Chapter 26

26

Donkeys were a common sight at seaside resorts, giving tourists rides along the beach. They were used because of their quiet disposition and gentle nature, and were usually ridden side saddle.

—The Donkey Sanctuary, Sidmouth

The next day, Mira ran into the morning room, hair dancing around her shoulders. “Papa says we are going to the beach tomorrow. Is that not exciting? And you and Sonali are to come as well.”

“That does sound exciting,” Claire replied. “I shall stay and watch over the house, but I know you shall enjoy yourselves.”

Mira’s father walked in after her. “None of that, Miss Summers. I have arranged for Mrs. Farrant to come over again for a few hours so you can join us. I have been promising Mira just such an outing for some time, and I am striving to become a man of my word.”

“But I have no wish to go bathing,” Claire said, adding to herself, And certainly not with a gentleman present .

“Nothing as strenuous as that. Walking along the seashore followed by a picnic lunch for us and wading and seashell collecting for Mira.”

“And may I have a donkey ride?” Mira asked.

“You may. In fact, I think I shall hire one of Mr. Smith’s donkeys to transport our provisions.”

“The town beach is not far,” Claire said. “We could carry what we need.”

“I was thinking we’d go a bit farther. Not as far as Ladram Bay, but to the western beach. It has sandy areas, whereas the near one is mostly pebbles.”

“I thought men swam there?” Claire did not add naked , although she thought it.

He nodded. “In the mornings, yes. In the afternoons, families with children often congregate there.”

“I see. Well. Let me think about it.”

An hour or so later, she found Mr. Hammond and asked, “May I read something to you?”

“Of course.”

She opened her copy of The Sidmouth Guide , which Emily had given to her. Aloud, she read, “‘The beach extends for half a mile from the River Sid, at the foot of Salcombe Hill, to the rising grounds on the opposite side of the vale.... It is furnished with seats and neatly rolled. Here the valetudinary may inhale the refreshing sea-breezes and contemplate the lofty ranges of the hills, rugged and precipitous to the sea, but clothed on the receding sides with cornfields, woods, and houses in beautiful variety.’”

When she’d finished, he replied, “Very affecting. Though I wonder. Do you consider me one of the ‘valetudinary’? I promise not to bring my stick if that will improve your opinion.”

“No! No one can think you infirm after watching you climb Salcombe Hill without pausing for breath or rest.”

His eyes glimmered. “I am glad to hear it. Does reading this excerpt mean you’ve decided to join our outing?”

“Yes, but that’s not why I read it to you. My sister Emily wrote that. Her name does not appear on the guide, but still, I am so very proud of her. Thank you for indulging me by listening.”

“The pleasure is mine, and well you should be proud.”

The following day, they set off together. Picnic basket, blankets, umbrellas, and Mr. Filonov’s art supplies strapped to a docile donkey led by one of Mr. Smith’s sons. The artist had accepted his host’s invitation to join them and planned to paint as well as partake of the picnic meal.

Mira, meanwhile, carried her own small bucket and shovel. Miss Patel had dressed her in a pinafore and pantalettes so she could frolic more easily than in a long dress. Claire and Sonali wore their customary clothing, and Mr. Hammond wore his usual outdoor attire but with knee-length breeches instead of trousers and gaiters.

They followed the esplanade for a time and then descended, walking westward along the pebbled shore, past bathing machines and fishermen’s cottages.

The way narrowed near the jutting headland that divided the beach in two. As they rounded the headland, Claire glanced up at the lime kiln looming on the cliff top above.

Reaching the more secluded western beach, Claire saw two men standing on shore, thankfully clothed. As they neared, she recognized them as Armaan Sagar and Jack Hutton, hair still damp after a swim, towels in hand. Mr. Hammond hailed them, and they paused to exchange greetings.

Mr. Hammond invited the men to join their picnic. Armaan, looking from Claire to Mira to Sonali, cheerfully agreed. Major Hutton, however, politely declined. He bid them farewell and took the cliffside path up toward the lime kiln on his way back to Westmount ... and his wife.

The adults prepared for their picnic as Mira enjoyed her donkey ride, sitting sidesaddle on the gentle creature, the lad leading them along the shore at a sedate pace. Meanwhile, a few other people arrived and spread their blankets at a distance.

The western beach was largely pebbles, but low tide revealed a generous stretch of damp, packed sand. To avoid the damp, they spread their picnic blankets farther from the surf on smooth pebbles.

Mr. Filonov set up his stool and easel nearby, preparing to capture the scene. He enthused, “Is nothing like painting en plein air . Natural light! Fresh air! De views!”

Looking from the sunny beach with its backdrop of red sandstone cliffs to the blue-grey sea, mild waves, and distant sails of passing boats, Claire could understand the appeal.

Sonali settled herself primly on the blankets, a parasol fluttering over her pretty head. Claire and Mr. Hammond laid out the food. Knowing their load would be much lighter once the food and jug of lemonade had been consumed, Mr. Hammond released the lad with warm thanks and coins to seek another customer for his donkey.

Mira was too excited to nibble more than a few bites and soon began to dig in the sand and collect seashells in her bucket.

After the rest of them had eaten and the men were busy conversing, Claire surreptitiously inched up her skirt, removed her shoes, and rolled down her stockings, slipping them into her shoes. She rose and stepped gingerly over the pebbles to reach the sandy stretch. Standing barefoot, she pressed her toes into the warm, damp sand. Heavenly.

Then she joined Mira in exploring rock pools, the two exclaiming over crabs and prawns and starfish trapped there until the tide rose once more.

Her father joined them, and Claire noticed he’d discarded his coat and removed his shoes and socks as well. In shirtsleeves and bare feet, he chased Mira down the beach and picked her up, swinging her around to peals of delighted laugher. When he set her down, she splashed him, and he chased her again, back toward Claire.

Mira slipped one hand into Claire’s, and her father took the other. “Swing me!” she pleaded.

So together they walked along the shore, swinging the little girl between them at intervals, over the larger waves.

Soon Claire’s skirt hems were damp a good six inches, but she decided she did not care.

Eventually Mira ran off to show her uncle the shells she’d collected, while Claire and Mr. Hammond remained near the shore. She looked at him, his wind-tossed auburn hair, pale skin and freckles, and rumpled, rolled-up sleeves, and imagined the rumbustious lad he’d once been. Mischief tickled her breastbone, and she bent to the water and splashed him, much as Mira had done.

“Foul play!” he exclaimed, and retaliated in kind.

The cold water pelted her neck and she gave a girlish squeal, which inspired him to laugh and repeat the act.

She bent toward the water again, intent on revenge.

“Oh no, you don’t!” he playfully called, grasping her from behind.

She was immediately conscious of his nearness, the tangy smell of shaving soap, his muscular forearms sprinkled with freckles and golden hairs, wrapped firmly around her.

She spun to face him. Looking up, she found his face perilously close to her own. Her breath caught, and his playful expression changed into something else entirely.

For a moment neither moved.

Then Mira ran over and thrust herself between them. “I want to play too!”

Claire pulled back abruptly, face hot. Had she learned nothing? Would he think her a loose woman? No doubt Sonali would. But when Claire braved a look toward the blankets, she was relieved to see her and Armaan deep in conversation.

“Look!” Mr. Filonov called, pointing out to sea.

Glad for the distraction, Claire joined the others in turning to discover what he was gesturing at. Then she saw them: several dolphins jumping in the distance, traveling eastward.

“A rare treat,” Armaan said. “I have heard dolphins are sometimes seen near Branscombe, to the east, but I’ve not seen them here before.”

They watched until the animals grew small and distant and finally disappeared from view.

“A rare treat, indeed,” Claire echoed.

Mr. Hammond nodded. “This entire outing has been a delight, and one we shall have to repeat. However, that seems a fitting end for today, I think.”

The others agreed and began packing up their things. As they did, Claire asked Mr. Filonov if she could see his painting, but he demurred, saying it was not yet complete.

After their beach outing, Sonali suffered a headache she attributed to too much sun. Claire urged her to retire early with a cool cloth over her brow, offering to read to Mira and put her to bed herself.

In the nursery that evening, Mira showed Claire where her nightclothes were kept, and Claire helped the girl change and clean her teeth.

She had planned to read a book to her, but Mira had a different idea.

“Will you oil my hair? Since Sonali is not feeling well?”

“Oh. I ... would be happy to attempt it, although I have never done so before.”

“I can tell you how. It’s easy. Warm the oil, rub it in.”

“Sounds simple enough when you say it like that.”

“It is!”

Together they gathered towels, fetched a bowl of hot water from the kitchen kettle, and warmed the oil bottle in it.

Claire sat in a chair and Mira sat on the soft rug at her feet. She draped a towel over the girl’s shoulders in case the oil dripped and began combing out Mira’s hair and parting it into sections. Tentatively, she tested the oil to make sure it was not too hot. It felt warm and silky to the touch. Reassured, she dabbed it onto the parts she’d made in the girl’s hair.

Claire then massaged Mira’s scalp. “Is that all right?” she asked. “Too hard? Too soft?”

“Just right. Rub it all the way to the ends.”

Claire relished the tender, maternal task. It reminded her of her girlhood. As the eldest, she had often helped her younger sisters, brushing their hair, helping them dress, and reading them stories. Soothing them after bad dreams or minor falls and scrapes. Gently shushing them in church when Mamma was not there to do so. It had all come naturally to Claire. She had always longed to be a mother and raise her own children. Considering she would soon be nine and twenty, that dream seemed about to slip through her fingers, like the fine strands of Mira’s hair.

Mr. Hammond came into his daughter’s room and stopped midstride.

Noticing him, Mira said, “Papa! You could oil Miss Claire’s hair while she does mine.”

“Oh, em ... I would be happy to, but I don’t think that would be ... wise.”

“Why?”

“Miss Summers is ... Well, she’s our friend, but she’s not quite family.” He glanced at Claire, then away again. “And though you cannot see it, she is blushing deeply at the mere mention of such a liberty.”

Claire swallowed hard. “Still, kind of you to think of me, Mira.” She risked a glance at him, and if she was not mistaken, he looked rather flushed as well.

He cleared his throat. “I came up to hear your prayers, but I shall return later. I see you are in good hands.”

After he had gone, Claire finished running the oil through to the ends and then plaited Mira’s hair.

Finished with the task, she washed her hands in the still-warm water and spread a clean towel over Mira’s pillow.

Mira knelt beside the bed.

“Do you want to wait for your papa to return?” Claire said.

“No need. Only God needs to hear.” The girl clasped her hands and closed her eyes. “God bless Papa and Miss Claire and Sonali. And Mr. Filonov and Mamu and Chips the dog. Please tell Amma we miss her. Amen.”

“Amen,” Claire murmured in reply, touched to be included in the girl’s prayer.

When Mira had climbed into bed, Claire asked, “Now shall I read to you?”

“Will you sing to me instead?”

“Oh. I ... What would you want me to sing?”

Mira shrugged. “Anything you like.”

“Very well.” Aware of Sonali sleeping in the next room, Claire sang quietly,

“I see the moon, the moon sees me,

God bless the moon and God bless me:

There’s grace in the cottage and grace in the hall;

And the grace of God is over us all.”

When she had finished, Mira begged for another.

“You’re too old for ‘Rock-a-bye Baby,’ and I’m afraid I don’t know any other lullabies.”

“Something else, then. What is your favorite song?”

“I like ‘Amazing Grace.’”

“Sing that, please.”

“Very well. Though that must be the last one, understand?”

Mira nodded.

Softly and slowly, Claire began to sing,

“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,

that saved a wretch like me.

I once was lost, but now I’m found,

was blind but now I see.”

She glanced up, chagrined to see Mr. Hammond in the doorway, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. She stopped singing.

“Don’t stop,” he said. “That was beautiful.”

He joined her in singing the second verse, their voices blending beautifully, and Claire very much feared she was falling in love.