Chapter 31

31

Confession is good for the soul.

—Scottish proverb

Sarah came to Broadbridge’s, her usually reserved expression bright with excitement.

Claire invited her inside, and the two sat down together in her room.

“I have something for you,” Sarah began.

Claire chuckled. “More biscuits? Or did you find something else I left behind?”

Sarah nodded, lips pursed in a barely restrained grin. With an air of ceremony, she held out her fist, and Claire extended her palm to receive whatever it was.

Sarah opened her hand and from it slithered a pendant on a dainty golden chain.

Claire stared at it in astonishment, then lifted the cross to examine it more closely, barely believing her eyes: Aunt Mercer’s cross pendant with its small ruby and thin gold chain.

“How in the world...?”

“When you described it to me and told me how sorry you were to leave it behind, I wrote to a Scotsman I know who lives not far from Edinburgh. He went and reclaimed it for us.”

Claire thought back, eyes widening. “That’s why you asked so many questions about the shop and its proprietor!”

Sarah nodded. “Apparently Mr. Duncanson was reluctant to hand it over without the original ticket, but Mr. Henshall can be quite charming and persuasive.”

“I am astonished. And very grateful for your kindness, and his. I’m afraid I cannot repay him presently, but...”

“Never mind. Mr. Henshall assures me it was his pleasure to do this service for me.” She quickly corrected, “For us.”

Claire looked at her sister, cataloging with interest her averted gaze and the dull blush creeping up her neck.

“This Mr. Henshall, Sarah. What does he look like?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Fair hair?” Claire prompted. “Well dressed?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“A Scotsman came to the house once and asked for me. I saw him briefly and heard his voice, but Aunt Mercer refused to allow him to speak to me and told the butler to send him away. I’ve often wondered who he was. Might it have been the same man?”

“Very possibly. I wrote to him at Emily’s urging and asked him to call and discover if you were in good health. We were all concerned when you did not reply to Emily’s and Viola’s letters. He wrote back that he’d tried to call but had been turned away.”

Claire nodded. “Sadly accurate. And how are you acquainted with this man?”

“He was a guest at Sea View. Our first, actually—he and his stepdaughter.”

“He is married?”

“Widowed.”

“Ah. He must think a great deal of you to go to so much trouble.”

Sarah glanced down, but not before Claire saw the blush move up from her neck to mottle her cheeks.

Claire said knowingly, “And you clearly think a great deal of him.”

“I ... esteem him and certainly appreciate his acts of service on our behalf.”

Claire continued to watch her with interest. Gently, she asked, “Did he pursue a relationship with you?”

“I suppose he did, or might have. I discouraged him.”

“Why? Were you unsure of his character? Or still grieving Peter?”

“Neither of those. I am needed here. For Mamma. For the guest house. And you’ve just come. Are you eager to be rid of me already?”

“Of course not. And to hear Emily describe it, you are due the lion’s share of credit—and did the lion’s share of work—to get the guest house up and running after all our losses. But Mamma is not an invalid any longer. And Sea View seems to be doing rather well. Surely, now...?”

“I have thought about it. Of course I have. But to grow attached to a man like that, with property so far from here. I would lose you all forever.”

“Not lose us, surely.”

“Then rarely get to see any of you. You are more familiar with the journey than I am. Is it one you would want to undertake often?”

Claire sighed. “Not willingly, no. Then again, I had to pinch and scrape, and worried at every stop if I would have enough for the next inn, the next fare. I imagine traveling in a private chaise would be a far different experience.”

Claire’s face heated as she realized what she’d said. She had made the journey in a private chaise once. With Lord Bertram. They had not made it all the way to Scotland, but still...

As if reading her thoughts, Sarah tentatively asked, “Was it as we heard? Did Lord Bertram truly abandon you on the way?”

Dread burned Claire’s stomach like acid, just as it had that night. She nodded, unable to meet her sister’s eyes. “Even before we reached Gretna Green. He bought himself a bottle of brandy that night and drank it to pass the time. Perhaps he was having second thoughts already. I certainly was. I remember him touching my cheek and saying in a slurred voice, ‘Fifteen thousand pounds and the face of an angel....’

“When I asked him what he meant, he said, ‘Your dowry will come in handy, I don’t deny. Debts to settle. White’s. Boodle’s. The horses...’”

“I asked if he was under the misapprehension that I had a dowry of fifteen thousand pounds. He said yes, Charles Parker had told him so.

“I told him he’d misunderstood. Or Charles had. That our father had settled that amount on all five of us, to be divided equally.

“Perhaps I should not have told him about the dowry. At least not until after we had married. I tried to convince him we had come too far, that Papa would help us.

“He seemed somewhat appeased, or so I thought. We spent the night at an inn outside Carlisle. I still believed we’d marry the next day. But in the morning, he was gone.”

“Oh, Claire, I’m so sorry. That’s terrible.”

Claire nodded her agreement. “Thankfully I had enough money to travel on to Edinburgh. I knew I could not go home, that I had forfeited my place there by my own reckless mistakes.”

“And his. He must own the greatest part of the blame.”

Claire shrugged. “I knew better.”

“How strange it must be for you, with that very man staying here now.”

“It is strange. He is being polite and discreet, which I appreciate. Yet I feel so guilty.”

“About ... what happened between you before?”

“Well, of course, but...” Claire paused to consider, struck with the realization that she felt nearly as guilty about keeping the truth from Mr. Hammond.

“I hope it was not a secret,” Sarah began. “Viola stopped by after seeing you yesterday and told Emily and me in confidence that he wants to marry you. We haven’t told Mamma or Georgie, who cannot keep a secret, sorry to say.”

“I don’t mind you knowing. Honestly, I’m not sure he wants to marry me, although he says he does. He insists a lack of funds was the only reason he cried off before.”

Claire toyed with the gold chain. “I don’t know why I’m hesitating. Many men marry for money and many women to repair a reputation.”

“Is there another reason you hesitate?”

When Claire did not immediately answer, Sarah asked, “Is it Mr. Hammond?”

Claire looked down and lowered her voice. “Between you and me, I have come to admire him. In other circumstances... But I have ruined things by coming here under false pretenses. And by keeping my past mistakes from him. He’s bound to learn the truth at some point, and then he’ll never look at me as he does now.”

“Can you not tell him? Before he hears it from someone else?”

“Perhaps I shall,” Claire replied. “Once I find the courage.” Silently, she added, Though if I marry Lord Bertram, I shall not have to.

After Sarah left, Claire stared at herself in the looking glass. The ruby and gold cross looked lovely at her neck, yet the blue eyes that gazed back at her appeared weary. Drained. What had become of the person she used to be? She stared at the pale woman of eight and twenty years and whispered, “Who are you?”

She had once known who she was and liked who she was: the cherished eldest daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Summers. The older sister to Sarah, Emily, Viola, and Georgiana, who had all looked up to her. Loved, trusted, and valued her. Emily had even wanted to emulate her.

She had been held in high esteem by elderly neighbors and young people alike. Responsible, honest, dutiful. And destined to marry well, or so they’d thought. Able to hold her head high in church, instead of hiding in the back.

Then, after one impetuous mistake, all of that had vanished. No longer valued and cherished, at least not by her parents. No longer worthy of being admired, trusted, or emulated by her sisters. If she accepted Lord Bertram, might she regain some of what she had lost?

One of her own thoughts echoed back to her, Able to hold her head high in church. Was that important? Was that even true? She’d once considered herself a good person, acceptable to God and worthy of His love. But had she been, even then? As she stroked the cross pendant, words Aunt Mercer had spoken resounded through her mind once more. “The cross alone renders sinners acceptable to God . ”

If true, Claire thought, then perhaps no one should enter church with head held high. For no one was good enough on their own. And certainly not her.

Then again, as a believer, she was a child of God—a merciful and loving God, thankfully, as Mrs. Denby had said. And in that sense, Claire supposed she could still hold her head high in church or anywhere. Not because she was good or worthy, but because her heavenly Father was.

And a good and holy God did not want her to prevaricate.

She knew then that it was more important to be honest than to try to preserve the appearance of respectability. It was time to stop hiding, as Mrs. Denby had advised. And it was time to apologize to Mr. Hammond. To confess all and let the consequences come ... even if that meant losing any hope of a future with him.

On Sunday night, Claire again found Mr. Hammond on the rooftop with his telescope. This time she carried her candle lamp out onto the roof-walk, because she needed to see his face.

At her approach, he straightened and turned.

“Mr. Hammond, I ... I must tell you something.”

He stiffened as if preparing for a blow. “Do I want to know?”

“Unlikely, but you will hear sooner or later, and I would rather you heard it from me.”

“Has this something to do with Lord Bertram?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Go on.”

“First of all, I am sorry. You advertised for a respectable female, and I misled you by replying. I once was respectable. Then, I met him. He said he wished to marry me, but like my own father, his father wanted him to marry someone else. He assured me that once the fact of our union could not be changed, then his father would accept it. I don’t know what came over me. I had always been responsible, obedient, and dutiful to my parents. I suppose I was flattered. Swept off my feet. I was six and twenty at the time and starting to fear I’d end up on the shelf. And suddenly here was my chance. Perhaps my last chance. This aristocrat—handsome, confident, wealthy, or so I thought—assured me he loved me. And fool that I was, I believed him. I left my family and put myself under his power....”

Mr. Hammond’s mouth slackened. “You eloped with him?”

Claire nodded. “I hastily packed a valise, and we set out together in his coach, bound for Gretna Green.” She swallowed. “We never made it that far.”

He looked away. “So that’s what she meant.”

“Who?” Claire’s throat tightened, that familiar sense of betrayal slicing through her yet again. Had Sonali said something, told him what she’d overheard?

“That Mrs. Harding creature,” he replied. “She passed me on her way out and said something about how broad-minded I must be to take on a woman of your background.”

“Oh.” Relief that it had not been Sonali warred with the shame balling in her stomach. “If it helps, I don’t think it is widely known. Mrs. Harding’s brother is a friend of Lord Bertram’s, and he confided in him.”

Mr. Hammond considered, then asked, “You said earlier that he changed his mind when he learned you were not the heiress he thought you were. Was that true?”

“Yes. He’d heard my dowry was fifteen thousand pounds, but that was the amount settled on all five of us girls together.”

Mr. Hammond scrubbed a hand over his face. “Tell me the worst, and let’s have done. I gather you are not a maiden?”

Again shame washed over her. She was tempted to evade his question. Yet if there was any hope of a future for them... No. There would not be. Not after she told him the truth, which he deserved. Oh, how she wished things were different, that she had waited.

“I wish I could tell you it was not true, that I am still an innocent. But I am not.”

He grimaced. “Was it worse than that? Had you a child by that man?”

“No. I don’t share Mary’s predicament. There but for the grace of God go I. Lord Bertram and I shared a bed on the way to Gretna Green. Please remember, I thought he was about to be my husband. Not that that is an excuse, yet I never guessed he would abandon me as he did. He... he was drunk that night, truth be told, and it was not...” She winced against the unpleasant memory. “At all events, when I awoke the next morning, he was gone.”

He flinched. “What a nightmare. I am sorry. For you, and for your poor family.”

“Yes. My father had an apoplexy soon after hearing the news and died a few months later.”

“You blame yourself?”

Claire nodded. “And my family blames me too. At least my mother. Poor Mamma.”

“So that is the reason for the rift between you.”

“Yes. Before he died, my father declared I was dead to him and made my mother promise not to harbor me, help me, or even speak my name.”

“That seems harsh. As a father, I can understand his anger and disappointment, but I don’t think anything would shake my love for Mira. Though I would find it hard not to throttle the man.”

“He probably would have, had the first apoplexy not laid him low before he could.”

“And now this Bertram fellow has repented and wants to make things right?”

“Nothing so noble. In fact, it’s rather humiliating. My great-aunt—the woman I lived with in Scotland after he abandoned me—has offered him a sizable inheritance, on the condition he marries me.”

He stared. “You must be joking.”

“I wish I were.”

Again he grimaced, whether in disdain or empathy, she did not know.

“I am terribly sorry,” she said. “I should not have come to Broadbridge’s. I hoped to be reconciled with my sisters in time. Maybe even my mother. I never meant to hurt you or embroil you in scandal. Please believe me.”

“You must have known it would affect me. Affect us all. Poor Mira has become very fond of you.”

“And I her.”

He groaned. “What a dreadful state of affairs.”

“If you want me to leave, to break all ties with me, I will understand.”

He seemed to consider her words, then said, “Perhaps I should release you. For both our sakes.” He looked at her, expression veiled. Unreadable. “What do you want?”

You , she thought, but did not say it. She raised a weak hand and chuckled bleakly. “I want the impossible, I suppose. I want to be forgiven, to no longer be a source of shame to my family. For you to not regret taking me in.” Silently she added, I want to be loved. Forever. By you.

“Will you marry him?” he asked, looking over the parapet to the lights of Sidmouth below.

“I don’t know.”

“If you do, that renders the question of whether I want you to stay a moot point.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I shall keep my own counsel on that for now. Nor shall I try to sway you. I am not a man who makes impulsive decisions.”

“I understand. Let me know what you decide.”

He nodded. “I trust you will do the same.”

Claire offered to oil Mira’s hair again in Sonali’s stead. She longed for the sweet comfort of the maternal task and imagined it might be her last chance to perform it.

Sonali and Mira were both quick to accept her offer, although Sonali’s gaze rested on Claire in some concern before she departed to her own room.

As before, Mira sat on the floor, resting her back against Claire’s shins, while Claire rubbed oil into her scalp and hair. The process seemed to soothe them both. Would Claire ever be a mother and minister to her own child in similar ways: bathing, brushing, embracing? Or was this as close as she would ever come?

The thought of motherhood brought dear Mamma to mind. Claire missed her mother’s affectionate touch. Would she ever feel it again? Or enjoy the sweet mother-daughter bond they had once shared?

Tears filled her eyes at the thought.

She was startled from her reverie by a soft knock and the appearance of two women at the nursery door. Mary and...

“Mamma...?” Claire breathed.

“Here she is, madam,” Mary said.

“Thank you.”

Mary bobbed a curtsy and disappeared.

Her mother looked back at her. “May I come in?”

“Of course. I was just thinking about you.”

“You’re crying. Did I cause that?”

“Only indirectly.” Claire swiped at her eyes with the back of an oiled hand. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’ve been doing a lot of that myself lately.”

Mira tilted her head to look up at the newcomer. “Who is she?”

“This is my mamma. We saw her once before, on the street? Mamma, as you may recall, this is Mira Hammond.”

“Good evening, Mira. And what are you two doing?”

“Miss Claire is oiling my hair, as my amma used to do.”

“Your mother did that for you?”

The girl nodded.

“It is a tradition,” Claire explained. “Grandmothers, mothers, daughters. Sometimes all three at once.”

“What sort of oil are you using?”

“A mixture, but apparently different types are used, olive, castor, apricot ... We warm it, then massage it into the scalp and hair.”

“Is this part of your duties here?”

“No. I offered. I find it pleasant.”

“Seeing you like this reminds me of all those years ago at Finderlay, when you were such a little mother, helping with your younger sisters, brushing their hair and reading them stories and teaching them to sew. You did a good job with Sarah and Viola. I am afraid I failed with Georgiana in your absence.”

“And Emily?”

“She would rather write.”

“I remember those days too. I had no grand aspirations like Emily. I simply wanted to be a wife and mother. Like you.”

When Mamma was quiet, Claire said, “We are nearly finished, if you want to talk privately.”

“I did want to ask about ... a certain male guest recently come to stay. I passed him on the stairs.”

Claire plaited Mira’s hair and rose, helping the girl to her feet as she did so. “Why do you not go to Sonali’s room and let her know we’re through, hm? I will finish tidying up in here.”

When the girl had gone next door, Claire cleaned and dried her hands.

In a low voice, Mamma said, “How difficult it must be to have him here.”

“Yes.”

“Has he ... said anything?”

Claire took a deep breath and forced herself to meet her mother’s gaze, to watch her expression. To tell her all. She said, “He has asked me to marry him. Properly, this time.”

Mamma slowly nodded. “And have you given him an answer?”

“No, but I must soon. He is reaching an end to his patience, I can tell. The lawyers are awaiting my decision.”

“Lawyers?”

Claire told her mother about Aunt Mercer’s offer to make Lord Bertram her heir on the condition he marry her.

“Scheming woman!” Mamma fumed, then expelled a deep breath. “Although, to be honest, I might once have tried something similar, had I the funds. For your benefit, of course, not his.”

“So you ... want me to marry him?” Claire asked uneasily, bracing herself for an answer. If she did not, would she lose any ground she’d gained with her mother since arriving in Sidmouth?

Mamma hesitated, then said, “You must marry or not as your conscience dictates, and as you think God would have you do.”

“I am not certain what God wants in this instance.”

Again Mamma nodded. “Discerning His will is difficult, and I have not mastered it myself.” She drew herself up. “But now, let me tell you why I called. I had a purpose in coming here, before I was distracted. I’ve come to invite you to visit me at Sea View. Perhaps tomorrow afternoon?”

Is this really happening? Claire looked at her, heart squeezing and eyes filling anew. “Yes, happily. Thank you, Mamma.”