is my daughter here?” Mr. Hammond blurted. “Mira Hammond, Armaan’s niece?”

“No, sir. Not that I know of. And I’m the first to wake in this house.”

Again, Mr. Hammond squeezed her hand. In Claire’s anxious haze she’d barely realized he still held it.

Roused by the commotion, Major Hutton stalked to the door behind the servant, a frown scoring his brow. “What is it, Chown?”

“I am sorry for the intrusion,” Mr. Hammond said. “We are looking for my daughter.”

Viola appeared at the major’s side, cap on her head, dressing gown tied around her. “Mira’s missing? Oh no!”

“Mira’s missing?” Armaan echoed, joining them, expression tight with concern.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Let’s mount a search,” the major said. “Chown, fetch Taggart. Breakfast can wait.”

Viola reached across the threshold for Claire’s hand. “Come and wait inside. We’ll all be ready in a minute or two.”

The rapid clopping of hooves and crunching wheels distracted them from that aim. They all turned to look as a heavy wagon came up the lane, moving much more quickly than a farm vehicle typically traveled, apparently on an urgent delivery.

Armaan and Chown stepped outside to join them as a wagon loaded with milk cans turned into the drive.

“It’s only Mr. Pym,” Chown said. “Though he’s early this morn.”

The dairyman waved, then pointed to the bench beside him ... where Mira sat sobbing.

“This yer girl?” Mr. Pym called. “Found her wandering, lost. Said she needed to go to Westmount.”

William and Armaan ran to the wagon, Claire struggling to keep up.

“Is she all right?” William called.

“Crying her heart out. Not hurt, though.”

“Thank God,” William breathed.

Claire thanked God as well.

William reached up to help his daughter down, but before he could, Mira launched herself into her uncle’s arms, crying all the harder. “I thought I could find you, but I got lost.”

William turned back to the dairyman, patting his pockets. “I rushed out without my purse, Mr. Pym. I shall make it up to you later. I sincerely appreciate your assistance.”

“No need. Glad to help the little miss.”

After handing over the Huttons’ delivery of milk, cream, and cheese, the man continued on his way.

Viola ushered them all inside Westmount’s sitting room while the major stoked the fire. Armaan lowered himself into an armchair, Mira still clinging to him, and held her on his lap.

Mr. Hammond knelt before his crying daughter and rubbed her back. “Mira, whatever is wrong?”

After a few more sniffles, she loosed her hold on Armaan’s neck and turned toward him. “I had a bad dream about Amma . She had no face. I woke up and could not remember what she looked like. I had to come, to see my mamu .” She turned back to Armaan and raised a small hand to his cheek.

Armaan laid gentle fingers over hers and gave Mr. Hammond an apologetic look. “I am sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for. Miss Summers guessed Mira might come to you.”

Armaan met Claire’s gaze a long moment before looking away. “Most wise, our Miss Summers.”

William Hammond tenderly gathered his daughter in his arms. “Mira, please promise me you won’t leave the house on your own again. You’ve had us all frightfully worried.”

“I’m sorry, Papa.”

“You are forgiven. I just thank God you are safe. Anytime you want to see your uncle, you tell me, and I will bring you here myself. Agreed?”

Mira nodded into his neck.

Viola spoke up. “In fact, please come for dinner. Perhaps in a day or two?” She looked from the Hammonds to Claire. “All of you. We would love to see you again.”

Claire looked at Mr. Hammond, wondering how he would respond.

He met Claire’s gaze, then glanced again at his daughter. “We would like nothing better, thank you.”

The major insisted on sending them home in his carriage, which Taggart had already hitched and sat in ready to serve as coachman.

A short while later, Mr. Hammond handed Claire inside, then helped his daughter in after her. Mira immediately climbed onto Claire’s lap and nestled close.

Mr. Hammond stepped in and shut the door. “I can take her, if you’d like.”

“No need. It is my pleasure. And such a relief to have her back safely.”

“I wholeheartedly agree.”

Claire wrapped her arms around the little girl.

Mira murmured, “Papa’s arm too.”

He looked from his daughter’s face to Claire’s. “If Miss Summers does not object.”

“I ... don’t.”

He slid nearer, lifting his arm and gingerly draping it over Claire’s shoulders, holding them both close.

How strangely good it felt to sit with them like that, like a little family, Mr. Hammond’s warm and protective arm encircling them.

When they reached Broadbridge’s a few minutes later, Sonali rushed out to greet them. Mr. Hammond descended first, then reached back to help Mira down.

Seeing the little girl, Sonali fell to her knees and threw her arms around her.

Claire heard a string of words in a language she did not understand, then in English, “I know I grumbled before, when you woke me in the night. I promise never to do so again. Oh! I am so glad you are safe.”

Mrs. Ballard bustled out like a clucking mother hen and ushered them all inside for hot coffee and a hearty breakfast.

As they sat down together, Mr. Hammond offered up thanks for far more than the food.

When they had eaten, Mira and Sonali returned to their beds, and Mr. Hammond went to sleep after being up all night. Before retiring, he’d kindly suggested Claire sleep for a few more hours too, but she was wide awake by then and had responsibilities to attend to. Instead, she asked Mrs. Ballard for a large cup of strong tea and set to work.