Chapter 6

6

Many gentlemen in their morning walks have attempted to introduce a sort of shooting dress, parading in a short coat of any light colour, and with Kerseymere gaiters coming up to the knees.

— Le Beau Monde magazine

The bespectacled woman and her companion had alighted in Exeter, but the well-dressed man continued on with them to Sidmouth. The coach set them down in the stable yard opposite the London Inn. There, the man retrieved his case, bowed to them, and departed on foot.

After asking the porter for directions, Claire and Mary walked a few streets over and across the marketplace to a three-story house with a parapet on the roof.

On the right, a wrought-iron fence enclosed an outside stairway leading down to the basement servants’ area.

On the left, pots of dried sea grasses and a similar wrought-iron rail framed the few steps that led to the front entrance. On one side of the door sat a small bench, and on the other hung a sign: Broadbridge’s Boarding House . The name struck a chord in Claire’s memory. Although at the moment she was too nervous to stop and work out why.

Mary had become nauseated during the last stage of the trip and even now appeared pale and shaky. Leading her to the bench beside the door, Claire said, “Here, sit down.”

When the girl had done so, Claire set their cases at her feet, straightened, and smoothed her bodice, pulse racing. Here was her chance to reside and earn her own livelihood in Sidmouth, without presuming on her family. Would she be too late?

Drawing a deep inhale, Claire knocked. Waited. No response.

She knocked again.

Finally, she heard footsteps approach from within and the door latch click. She held her breath. What manner of man would W.H. be?

When the door opened, the figure who appeared was not a man at all, but a woman—a slight, dark woman with a sharp nose, black hair parted in the middle, and dressed in draped fabric like a large shawl or robe.

“Yes?”

Claire had assumed W.H. was a man. Had she been mistaken?

She forced a smile. “I am Miss Summers. C.S.? I wrote about the partnership in the boarding house.”

The woman’s shrewd gaze moved over Claire, from the top of her bonnet to her hemline.

“Are you W.H.?” Claire asked. “Have I come to the right place?”

Those same dark eyes narrowed. “I think not.”

Claire’s stomach dropped. “Am I too late?”

“Your services are not required, madam. He has me.”

“Oh. I ... see.” Claire’s throat burned, and she blinked back tears.

“Good day.” The woman shut the door and none too gently.

For a moment Claire stared at the closed door, heart sinking, then turned and met Mary’s frightened eyes.

“What now?” Mary asked.

“I don’t know.”

A whistled tune caught her ear. Claire turned and saw a man striding toward the house, a trim man of perhaps forty, with fair skin and auburn side-whiskers showing beneath his flat wool cap. He was dressed in a light double-breasted coat atop close-fitting leather breeches. Over his lower legs, he wore canvas gaiters, or “spatterdashes,” for protection against wet brush. She recalled her father dressing in similar fashion to go out shooting. This man carried no gun, however, but rather a long, pointed stick.

“May I help you?” he asked. “Have you come to inquire about a room?”

“No, I ... I’m sorry. Are you W.H.?”

“If you mean William Hammond, then yes. This is my establishment.”

She swallowed a nervous lump and attempted a smile, hoping to make a good first impression. “I am Miss Claire Summers. C.S.? I wrote about the partnership and have brought the fifty pounds. Though perhaps I am too late.”

“Too late?”

She gestured toward the door. “The woman who answered my knock. Has she already accepted the partnership?”

He frowned, clearly perplexed. “Who are we talking about?”

“She did not give a name. Dressed in a brightly colored, em, sari, I believe?”

One corner of his mouth twitched in grim humor. “Ah. Sent you away, did she?”

“Well, she made it clear she was here before me and has a prior claim.”

“Indeed she does. But not as my business partner.”

“Oh?” Then a prior claim as what? Claire wondered.

He angled his head to regard her from beneath the brim of his hat. “Please tell me you do not also possess a jealous, hot-blooded nature?”

Claire lifted her chin. “Certainly not. I am an Englishwoman.”

He barked a laugh. “Of course you are.” He looked over and noticed Mary. “And who is this?”

“Mary is a skilled housemaid.”

“I did not advertise for a maid.”

With a glance at Mary’s pale, anxious face, Claire lifted her chin a fraction higher. “Perhaps not, but you did advertise for a respectable female, and respectable females do not travel unaccompanied.”

“I see. Well. Come inside and we shall discuss it.”

He opened the front door and, after scraping off his shoes, led the way inside. As she followed, she noticed that although he was of average height, his shoulders were markedly broad.

They entered a long entry hall with a narrow table beneath a mirror, pegs along one wall, and three doors on the other. Stairs at the far end led to the floors above.

He stowed his stick and hat in a closet, then gestured them through the first open door. The modest room held a table bearing the remnants of breakfast, a small settee, and a cluttered desk positioned to take advantage of the sunlight from an east-facing window.

“Pardon the disarray,” he said. “We use this morning room as informal dining parlour, sitting room, and office. Guests eat in the formal dining room next door. We have only a few guests at present, but hopefully business will return to previous levels soon.”

Tossing his gloves upon a pile of papers, he opened his mouth, hesitated, then with a glance at Mary said, “Perhaps your maid might wait in the hall while we discuss things?”

“Aye, sir.” Mary bobbed a curtsy, retreating back into the hall and pulling the door closed behind herself.

When she had gone, he began. “As I said, I don’t know that I wish to hire a housemaid.”

In reply, Claire ran a gloved hand over the fireplace mantel, held up a dusty finger, and then gestured to the crumb-speckled table. “Pray, do not be offended, but the place is not as clean and neat as it should be. An experienced maid will be a great asset.”

“The woman who owned this place before me made do with a cook and scullery maid.”

“Then clearly that woman did a great deal of housework herself, and you do not.”

“Very true.” He gestured for her to be seated in a chair facing the desk.

She complied, and he sat as well. Now at closer range, she noticed faint freckles in the lighter skin beneath his green eyes, and deep parenthetical grooves from nose to lower cheek. The left groove was more prominent due, she guessed, to a habitual lopsided grin.

Trying to sound businesslike, she asked, “So what is your part in this partnership?”

“My part? I bought the place, which cost far more than fifty pounds, I assure you.”

“And once you take on a partner, you intend to have no part in the day to day?”

“As little as possible.”

“Then why, may I ask, did you buy a boarding house?”

“No, you may not ask.”

Claire opened her mouth to protest but then changed tack. “You mentioned hoping business will return to previous levels soon. Has the place been closed?”

“Briefly, after the former owner married and while we made some needed refurbishments.”

We? Again Claire wondered about the woman who’d answered the door.

“It has taken time to settle in and grow accustomed to things here. Therefore I have been somewhat lax, as you’ve noticed. I am also tardy in announcing the reopening under new management. One of our guests was already acquainted with the place from previous stays. The other is an acquaintance of mine. I trust we shall begin operating at full capacity now you’re here.”

Nerves kneaded her stomach like cat claws. “I am to fill it?”

“Yes, as well as to help manage it. Why do you think I wanted a partner?”

“For my fifty pounds.”

He shook his head. “That is so you feel invested in the place, a sense of ownership. And in return you will have an equitable share of the profits—once there are any.” He lifted a hand. “But let us not get ahead of ourselves. I have a few questions for you before we finalize this arrangement.” He entwined his fingers on the desk. “First of all, you are younger than I expected. Have you any experience?”

None. Zero. Claire took a breath and endeavored to keep her voice steady. “Not direct experience, but I grew up in a genteel home, and due to my mother’s poor health, I often acted as hostess to overnight guests, and presided over many fine banquets and parties.”

“This is a boarding house. We shall have no fine banquets or parties here.”

“All the better,” she said with a confidence she did not feel. “How much easier to oversee more modest domestic arrangements.”

She clasped gloved hands together to disguise their tremble. Had she convinced him? Or would he reject her and Mary both? “Perhaps you ought to describe my proposed duties.”

“In simple terms, you would oversee the guests’ experience here—the cleanliness and comfort of their rooms, the quality of their meals—and make sure all is satisfactory. You shan’t have to actually cook. The former cook agreed to work for me.”

That was a relief. Claire had no experience in the kitchen beyond making tea and toast.

He drummed his fingers on the desk. “What else...? Guest correspondence and perhaps some bookkeeping as well. Does that sound feasible?”

Claire bit her lip. “It does. Though I will, of course, need a more thorough explanation of how you want things done.”

He waved the suggestion away. “Plenty of time for that later. The former owner has offered to come over and walk through things if and when I found someone.”

“Excellent. I have another question. How do you propose we explain our relationship? People may assume we are ... that is, that I am your...”

“Partner in more than business?”

Embarrassment heated her neck. “Well ... yes.”

“Rest assured the boarding house is the only reason you’re here. I like my privacy. I have set up a bedchamber and study for myself over the former stables. Quite separate. Quite proper. That should help alleviate your concerns as well as those of any busybodies.”

“Good.”

The same dark woman came to the morning room door and poked her head in, and Claire saw that she was rather pretty when she wasn’t scowling. Perhaps she filled the place of “partner in more than business . ”

Her gaze landing on Claire, that sour-faced scowl returned, blotting out her beauty.

“So. You are letting her stay?”

“I am.”

“I told you I could help you.”

“You have an important responsibility of your own. In fact, should you not be upstairs now?”

She huffed and whirled away.

Claire felt ill at ease to witness the tense exchange, as well as curious, but he did not explain.

Instead, Mr. Hammond rose and gestured for Claire to precede him out of the room. “Come, I will show you around.”

“Does that mean we are going forward?”

“It does.”

“Well then.” Claire opened her reticule. “I hope you understand I cannot provide one hundred pounds. In fact, fifty is practically all I have left, due to unforeseen expenses on the journey here.”

“Ah yes, there are always inevitable extras while traveling.”

“Are there? I have not much experience with travel.”

“And I have far too much.”

She drew out the notes.

He hesitated, then laid out a flat palm. “I have never taken money from a woman before.”

“And I have never entered into any such arrangement before.”

He nodded and pocketed the notes. “New ground for us both, then.”

In the hall, he invited Mary to join them and briefly showed them the guest dining room on the same floor. Then he led them up the stairs to the first floor, pointing out the small parlour, simply furnished guest rooms, water closet, and bath-room with a single tub. He frowned at the dirty mirror and pile of wet towels on the floor.

“It’s odd how you don’t notice the state of things until you see it through a visitor’s eyes.” He turned to the housemaid. “Mary, was it?”

“Aye, sir.”

“Miss Summers was right. You are hired.”

“Oh, thank ye!”

“We had better continue up to the attic, then. Several bedchambers there for you to choose from.”

They ascended the next flight of stairs together. At the top Claire noticed two doors to the left of the stairs and a line of doors to the right.

“These two on the left are for guests who want more economical lodging and don’t mind the stairs. The first two rooms on the right are occupied, but those farther down are open. Mary, why don’t you take a look and pick one for yourself.”

As Mary disappeared through an open door down the passage, one of the closer doors burst open and a small figure flew out and hurled itself at Mr. Hammond. He crouched at the last moment and swept the child into his arms.

“Papa! I heard your voice.”

“Did you have a good nap, my little pumpion?”

He has a daughter. ... Claire realized with surprise.

The little girl nodded, dark hair swinging around a face the color of creamed coffee.

“Say ‘good day’ to Miss Summers.”

Dark eyes swiveled to Claire. “Good day.”

“This is Mira,” Mr. Hammond said, expression warm with paternal pride as he grinned at the child of perhaps four or five years of age.

Was the woman she had met this child’s mother? With the girl’s coloring, it was certainly possible, even probable.

That woman herself appeared in the doorway. “Come, Mira. We should change your frock.”

Mira nodded and said something Claire did not understand as her father set her down.

The woman gazed at the girl with approval. Then with a sly glance at Claire, she admonished, “English. She does not speak Tamil.”

Mira turned back to Claire. “Sonali is teaching me some words in her language, but I speak English best.”

Charmed by her big eyes, pretty face, and ready smile, Claire was instantly taken with the little girl. Far less so with the woman. Perhaps she was not the girl’s mother, unless Sonali meant Mamma in her language.

As if guessing her thoughts, Mr. Hammond said, “I believe you have already met Miss Patel. Sonali, this is Miss Summers, come to help manage the boarding house.”

Miss Patel gave her a terse nod of acknowledgment, then turned the girl toward her room. Mira sent them a cheerful wave, and the two retreated from sight.

When the door shut behind them, Claire asked quietly, “Is...is she your...?”

“She serves as Mira’s nursery-governess.”

“Oh. From India?”

“Yes. I’ve settled them in rooms up here, almost like a traditional English nursery and schoolroom. That way, we leave all rooms on the lower floors for guests.”

“And Mira’s mother?”

He grimaced. “She died, over a year ago now.”

“I am sorry,” Claire said, and after an awkward pause, she changed the subject. “And where will I sleep?”

“I thought the housekeeper’s room belowstairs would be best. Closer to the kitchen and common rooms. I believe that is where the former landlady slept.”

The housekeeper’s room? Oh, how she had fallen. Aloud, she said, “Very well.”

On the way down, they took the servant stairs toward the back of the house.

“I mentioned my apartment over the stable block. I had the old coachman’s and groom’s quarters renovated into a bedchamber and study for myself.” He paused on the first floor and pointed to a nondescript door. “I reach them through here. There is also access from the former stables, although I keep that door locked.”

“And if a guest arrives with horses?”

“The former owner didn’t offer stabling. Too expensive to keep a groom. She sent people to the livery opposite the London Inn. I do the same. Mr. Lake and his son are very accommodating.”

He started toward the next landing, then turned back. “By the way, I insist upon privacy. I shan’t enter your room and I ask that you not enter mine.”

That seemed rather harsh. She said, “But surely, should your daughter need you...?”

“My daughter is not your concern.”

He must have noticed her pull back, for he winced and qualified, “I only meant ... Sonali cares for my daughter. You are here to manage the boarding house.”

“I see.”

He tilted his head to one side. “Why? Have you experience with children?”

“No.” Realizing she’d answered more vehemently than intended, she added more gently, “That is, I do have four younger sisters.”

“Ah. In Scotland?”

“No,” she said again, and did not expand on her reply.

He waited a moment, his green eyes sparking with curiosity. Or was that attraction she saw reflected there? Surely not. At least, Claire hoped not.

They continued belowstairs, where he took her to the kitchen and workrooms and introduced her to the cook, Mrs. Ballard.

The rotund, pleasant woman gave her a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you. Miss Summers, is it? You know, there is a Summers family here in Sidmouth. Perhaps you are related?”

“It is ... quite possible,” Claire replied, avoiding Mr. Hammond’s gaze.

“Mrs. Ballard does not live in,” he explained, “but she comes every day to cook for us.”

The woman nodded. “That’s right. I come early to prepare breakfast and stay till dinnertime. The scullery maid does the washing up after I’m gone.”

“Do you live nearby, Mrs. Ballard?” Claire asked.

“Yes. Not far from the mill. Mr. Ballard and I have a nice little place near the river.”

“Well, I shall look forward to working with you.”

Mr. Hammond then led Claire toward the opposite end of the basement and opened a door on the left. “And here is your room.”

She stepped inside to better view it. The room had windows that looked into an outdoor stairwell at the front of the house, gracing the space with natural light. It was a larger room than she’d had at Aunt Mercer’s, with built-in cabinets, small table and chairs, dressing chest, washstand, bed, and side table. It reminded Claire of the housekeeper’s room in her childhood home, which had served as bedchamber, parlour, and storeroom for expensive items like sugar and tea.

From the doorway, he said, “Rather humble, I realize, considering your genteel past. Still, I hope you will be comfortable.”

“I am sure I shall be. Thank you.” She wondered how quickly his concern for her comfort would evaporate if he knew the whole of her past.