Chapter 5

5

P AWNbrOKER AND S ILVERSMITH

No. 2 Grace Church Street

Lends money on plate, watches, jewels, wearing apparel, and household goods.

—Eighteenth-century trade card

When she returned from the coaching inn, Claire took the young housemaid aside.

“I have made a decision, Mary. I will be leaving Scotland for the south of England. If all goes as hoped, I shall not be returning, so...”

“Pair-fect. May I go with ye?”

Claire had imagined the girl would refuse to go so far from home, especially permanently.

“Are you certain you wish to travel all that way?”

“The farther the better.”

She certainly seemed determined.

Claire added, “Another thing. I plan to enter a partnership in a boarding house there, if someone else does not claim it first. I cannot guarantee a place for you.”

“There’s sure to be a lot of work runnin’ a boarding house. And ye know I’m a hard worker.”

“I do know. But it won’t be up to me. I am uncertain of my own reception, let alone yours.”

“If there is no place for me there, I shall find another.”

Claire asked, “Have you any money? You would need to purchase coach fare. I cannot pay for us both and still have enough left to invest in the partnership.”

“Da’ takes most of my wages, but I have a bit put by. How much would I need?”

“I went to the Crown this afternoon. The fare to London will be at least ten pounds inside and seven outside, not including baggage fees and meals along the way. And then there’s the fare from London to Devonshire.”

“So much! I can ride outside. And we could pack a hamper of food to save money. I’m sure Mrs. Kerr will oblige us.”

“She left this morning.”

“Oh.” Mary hesitated. “Well, Mr. Campbell is a good sort. He won’t mind.”

Claire nodded. “That will help, although food shan’t be our greatest expense. You go and fetch every farthing you have, and I will do the same. Bring it to my room and we shall count it all and pray for a loaves-and-fishes miracle.”

They met again a few minutes later. Setting aside the fifty pounds for the partnership, Claire counted what remained of the money she’d brought with her, the interest Mr. Dumfries had given her, and Mary’s meager pile of coins. Her heart sank. Even with their funds combined, there was not enough.

“Please, miss. If I havena enough, I’ll pay ye back. I promise. Don’t leave me behind, I beg of ye. I need to get away.”

The tears pooling in the girl’s eyes dissolved Claire’s reserve. She patted Mary’s hand. “Let me see what I can do. I have one more idea.”

Would God forgive her for what she was contemplating? Aunt Mercer certainly would not.

Claire had never stepped foot inside a pawnbroker’s shop before, although she had certainly passed them on occasion. Following directions from Fergus, Claire approached the nearest such establishment, identified by three golden balls dangling from a wrought-iron bar over its door. The sign beneath read Duncanson and Edwards, Pawnbroker .

When she entered, the smell of dust and disuse met her. The proprietor looked up from a display case filled with jewelry and watches, silver spoons, shaving mugs, silk stockings, and more.

“Good day, madam. I am Mr. Duncanson. How may I be of service?”

Embarrassment heated her face, but Claire forced herself to set aside her pride and approach the counter. “I find myself in need of funds. It’s something of an emergency or I would not part with it.” She laid the cross pendant and chain on the man’s counter.

He raised a glass to his eye and studied it, then asked, “Loan or outright sale?”

“I would dearly love to retrieve it one day. What are your terms for such an arrangement?”

“Ten percent interest per month. After the first month, the interest rate doubles. If you return for it, pay back the loan plus interest, it’s yours. If you don’t return within a year and week, it’s mine to sell as I please.”

Claire pressed dry lips together. “I understand.”

“I canna give you what it’s worth, but I could lend you fifteen pounds.”

“Is that all?” Incredulity flared. “That’s a real ruby!”

“Afraid so.”

She was tempted to refuse until an image of Mary’s distraught face appeared in her mind’s eye. She swallowed, then asked, “And you will keep it safe?”

“That I will, madam. Store it proper and all.”

“Very well.”

He wrote out a ticket and handed it to her.

She did not tell him she needed the money for a journey, nor how far she intended to go. He might assume she’d never return for the necklace and sell it tomorrow. She had no idea whether or how she would ever be able to claim it, but at least this arrangement meant it was possible. To sell it outright so soon after inheriting the gift would seem even more wrong. Either way, Aunt Mercer would not be pleased.

The woman had told her the cross was her way to heaven, but at the moment, Claire would settle for Sidmouth.

The next morning, Claire and Mary rose early and hurried to the Crown. From there, they traveled by Royal Mail from Edinburgh to London. The fast, sleek mail coach carried four inside passengers and a few more on top. For safety and propriety, she had purchased inside fare for Mary as well.

Claire wore her only carriage outfit, the same one she had worn upon her arrival in Edinburgh two years before. Meanwhile, Mary wore Sunday best and a shabby straw bonnet, and helped Claire with the baggage and food hamper.

During the long journey, the two ate the food they had brought along, trying to minimize expenses, but Claire had neglected to account for perquisites for the guard and coachman. And the small glasses of cider she’d bought for her and Mary when thirst became too strong to ignore cost more than she would have imagined. She thanked God for the extra coins in interest Mr. Dumfries had provided.

Once they arrived in London, they were forced to spend the night at an inn, because the last stagecoach to Sidmouth had already departed. To save money, Claire and Mary shared a room.

In the morning, they purchased seats on a stagecoach that would stop in Exeter and other towns along the way. The stagecoach was larger and slower than the mail coach, holding six inside passengers and a ragtag assortment of folks of every description on its roof.

As the baggage was loaded and the horses’ harnesses given a once-over, the guard lifted his horn and blew the signal to board. A tall, well-dressed man paused at the coach door, standing aside to allow the ladies to enter first. His skin stood out as a rich, dark brown amid a sea of white faces. His hair was darker yet.

An elderly, bespectacled woman with a small dog tucked under one arm teetered on the first step, and he quickly offered a steadying hand. “Allow me, madam.”

She climbed inside and thanked the man for his assistance.

A moment later her young companion came hurrying over. “Sorry, ma’am. There was a line for the privy, and worse, they were out of newspaper. Only corncobs.”

“Hush, Miss Henderson. Not everyone wishes to hear the private details.”

Feeling her cheeks warm, Claire stole a glance at the man and noticed him bite back a grin.

Inside, the passengers settled themselves on the two facing benches: Claire, Mary, and Miss Henderson on one narrow bench, the older woman, her dog, and the man on the other.

The man addressed the younger woman, offering in a polite, slightly accented voice, “I would be happy to trade places, if you would rather sit here?”

Miss Henderson only glared at him and gave a terse little shake of her head.

The horn blew again, and the coach lurched into motion, and soon they were on their way out of the city.

The pug wriggled until he loosed himself from his mistress’s arms and hopped from her wide lap onto the man’s trim one, tail wagging.

“Greetings, little friend.” He gave the dog a pat on the head.

Tongue lolling in a doggy grin, the creature panted and then gave a happy yip.

“Good heavens,” the older woman exclaimed. “Augie rarely warms to anyone so quickly. And he is an excellent judge of character!”

Claire glanced at the man, and the two shared private, amused smiles.

Beside Claire, the younger woman harrumphed, and Claire’s smile faded. What an unpleasant girl.

Then she looked over at Mary and saw that she was also staring at the man, mouth slack. Claire supposed the young maid had rarely seen a darker-skinned person. In short order, Mary shifted her slack-lipped stare to the old woman.

Claire followed her gaze to the woman’s thick spectacles, tinted a dark green. Claire had assumed the eye shades were like those she’d seen in newspaper advertisements, to be worn by sportsmen and travelers.

Mary leaned close to Claire and whispered in her ear, “Can she not see? Is that why she’s talkin’ to him?”

Claire looked again. Were the lenses meant to hide blind eyes rather than to shade them? She had not thought so, as the woman had awaited the coach alone. Then again, she’d stumbled when climbing inside. Claire gave a noncommittal shrug in reply.

The woman asked the man, “Have you ever had a dog?”

“Yes, when I was young. Though not as friendly as this fellow.”

The woman clucked her pleasure and went on conversing with her seatmate, telling him how much she was looking forward to returning home after her visit to Town.

Miss Henderson leaned across the space between the benches and said, in a poor attempt at a whisper, “Can’t you see he’s a ... not someone to speak to?”

Was a lack of eyesight the reason she was being polite to the man? Claire hoped not.

The woman replied, “What are you talking about?”

Miss Henderson raised her voice to be better heard over the road sounds. “He’s black.”

The man held out both hands, studying them. In a calm voice, he said, “I think brown would be more accurate.”

The woman frowned at her companion. “Of course I can see him. I am not blind. I am perfectly aware that I am conversing with a very pleasant man....” She turned to him and asked, “From India, I believe?”

“Originally, yes.”

“These glasses...” She tapped the frame. “I have recently undergone a procedure for cataracts and am supposed to shield my eyes for a few more days.”

Ah. Claire nodded her understanding.

“Please forgive my young companion her rudeness. I suppose not everyone finds people from other places fascinating, but I do.” She looked at Claire. “Don’t you?”

“Oh, I ... y-yes,” Claire faltered. “Although I have little experience, unless one counts Scotland.”

She gave a self-conscious chuckle and was relieved when the man smiled in return.

Mrs. Farrant, formerly Miss Fran Stirling, came to Sea View to join the Summerses for tea, sewing, and a good talk. They did not see Fran as often as they used to, now that she was married and living with her husband. Sarah was glad Emily and James had decided to stay at Sea View after they wed, although she wondered how long that arrangement would last when the young groom had to make the long trip to Killerton five or six days a week.

“So, Fran,” Mamma asked, “how are things going now that you are a housewife instead of a boarding-house keeper?”

“Good, good. Yet to you, my friends, I confess I sometimes miss it. Things are rather quiet with only Leslie to look after.”

“What can you tell us about Broadbridge’s new owner?” Sarah asked.

“I met him only briefly, for the transfer of the deed. The property agent handled the negotiations.”

Fran sipped her tea before going on. “He seemed a gentlemanlike man, perhaps in his late thirties. And if it is not too gossipy to repeat, my former cook—who has agreed to stay on with him, by the way—saw him arrive with a ‘strange’ woman.” Fran waggled her brows.

“Strange, how?” Georgiana asked.

“A foreigner, apparently. Dark skin, dressed in long, many-colored scarves or some such.”

“Probably a sari,” Emily said, being the most well-read among them. “Perhaps she is from India.”

“His wife?” Mamma suggested.

“I don’t know. He did not say anything about a wife to me. And Mr. Hammond himself seems as English as they come, down to his auburn hair and even a few freckles.”

“Perhaps he is a nabob returned from India with a fortune and an Indian bride,” Emily theorized. “Is he handsome?”

Fran tilted her head in recollection. “Yes, rather. Regular features. Good teeth.”

“High praise,” Emily teased. “Sounds an interesting character. Although sadly I doubt we shall have much opportunity to become acquainted. After all, he is our competitor now.”

“Never stopped us from being friendly,” Fran reminded her.

“True. And thank goodness for that.”

Mr. Gwilt came in with a fresh pot of tea and a letter. “I took the liberty of collecting the post on my way home from the shops. Addressed to you, madam.” He handed it to their mother.

With a glance at the handwriting, Mamma said, “From Viola.” She handed it to Emily. “Here, you read it.” Emily opened it and read aloud:

“ Dear Mamma, Sarah, Emily, and Georgiana,

You have probably already heard by now, but in case you have not: Aunt Mercer has died.

The major and I arrived in Edinburgh without mishap and went directly to her house. There, we met two ladies carrying out bundles of clothing and other personal items—donations to their charity, they said.

From the elderly butler who came to the door, we learned that Claire is no longer in residence. All the staff besides himself and the lady’s maid had already been dismissed and needed to quit the house. The maid will stay long enough to tidy up the place and will soon be leaving as well. Evidently the butler will keep an eye on the house until it is sold.

I told him I had written to let my sister know we were coming and asked if she had received my letter.

He looked abashed and said, ‘I don’t think so. The mistress was tetchy about the post. And Miss Summers said nothing to me about receiving visitors. I doubt the mistress would have allowed it, truth be told.’

That got Jack’s back up, I can tell you. I could see he was about to say something like, ‘I would like to see her try to stop us.’ ... Until I quickly reminded him that Aunt Mercer’s interference had come to an end.

The butler could not or would not tell us where Claire had gone, even when the major offered him a financial incentive for his trouble.

Even so, I pressed him, asking if he was certain Claire had said nothing about where she was going, or mentioned going home. He replied, and I quote, ‘No, ma’am. In fact, she said home was the one place she could not go.’

He did give us the direction of Aunt Mercer’s lawyer, and we visited his office the same afternoon. Mr. Dumfries was at first hesitant to share any details, client confidentiality and all that, but when he learned I was one of Claire’s sisters, concerned for her well-being, he decided no harm would be done by divulging that Claire had been given an allowance before she departed, so at least we know she is not destitute . Like the butler, Mr. Dumfries insisted he had no idea of her future plans, although he requested she write to let him know when she was settled.

We have asked the lawyer to assure Claire of our assistance and support should she contact him again. There seems little else we can do for now. We continue to Loch Katrine tomorrow before we start the journey home. Loch Katrine, you may know, was made famous by Walter Scott’s ‘The Lady of the Lake.’ I thought you (Emily especially) would find that interesting.

Yours with love, Viola”

Georgiana looked at each of them, expression troubled. “‘Home was the one place she could not go’? Why would she think that? How sad!”

Mamma, Sarah noticed, fidgeted in her chair. She balled the linen napkin on her lap before smoothing it out again.

“So we know nothing more than we did before,” Emily said, “except she left...”

“Sounds like she had to leave.”

“...and is not coming home.”

Oh, Claire , Sarah thought. Where have you gone?

Mamma rose and said briskly, “Well, as Viola said, there is little else we can do. We tried.”

“We can pray for her, surely.”

“That goes without saying.” At the door Mamma turned back. “I pray for each of you every day of my life and shan’t stop now.”

And her strident voice did nothing to disguise the sheen of tears in her eyes.