Chapter 25

25

The study of Shells is a branch of Natural History not greatly useful in human economy, yet by the infinite beauties of [its] subjects...leads the amazed admirer into the contemplation of the glory of the Divinity in their creation.

—Emanuel Mendes da Costa, Elements of Conchology

Sarah walked from the library-office through the hall, tidying as she went. She picked up a pair of discarded shoes from beside the door, as well as a fallen glove, and placed them in the closet.

She heard music coming from the parlour—someone playing the pianoforte. The musician was too skilled to be either Georgiana or Emily. Had Viola come over? Sarah went to investigate.

Instead she found one of their guests, Miss Craven, playing while her sister sat nearby with a cup of tea.

Seeing Sarah in the doorway, Mrs. Harding asked, “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all. It’s a pleasure to hear. The instrument is played far too rarely now my sister Viola has moved next door.”

“Persephone is quite accomplished,” the older sister said with almost maternal pride.

Sarah could relate and offered a smile. “Yes. Clearly.”

While she was in the room, Sarah neatly stacked a cluttered pile of newspapers and another of magazines.

Miss Craven turned a page of music and began another song.

“Oh, I know this one.” Mrs. Harding set down her teacup and rose, coming to stand beside her sister at the piano bench.

After the introductory bars, she began to sing,

“O where and O where does your highland laddie dwell;

O where and O where does your highland laddie dwell;

He dwells in merry Scotland where the bluebells sweetly smell,

And all in my heart I love my laddie well...”

Sarah turned and abruptly left the room. She retreated belowstairs and busied herself gathering a basket of pastries, bread, and a fresh pot of currant jam. Georgiana came in as she did so, a ruby smear beside her mouth. She’d clearly been sampling the new batch.

“Good jam?”

“Hm? How did you...?”

Sarah pointed to the spot beside her own mouth.

“Oh.” Georgie’s tongue darted to lick off the smear. Then she asked, “Going to the poor house?”

Sarah nodded. “Would you like to go with me?”

“I’ll walk with you. I want to go to the school again and see Cora.”

“You don’t fool me,” Sarah teased. “I know you want to join their daily game.”

Georgie grinned. “That too.”

Together the two sisters walked from Sea View down to the beach. The town stray, Chips, trotted along at Georgie’s side, as he often did.

They waved to Mr. Cordey and Bibi, a local fisherman and his daughter, who were busy beside their small cottage, taking down lines of split mackerel they’d smoked near a fire.

Chips bounded over to sniff out a snack.

Sarah and Georgiana walked on, stepping around beached boats and lobster pots, their half boots crunching over the pebbled shore, the call of seagulls in the air.

A young lady in her early twenties strolled toward them, a small basket over her arm. Sarah recognized Eliza Marriott, who lived nearby. They did not know her well but shared a friendly passing acquaintance, especially Georgiana, who spent a great deal of time out of doors, as did Eliza. While Georgie pursued sports of every kind, Eliza focused on one pursuit: conchology. She regularly walked the area beaches in search of interesting seashells.

They stopped to greet her. “Good day, Miss Marriott,” Sarah said.

“Miss Summers. Georgiana. Care to see my latest discoveries?”

“Yes, please,” Georgie enthused.

In her basket lay several shells of various sizes, shapes, and colors: chalky white to shiny pearl, pale gold to pale pink. Eliza pointed to each one in turn, using names like conch, cockle , mitre , and limpet .

“Goodness, they are all so different and interesting.”

“I think so. You shall have to call at Temple Cottage and see my entire collection sometime. I have a new penwork casket with small compartments to display them.”

“Sounds lovely.”

After bidding her farewell, Georgie and Sarah resumed walking.

Around them, fishermen mended nets, children played on shore, and well-dressed visitors strolled the promenade, greeting friends as they passed.

Georgie gave a contented sigh. “I love it here, don’t you?”

Sarah considered. “I like it, yes. I am not pining for May Hill, if that is what you mean. I think the move has been good for all of us.”

“That’s not the same as loving it, though.”

Sarah shrugged. “Does a place make someone happy, or is it the people one is with, or something else?”

Georgie rolled her eyes. “That’s too deep for me.”

Leaving the shingled beach, they moved up to the packed-earth promenade, which workmen were maintaining with iron-handled stone rollers. Just past the York Hotel, they turned left, following the footpath along the River Sid.

The marshy track was muddier than Sarah had expected. “Perhaps we ought to have gone another way.”

From a side street a youngster came running, playing hoop and stick. His hoop got away from him, and Georgie leapt to grab it before it flew over the bank into the river. With a mumbled word of thanks, the lad took it and ran off again, using the stick to roll the hoop back up the street as he went.

With a rueful look at her sister’s muddy half boots, Sarah encouraged Georgie to walk on. Passing Marsh Chapel, they soon reached the Sidmouth School, its yard enclosed within a brick wall. Through its gate, Sarah saw a group of boys—and one athletic girl named Cora—kicking a ball.

Sarah waved to the schoolmaster. “Good day, Mr. Ward.”

He returned her wave and opened the gate for Georgiana, who joined the children for a rousing game, while Sarah continued on to the poor house.

She stopped to serve bread and jam to two old men playing draughts in the common room, and then went to visit Mrs. Denby.

“I’ve brought you some little treacle tarts,” Sarah said.

“Thank you, my dear.” Mrs. Denby smiled and invited her to sit down. Then she studied her through thick spectacles.

“What is it, Sarah?”

“Hm?”

“You seem sad. Or at least, distracted.”

“I’m sorry. I hoped my visit would cheer you.”

“You always do, my dear. But if you will pardon me poking my nose in, sometimes I think you spend so much time looking after others that you neglect yourself.”

“I like to be busy, to serve people.”

“I know you do. Though I wonder ... Are you lonely?”

“Lonely? I have four sisters and a house full of guests. I don’t have time to be lonely.”

“My dear Sarah, one can be lonely at a crowded party. I know who I am missing—my family, these many years gone. Who are you missing, I wonder?”

Sarah pressed dry lips together. “I don’t know what you mean. I missed my sister Claire terribly while she was gone, but now she’s here, so I don’t ... Of course, I miss my father, yet that grief has eased.”

Still the old woman watched her. “You were engaged once, I believe?”

“That was years ago. I am not troubled by memories of Peter anymore.”

“Someone else?”

“I ... Mrs. Denby, please do try a tart.”

The woman laughed. “And with my mouth full I cannot ask more impertinent questions! Yes, I know. I may be old, but I can still take a hint.”

“I am sorry. I did not mean to—”

“Never mind. You must forgive an old busybody. You know I care about you, right? I only want to see you happy.”

“I do. I am!”

“Well, I have said more than enough on that subject. And now I will happily eat one of these delicious-looking tarts, if you will join me.”

“Very well.”

They each lifted a miniature tart as though in a mock toast before taking bites.

“Mm. Delicious. When you marry, your husband will be a very blessed man.”

“ If I marry,” Sarah corrected.

Mrs. Denby popped the rest of the pastry into her mouth, then held up both hands as if conceding the point, although the sparkle in her eyes told a different story.

Georgie was still playing with the children when Sarah paused at the school gate. Clearly enjoying herself and in her element, Georgie waved her on.

Sarah waved back and began the walk to Sea View alone.

Simon Hornbeam and Alvinia Reed came strolling toward her, arm in arm. Like Viola, Miss Reed had stopped wearing a veil to cover her scars. She wore a bright smile instead. It pleased Sarah to see the pair looking so happy.

“Good day, Miss Reed. Mr. Hornbeam.”

Recognizing her voice, Mr. Hornbeam stopped to talk. “My dear Miss Sarah, I would like you to be the first to know. This lovely lady has accepted me. We are to be married.”

“Oh, how wonderful! I am delighted for you both.”

“We have yet to decide on a date and where we shall live afterward, but I shall keep you apprised.”

“I appreciate that, and congratulations.”

When the two departed, Sarah continued on. Instead of going straight home, she diverted to the churchyard. Passing through its gate, she recalled the time she had followed Callum Henshall there, wondering what he was up to, only to discover he was visiting his wife’s grave.

She did that now.

From the path, she walked over chestnut- and acorn-strewn grass until she reached the grave, its granite headstone topped by a Celtic cross. She solemnly approached, bowing her head and folding her hands, much as he had done that day. Again she read the inscription:

Katrin McKay Henshall

Beloved Wife and Mother

Forever in Our Hearts

According to the engraved dates, she had been gone nearly four years now, a year longer than Peter. Sarah felt pity for the troubled woman who had come to Sidmouth in search of a cure and instead died there. And what did Sarah feel for the man who’d tried to save her, and who served as caring stepfather to the daughter she left behind? Sarah was not sure but was beginning to realize that despite her efforts to forget him, Callum Henshall would likely be forever in her heart.

The following day, Mr. Hammond invited Armaan to join him for a few games at the billiards room. With the men gone and the house quiet, loneliness threatened. To distract herself, Claire wandered upstairs to Mira’s and Sonali’s rooms.

There she found Sonali standing before a long mirror, adjusting a sari over her shoulder, a sari Claire had not seen her wear before.

“That’s the one you were embroidering.”

“Yes. I wanted to try it on.”

“It looks beautiful on you. That border is exquisite.”

“Thank you, Miss Summers.”

“Claire, please.” She did not wait for the woman to return the offer of given names. Instead she asked, “Is your clothing comfortable? It is certainly pretty.”

“It is. Although the stares of others are not always comfortable. I am a strange sight here, dressed in saree . Everyone looks, and the looks are not always friendly.”

“I am sorry. I would not like to be stared at.”

“I am too proud, perhaps. Vanita gave up traditional dress, but I shall not. This is who I am. It would be interesting to try, though I imagine the stays are very constricting.”

“Actually, a pair of well-fitted stays can be quite comfortable. A whalebone busk, however, is less so.”

Sonali looked up, mischief quirking her mouth. “Should you like to try my clothes, while I try on yours? Just for the experience?”

“Could we?”

“Why not? The house is quiet, Mira is napping, and Mr. Hammond is out.”

“Then let’s! Give me a few minutes to gather some things.”

Claire eagerly descended to her room. There, she selected a gown from Vanita’s trunk and one of hers, as well as a bandbox and correct underpinnings from the extra set Emily had given her. Then she hurried back upstairs.

When she returned to Sonali’s room, she noticed the woman had draped a long swath of fabric over the mirror. “Let us wait and look together, when we are both fully dressed. Yes?”

Claire nodded. Then Sonali helped Claire unfasten her gown, stays, and petticoat.

Claire stood there, self-conscious in her thin chemise, relieved the mirror was covered.

“First, you will want a well-fitted choli or blouse.” She helped Claire into a formfitting top.

“Next, an underskirt, I think. For modesty while walking.” She helped Claire into one of hers.

“We tuck in the saree at the waist and drape it around your back and then again to the front and over your shoulder, folding it like so.”

The sari, Claire realized, was at least seven or eight yards long.

“Finally, I shall secure it with pins.”

The sari felt silky and featherlight against Claire’s body and almost too fine. She was glad for the underskirt and blouse.

Next it was Claire’s turn to dress Sonali in English clothes.

“First, a simple shift.” Claire helped her into the basic, rather shapeless, underdress. “Now the pair of stays you are dreading.”

She wrapped the quilted article around the woman’s midriff and began tying the laces in back. Sonali adjusted it so that it better supported her bosom and fit to her waist.

“Too tight?”

“Surprisingly, no.”

Claire finished lacing it, then picked up another garment. “Next, a petticoat.” Claire held one out and helped Sonali step into it.

“Perhaps stockings should be next. Do you wear stockings?”

“Only in winter.”

“Then we shall both forgo them for today’s exercise. And which gown will you choose?” Claire first held out her pale blue dinner dress. “I am afraid my wardrobe is limited, so I brought up one of Vanita’s as well.” She next held up Vanita’s ivory evening gown adorned with seed pearls.

Sonali’s eyes brightened. “I always admired this dress of hers.”

Claire helped her into it and did up the fastenings. It fit the slender woman and suited her well, flattering her coloring.

“Oh, I should pin up my hair in proper English style,” Sonali said. “And you should wear yours in one long plait. Perhaps tied with bright ribbon at the end.”

They helped each other with their hair. Almost, Claire realized, as sisters would.

Sonali said, “Sit here at my dressing table. You need a bit of kajal , or kohl, around your eyes. Look up.” Claire did so and fought against blinking as Sonali feathered the stick along her lashes. Despite the light application, her eyes watered.

Then Sonali lifted a shiny necklace and bracelets from a case on the dressing chest. “And here—wear some of my jewelry.”

Claire sat obediently while the woman placed the necklace around her neck and fastened the clasp, then slid the bangles onto her wrists.

Claire rose. “And you must wear one of Vanita’s hats.” She settled it onto Sonali’s head, an ostrich plume rising from it at a jaunty angle.

When they were both fully dressed and coiffed, the two stood before the tall mirror on its wooden stand. They grinned at each other. Then, with a flourish, Sonali pulled off the fabric covering.

Claire stared, oddly breathless, at the strange vision of herself. She giggled like a schoolgirl. “Good heavens. What have you done to me?”

“I could ask the same of you. I look like a proper English miss, do I not?”

“Indeed you do. An English rose.”

“Although a little darker,” Sonali added with another grin.

“Perhaps. But a diamond of the first water nonetheless.”

Standing side by side before the mirror, Claire impulsively grasped the woman’s hand, and the two smiled at each other’s reflections.

The door flew open wide, and Mira dashed in. “Here they are!”

In the passage behind the little girl stood her father and uncle.

Startled, Claire’s heart banged hard, and Sonali gasped. William Hammond and Armaan Sagar stared open-mouthed from one woman to the other. It was difficult to judge whose gaze lingered longer on which woman.

“What in the world...?” Mr. Hammond murmured.

Mira clapped. “Pretty!”

Claire pulled off the clinking bracelets and Sonali removed the hat. “We were only ... seeing what it would be like.”

“It’s quite astounding, the transformation.”

“Yes, well. Mira was napping and we thought you’d gone out or we would not have attempted it.”

“We had. I invited Armaan back to the house to join us for dinner.”

“And he is welcome, of course.”

“We did not intend to intrude,” Armaan said. “We came up to find Mira.”

“And you’ve found her.” Claire turned the girl toward the door and gently nudged her out into the passage with her father and uncle. “Now, please excuse us while we change.”

“Don’t hurry on our account.”

Sonali flashed Armaan a defensive look. “I know what you are thinking. That I criticized you for dressing like an Englishman and now I dress like this. This was a mere novelty. A diversion. I don’t plan to make a habit of it.”

“Dress however you like, Miss Patel,” he said gently.

With a measuring glance from Armaan to Sonali and back again, Mr. Hammond said, “Come, my friend. Let’s leave the ladies to it.” And taking Mira’s hand, he closed the door.