Chapter 4

4

Wanted

As partner, in a genteel boarding house, a respectable Female who could advance from ￡50 to ￡100. Letters (post-paid) to A.B. Boarding House, shall meet with immediate attention.

—Advertisement, Saunders’s News-Letter

Hearing the front door open, Sarah poked her head from the library-turned-office to see who had arrived. She was in time to see the new-wed couple, James and Emily, pause in the hall as James swept off his hat and drew his wife close for a kiss. Sarah turned and retreated to the desk. A moment later, Emily sailed into the office with bonnet askew and the day’s post in hand.

Noticing her sister’s furrowed brow, Sarah asked, “What is it?”

“A letter for Mamma from Edinburgh. I don’t recognize the handwriting.” She handed it to her.

Sarah flipped it over and read the return address above the seal:

Messrs Dombey & Dumfries, Edinburgh

“Lawyers,” Sarah declared, rising. “Let’s take it to her.”

They found their mother in the walled garden beside the house, pulling weeds from a bed of irises and lilies.

Seeing their hurried approach, she rose from the kneeling bench.

“A letter for you, Mamma!” Sarah waved it like a flag. Emily followed at a jog, hand pressed to her bosom.

“Good heavens. What is all the fuss?”

“From Edinburgh,” Emily called.

At Mamma’s quick frown, Sarah added, “From lawyers, we think.”

“Ah.” Mamma peeled off her gardening gloves and then broke the seal and unfolded the page, expression grave.

“She has died.”

Sarah’s heart lurched. “What?”

“Aunt Mercer.”

Sarah clutched her chest. “Oh. Of course. You gave me a fright.”

“And we are to receive nothing, which comes as no surprise. Here, read it for yourselves.”

Sarah read it first.

Dear Madam,

As solicitor to Agnes Mercer, your departed husband’s aunt, it is my solemn duty to inform you that she has reached the end of her earthly life and has enlisted my services in managing her affairs. In her original will, she had named your husband as primary beneficiary, as you are probably aware. After his death, she revised her will, and I feel it is incumbent upon me to inform you that none of her assets are to come to you, his wife, as you were not named as a contingent beneficiary. However, she did make one small bequest to you. She instructed me to send to you a volume of Fordyce’s Sermons to Young Women , which she trusts will be instructive to your younger daughters. It shall arrive by separate parcel.

Yours Sincerely, Robert Dumfries Messrs Dombey & Dumfries No. 19 Thistle Street, Edinburgh

Struggling to read the letter from beside her, Emily asked, “Is there any mention of Cla—” With a glance at Mamma, she broke off, revising her question. “Of her companion? Or what is to become of her?”

“Nothing.” Sarah handed her the letter.

Emily read it, shaking her head, then looked up imploringly. “Mamma, I know you promised Papa, but—”

“That’s right, I did. So what would you have me do?”

Emily said, “We could try writing to her again, now that—”

“Again?” Mamma snapped.

“Yes, Mamma,” Emily said gently. “As I have mentioned before, I made no such promise to Papa. I have written to her, as has Viola. We’ve had no response to our recent letters and wonder if Aunt Mercer has kept them from her. Now that the woman is gone, she might actually receive a letter we send.”

Sarah added, “That’s assuming she is still living in Aunt Mercer’s house. They won’t have sold the property already, surely?”

“Unlikely,” Mamma agreed.

Emily said, “Viola and Jack are on their way to Edinburgh now, and they plan to call at Aunt Mercer’s during their trip, so—”

“To what purpose?” Mamma asked.

“To learn how Claire fares. To assure her of our love. I hope she is still there when they arrive.”

“Your father would not have approved.”

Emily frowned. “Come, Mamma. Has Claire not been punished enough?”

“Emily...” Sarah warned.

“It was never about punishment,” Mamma replied, voice rising. “At least, not for me. It was about shielding the rest of you.”

“Let us not argue about all that now,” Sarah said. “Let’s decide what to do.”

“Viola won’t reach Edinburgh for some time yet. A letter might arrive more quickly, thanks to the Royal Mail.”

“How will a letter help?” Sarah asked. “Claire may need more than a letter. She may need tangible help—somewhere to live. Funds to live on.”

“We must do something,” Emily insisted. “I will write to Claire, in hopes the letter reaches her, or might be forwarded on to her. Sarah, perhaps you might write to the lawyer? For if Claire has already left, he might have a forwarding address.”

Emily turned to her, eyebrows high in expectation.

“Very well. I shall write to Mr. Dumfries and ask. Unless ... do you object, Mamma?”

Her mother sighed heavily. “I suppose not. Just to make sure she is all right.”

Claire began gathering her belongings in preparation for departure. She supposed she would have to find cheap lodgings for a few days until she worked out what to do.

Two years ago, she had left home with only one valise, at Lord Bertram’s request. He’d said hefting a trunk from Finderlay at midnight was sure to draw a servant’s notice. How hastily and ill-advisedly she had packed. At least she had taken the time to change from the ball gown she’d worn that last night of the house party into a carriage dress of dark blue, the better to conceal herself in the shadows. She had also brought a nightdress, dressing gown, slippers, and one evening dress (sure she and her new husband would share romantic dinners) as well as stockings, a hairbrush, and teeth-cleaning supplies.

Upon arrival in Edinburgh, her great-aunt had examined her clothing, instantly declared the low-cut evening gown of fine muslin scandalous, and insisted Claire donate it to a poor seamstress she knew who could make it over into two shifts and perhaps even a petticoat. Aunt Mercer commissioned the same seamstress to make over one of her own grey day dresses to fit Claire, complete with a plain linen tucker for added modesty. Then, when news came of her father’s death, she also ordered a dress in black, modest and mournful enough for afternoon calls or services at the kirk. Later, when the weather turned cold, she had provided a hooded cloak and sturdy half boots as well.

Claire had worn the black and grey dresses in rotation since her aunt’s death, and longed to shed herself of both.

She was torn between not wanting to take any of the dreary, practical garments her aunt had provided and the reality that she would be foolish to leave behind warm clothes. Springtime in Scotland was often chilly and rainy. And who knew where she would be once autumn and winter rolled around once more?

In the attic, Claire found a second small valise, too old to be of much value, to hold her boots and cloak. She packed everything she would not need until her imminent departure, and left out only her toiletries and nightclothes.

Mary came in as she packed.

Surveying the partially filled cases, the housemaid’s face stretched in dismay. “Yer leavin’ already?”

“Not yet. Just getting ready.”

Mary stepped closer. “Please, miss. Take me with ye when ye go.”

Claire glanced over in surprise. “You don’t even know where I’m going. I don’t even know.”

“I don’t care where. Just ... please.”

Claire straightened, studying the girl’s troubled face. She said gently, “You’re young, and you work hard. You’ll have no difficulty finding another situation.”

Mary shook her head. “I canna. Not round here. I doubt anyone will take me on.”

“Why not? My aunt may have neglected to write you a good character, but I shall write one myself.”

“Thank ye, miss. But findin’ a new place takes time. And I’ve nowhere to stay meanwhile.”

“Why not go home? Your father lives nearby. Is that right?”

“I canna do that. Anywhere but there.”

Claire was taken aback by the panic in the young woman’s voice, the tight terror in her expression.

“Why?”

“My da’, he ... No, I won’t. I’d go the workhouse first.”

The workhouse? Claire shivered. Her father must be harsh or even abusive.

She gently pressed the girl’s shoulder. “Once I decide where to go, we shall talk again. Agreed?”

“Aye, miss. Bless ye, miss.”

The next morning, Claire went downstairs for a cup of tea and found the others gathered at the table in the servants’ hall, heads bent as they searched the employment sections in several newspapers, which considerate Mr. Campbell had bought for the purpose.

Campbell himself thought he might retire and live with his sister when his duties were done. But Mrs. Kerr and her kitchen maid, the lady’s maid, Fergus, and Mary would all need new situations.

Mary could read simple text, but she read very slowly, so Campbell sat beside her, helping her review the notices. The girl seemed to listen only half-heartedly, resting her cheek on her hand.

Should Claire search for a new place as well? Perhaps she could find another situation as a companion—if the lady did not inquire too deeply into Claire’s background. No one would hire her to chaperone and safeguard a young lady, not with her past. But perhaps an elderly spinster or widow might take her on now that she had experience. She should have thought to ask Aunt Mercer to write her a character reference.

Noticing Claire hovering nearby, Campbell seemed to guess her thoughts. He handed her two of the broadsheets. “We’ve finished with these, if you’d like to take a look.”

Not sure she would be welcome at the servants’ table, Claire took the papers and teacup to a chair in the corner. Setting the teacup on the nearby sideboard, she began to read.

She saw no situations for a lady’s companion, but another advertisement caught her eye.

G OVERNESS W ANTED

Wanted, a middle-aged person of respectability, as a tutoress in a private family. She must be fully competent to teach the English and French languages grammatically, together with the other usual branches of Education.

Letters, post-paid, addressed A.E.T. Post-Office, Exeter, and stating qualifications and references will be duly attended to.

Exeter was not terribly far from her family’s seaside home in Sidmouth. The thought of being in the same county as her mother and sisters appealed to her. She doubted she would ever see them again if she remained in distant Scotland. But if she relocated to Devonshire...?

She read the advertisement again and inwardly quailed. No. She was neither middle-aged nor fully competent to teach French. The little French she had learned in the schoolroom would prove insufficient to the task.

Besides, who would trust her when she had displayed such a lack of judgment? Once, all she had wanted was to be a wife and mother and raise a happy brood of children. Now she felt disqualified to even educate someone else’s offspring.

With a heavy sigh, she turned to the next broadsheet and skimmed until she reached the Situations and Help Wanted section.

Suddenly, an advertisement in the middle of the page came into focus as though haloed by light.

W ANTED

As partner, in a genteel Boarding House in Devon, a respectable Female, who could advance from ￡50 to ￡100. Letters (post-paid) addressed to W.H., Boarding House, Sidmouth Post Office, shall meet with immediate attention.

Fifty pounds ... Claire’s pulse accelerated. The amount of her allowance. Was this a sign?

Sidmouth was where her mother and younger sisters were now living. Emily might be glad to see her, but the others? Surely young Georgie wouldn’t despise her. She was less certain about Viola and Sarah. And their mother? A chill crept over her. They would probably be offended at her presumption in moving so near to them after her disgrace.

Yet time was running out. What other options did she have? Yes, she might keep to her original plan of renting a small apartment somewhere until her money ran out. But at the thought of living alone in some cheerless pair of rooms, loneli ness gnawed at her. She longed for her family, and prayed that somehow, someday, they might all be reconciled.

She read the notice again. Considering her fall, could she honestly pretend to be a “respectable female”?

No.

Even so, this opportunity seemed too good to ignore. If she did not respond, would she come to regret it?

Claire rose, planning to retreat to her room to think it over. The old butler followed her into the passage. Taking something from his pocket, he said quietly, “Miss, I thought you might like to have this. As you know, the mistress ordered me to destroy or lock away the few letters that came for you. I managed to retrieve this from her desk before the lawyer came and took the rest of her papers.”

He handed her a letter, and Claire recognized Emily’s handwriting. Was it the one letter her aunt had allowed her to read? No. This one was still sealed. “Thank you, Mr. Campbell.”

“I am sorry about the others.”

“I know. Not your fault.” She patted his arm, and he returned to the servants’ hall to continue helping Mary.

As soon as he’d stepped away, Claire broke the seal, unfolded the letter, and read the lines from her sister. Her breath caught. Emily had written to invite her to her wedding. One of her sisters had by now married, and she had not known it! Had not sent along her congratulations and warmest wishes. Claire’s heart twisted. What else had she missed during these last two years?

That news settled it. Taking the broadsheet with her, Claire went up to her aunt’s former room, sat at her all-but-empty desk, and composed a letter.

She wrote hurriedly, thinking, What if another woman writes first, or offers the full one hundred pounds?

And if W.H. did accept her as a partner, what sort of working and living arrangement would they have? Would he expect her to serve as housekeeper or ... what? How vulnerable it made her feel to put her fate in yet another man’s hands. Would W. H., whoever he was, prove more trustworthy than Lord Bertram had?

Oh, God , she prayed, if this is meant to be, please make a way. Even as she prayed, she worried she had forfeited the right to ask God for anything.

She decided her next step would be to walk to the coaching inn and learn how much the fare would be for such a long journey.

Even if she could afford it, would moving to Sidmouth bring the longed-for reconciliation with her family or widen the divide?