The Bride of Ivy Green

by Julie Klassen

  Mercy surveyed the carved half tester bed with its new rose print bed-curtains, the dressing table, and a freshly upholstered window seat. An armchair and footstool sat in front of the fireplace where Jane had once liked to sit and read. The chair was now occupied by a large doll with a fine porcelain head and dressed in a fancy gown.

  “This was Jane’s room,” Mercy observed.

  “Yes,” Mr. Drake said. “I slept here originally, but I wanted Alice to have this room. I’ve taken one across the passage.”

  Mercy nodded her understanding. She looked at Alice and saw the girl waiting expectantly for her reaction. “It’s lovely, Alice. Do you like it?”

  She nodded. “I love it. How could I not?”

  “Very true.”

  Alice opened the dressing-room door, where bandboxes were stacked and colorful fabrics poked from gown drawers. She pulled out one long drawer after another. “Look at these, Miss Grove. Have you ever seen so many gowns in your life?”

  “Goodness. No indeed.”

  His tone almost apologetic, James explained, “My mother’s doing. She does love a project—and any excuse to visit her favorite modiste.”

  Mercy grinned at him. “Sounds like my mother.”

  Back in the corridor, he opened the door to a commodious shared bathroom, and then a second, smaller guest room, before suggesting they go back downstairs for tea.

  He escorted them into the coffee room, which was brighter than The Bell’s, with its low beams and shadowy corners, but somehow less inviting. Coachmen occupied a few of the tables, and there was Mrs. Burlingame, talking with a woman Mercy didn’t recognize. Mercy decided she would not tell Jane she’d seen one of her regulars here.

  Mr. Drake ordered tea from a waiter, and as they sat back to wait for it, a young man stepped eagerly into the coffee room. A groom, Mercy guessed, from his clothes and the smells of hay and leather he brought with him.

  His expression brightened upon seeing Alice. “Miss Alice, there you are. The striped tabby has had her litter of kittens. Six! I thought you’d want to know.” His glance shifted to his employer. “Forgive the intrusion, Mr. Drake.”

  “That’s all right, Johnny.”

  Alice’s eyes widened in delight, and she turned to Mr. Drake. “May I go and see them?”

  “Yes, you may. I will keep our guest company while you do.”

  Alice rose. “I hope you don’t mind, Miss Grove. I won’t be long.”

  “Not at all.” Mercy smiled at the girl. “Who can resist kittens?”

  James watched Mercy with a knowing expression as Alice hurried away. “I suppose you think I ought to have insisted she stay since you are here.”

  Mercy waved a dismissive hand. “I am hardly some important guest.”

  “Of course you are. I am simply glad for a few minutes to talk with you about Alice in confidence.”

  Concern flashed. “Is anything the matter?”

  “No. Alice is well. A bit lonely, I think. Which is no wonder, with only my company after living in Ivy Cottage with five other girls, along with you and your aunt. She often spends time in the stables under the guise of visiting the horses and cats, but I think she likes to talk to Johnny, who treats her like a little sister. She also follows Joseph Kingsley around like a loyal pup whenever he’s near. Though he’s had to gently ask her to leave a few times to keep her out of danger while he’s working.”

  At the mention of Joseph’s name, Mercy found her gaze straying into the hall, hoping for a glimpse of him. She forced her attention back to her host. “And how are you and Alice getting along?”

  “Well, I think. We take our meals together. Spend the evenings talking or reading. And I am teaching her to ride. I’ve asked Gabriel Locke to find a suitable gentle horse for her for when she outgrows a pony.”

  “Sounds like heaven for a little girl,” Mercy allowed.

  “I think it would be . . . if there were more children about. Or someone to keep her company when I am occupied with some business matter or other.”

  Mercy said, “It does no harm for a child to spend some time alone, reading or playing. It is good for the imagination. She needn’t be entertained every waking moment.”

  “That’s a relief. Well, enough about us for now. How goes life in Ivy Cottage, Miss Grove? Is your new sister-in-law amiable?”

  Mercy hesitated. “We are not all that well acquainted yet, but I hope we shall become fond sisters in time. I have never had a sister before.”

  “I have one, and you are welcome to her, if you like.” He winked. “Only joking. We sparred as children but are friends now, thankfully. And your brother? Are you two alike?”

  Mercy shrugged. “We are both tall and dark-haired but quite different otherwise. He is not bookish at all. He is far more gregarious and likable, and makes friends easily.”

  “I cannot imagine anyone more likable than you, Miss Grove.”

  Mercy blinked in surprise.

  “And as far as making friends easily,” he added, “I believe a truer measure of a person’s character is how well he keeps his friends. And I know from talking to Jane that you are the most loyal and valued of friends.”

  “Thank you.” Mercy shifted uneasily and was relieved when the tea arrived. “Was there anything else you wanted to discuss about Alice?”

  “Yes.” Mr. Drake poured and handed her a plate of sandwiches. “I wanted to ask what you would suggest for her education. I cannot abide the thought of sending her away to school when we have so recently found each other.”

  “Very understandable.” Mercy sipped her tea, then said, “I suppose a governess is the traditional choice.”

  He nodded and set down his cup. “In all honesty, I once thought of asking if you would like to be Alice’s governess. But I hesitated because I feared it might be confusing to Alice as to who her guardian was.”

  Me . . . a governess? Mercy thought. She felt a retort rise, but it lodged in her throat. After all, that was the fate of many impoverished spinsters.

  He lifted a consoling palm. “Don’t worry. I quickly dismissed the notion. I thought, why would a person who has capably managed an entire school want to educate only one pupil in someone else’s home? A governess’s lot is a lonely and thankless one, I gather.”

  “So I have heard,” Mercy murmured. It was a lot she had never wanted for herself, never thought she would have to consider. How the mighty schoolmistress had fallen!

  “But perhaps you might help me choose a qualified candidate?” he asked.

  Mercy smiled. “Of course. I would be happy to.”

  She took another sip and was relieved when Alice returned, happily describing each and every newborn kitten, and asking Mercy to come out and see them before she went home.

  Mercy agreed, sad to realize her visit with the sweet girl was almost over.

  A short while later, Mercy walked back to Ivy Cottage. On her way, she passed the Kingsley Brothers’ workshop. As she did, she glanced though the broad double doors and felt her stomach drop. No wonder she had not seen him at the Fairmont, for there stood Joseph Kingsley talking to the petite blonde she had seen him embrace on the green a few months before. He’d said her name was Esther, and that was all he’d said about her.

  A group of tall Kingsley brothers and several of their wives emerged from the house across the lane. The beautiful blonde smiled into Joseph’s face, pressed his arm, and walked over to join the others.

  Joseph noticed Mercy then and stepped out to greet her. “Miss Grove, good day. You are . . . in good health, I trust?”

  “I am, thank you. And you?”

  “Yes, quite. I rarely take ill.”

  Mercy glanced at Esther across the lane. “Your friend is visiting?”

  “Hm?”

  “I believe you said her name is Esther? I saw the two of you on the green last autumn, remember, when Mr. Hollander was here.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” He lifted his chin in recollection, then looked over
at Esther talking and laughing with his brothers and sisters-in-law. “Esther is more than a friend. She’s one of the family. Or soon will be.” His warm gaze lingered on the blonde.

  “Oh.” Surprise washed over Mercy. Did he mean . . . ?

  One of his nephews ran across the lane, a ball under his arm. “Can you play with us, Uncle Joseph?” Noticing Mercy, he said, “Oh, sorry, ma’am.”

  Mercy managed a quick grin for the lad. “That’s all right. I was just going. Well. Good-bye, Mr. Kingsley.”

  “Good-bye, Miss Grove.”

  Mercy walked away, uncertainty plaguing her. Was Mr. Kingsley engaged? Or soon to be? Disappointment filled her at the thought.

  chapter

  Six

  The following day, as Jane swept the front walkway, she again looked across the High Street to the dressmaker’s former shop.

  The ground-level windows were still papered over. Jane gazed up at the windows of the apartment above, where Mrs. Shabner had lived. The curtains up there were now open, though Jane couldn’t see inside. Hmm . . . The woman with two trunks had left The Bell without Jane meeting her. Had she let the property and moved upstairs?

  Idea striking her, Jane set aside her broom, crossed the street, and cut across the green toward Ivy Cottage. Matilda Grove was an old friend of Mrs. Shabner’s and might know the identity of her new tenant. Besides, it would give her an excuse to talk to Mercy again.

  When Jane reached Ivy Cottage, she was pleased to see Louise Shabner sitting with Matilda at the small table in the front garden, although the day was quite chilly.

  “I am surprised to see you two out here. Are you not cold?”

  “Temperatures inside are not much warmer at present,” Matilda replied, hugging her shawl around herself.

  “Oh?”

  “Never mind. With Louise visiting, I decided we would be more comfortable chatting out here. Mercy has gone for another walk for much the same reason, I suppose.”

  “I am sorry to miss her. I won’t keep you. I’ve only come shamelessly begging information about your new tenant, Mrs. Shabner. I thought Miss Matty might know, but how much better to ask you directly since you’re here.”

  “Louise just came from Wishford to tell me the news.” Matilda patted the chair beside her. “Come and sit for a few minutes.”

  Jane did so, glad for her long, warm pelisse.

  “Ivy Hill is to have a new dressmaker,” Mrs. Shabner said. “Mr. Gordon conducted the actual negotiations, so I only met the woman briefly when signing the lease. I thought her a pretty, pleasant young woman. Her name is French—Victorine something—and she has just a hint of an accent. She objected to the amount of rent I asked for, so I agreed to reduce it. I am just glad to have someone in the shop after all this time. If she is able to make a go of it, we will renegotiate the terms later.”

  “A French modiste here in Ivy Hill?” Jane breathed. “My goodness. I fear there will not be enough demand for such fashions in our humble village. If we could not keep you busy, I doubt this new dressmaker will be satisfied with our small budgets and simple tastes.”

  Matilda considered. “There are always the Brockwells.”

  Louise scoffed. “Bah. The Brockwells rarely darkened my door.”

  “I am sorry, Mrs. Shabner,” Jane said gently. “But you must admit, a French modiste might secure their patronage. And perhaps Mrs. Ashford’s? I imagine even Miss Bingley and her mother might come from Stapleford at the prospect of French fashions so much nearer than Bath or London.”

  Matilda nodded. “And don’t forget George’s new wife. What a boon for the new bride to have such an establishment at hand in what she judges to be a rustic hamlet. But poor George’s purse!”

  Jane nibbled her lip. “I wonder why the modiste would choose Ivy Hill of all places. Has she friends or family here that you know of?” Jane remembered Colin mentioning that their pretty guest had visited Ivy Hill years before.

  Louise shook her head. “I know nothing more than what I’ve told you.”

  Matilda Grove’s eyes sparkled. “Nor do I. But I shall happily be among the first to visit her shop in hopes of satisfying my curiosity.”

  Jane grinned. “Let’s go together as soon as it opens.”

  When Jane walked home, she saw Becky Morris, house-and-sign painter, exiting the dressmaker’s shop, shoulders slumped.

  Jane waved to her, and Becky stopped to talk, a book of sample lettering under her arm.

  Becky jerked a thumb toward the door. “I was hoping she would hire me to paint a nice big sign, but she politely declined my services. Said she’ll make do with the small one she made herself for now.”

  “That’s unfortunate for you both. A good sign is so important.”

  “I agree, but of course I would.” Becky grinned, then added, “I gather she is letting the shop on something of a trial basis and doesn’t want to invest the money until she is sure she will stay.”

  Jane nodded. “What is she like?”

  Becky considered. “Dark-haired. Lovely smile. Far younger than our last dressmaker. A bit nervous, maybe. Though I suppose you can’t blame a newcomer for that. Well, I’ll see you later, Jane.”

  Becky walked away, but Jane remained long enough to survey the shop again.

  A handwritten Closed sign hung on the door, and she noticed a discreet sign tacked to the wall beside it. Jane walked nearer to read the fine calligraphy on heavy card stock:

  Madame Victorine’s

  Millinery & Dressmaking

  ~Offering a Variety of Fashionable, Fancy Models~

  Madame Victorine . . . It was very like the name Jane had seen scrawled in the guest register. She walked back across the street to ask Colin what else he recalled about the mystery woman who’d stayed at The Bell.

  But Colin reported little more than he had before. He thought she might have been French but was perhaps making an effort to conceal it, the French not being popular after the war.

  When Jane asked Cadi about the woman, the chambermaid seemed surprised to hear that Colin had described her as French. “I didn’t think so, ma’am. Nor did she seem like some fine, high lady to me. She was polite and friendly, not demanding as some are.”

  “Did she ask you about the property agents or the dressmaker’s shop?”

  Cadi nodded. “Now you mention it, she did ask if I was acquainted with our former dressmaker. I told her about Mrs. Shabner sending over that lavender dress, though you had not ordered it, wily woman. Earned a sale though, did it not? And she was right, for that dress suits you perfectly. I hope you don’t mind that I told that story.”

  “I don’t mind. Well, I will let you get back to work.” Saying the words reminded Jane that she had her own work to worry about. It wasn’t like her to pry so. Leaving Cadi to her tasks, Jane walked to the office to review the latest receipts.

  Mercy walked to the new home of the Ashford Circulating Library to select another book. That was one benefit of losing her school—she had more leisure time to read. She was trying to focus on the good. Yet how she missed her pupils—even obstinate Fanny—and the purpose she’d felt as their teacher. Again Mercy prayed a silent prayer for each girl.

  Inside the library, she looked around the open main room with its large raised desk at the center and shelves of books against the outside walls. An attractive arched doorway led to a separate reading area with comfortable chairs and lovely paintings on the walls, all featuring books or reading in some form. She didn’t see Rachel anywhere about, but there was Anna Kingsley across the room, helping Mrs. O’Brien locate a title.

  Seeing Mercy, Anna’s pretty face broke into a sparkling smile, and as soon as the candlemaker took her leave, the young woman came over to greet her.

  “Miss Grove!” Anna took her arm in a friendly squeeze. “What a pleasure to see you. I miss you. I hope you are well.”

  “I am indeed, Anna. Thank you for asking. And you? How go things here in the library’s new location?”
r />   “Very well. Though I miss having Mrs. Timmons’s kitchen to dart into for a cup of tea between patrons. I miss your aunt’s biscuits, too, more than I thought possible.”

  Mercy chuckled. “I am sure Aunt Matty would be happy to deliver some of her famous baked goods if she knew you were longing for them. I shall tell her.”

  “Thank you. By the way, if you were looking for Miss Rachel—the new Lady Brockwell, I should say—she is busy at present. She is leading a discussion of the Ladies Book Club that meets here.”

  “Oh, where?” Mercy looked around her.

  “We’ve set up chairs in Mr. Blomfield’s old office for the purpose.” Anna gestured to a closed door. “The meetings disturb other patrons less that way. Some of the women are quite . . . passionate . . . in their opinions about books.”

  “As they should be.” Mercy bit back a grin, for even now she could hear Mrs. Barton’s voice rise in disagreement and Charlotte Cook’s vociferous rebuttal through the closed door.

  Anna added, “Lady Brockwell comes in a few days every week to help with shelving and record keeping and such, as well as leading the book club.”

  “And does Colin McFarland still come to you for lessons?”

  The girl blushed. “I do see Mr. McFarland fairly often, though I confess we don’t talk about arithmetic much anymore.”

  Mercy returned the girl’s dimpled grin. “I see.” Mercy looked around the library. “Everything looks organized and tidy. Rachel made a good choice when she selected you to manage the place. I hope you are enjoying it?”

  “I am. The best part is introducing people to my favorite authors. Which reminds me, have you read Frances Burney’s Evelina yet?” She handed Mercy the novel, and Mercy decided to take the girl’s suggestion and borrow it.

  Anna wrote down the title, then added, “I also enjoy helping reluctant readers find something to interest them. I even convinced my uncle Matthew to read a book. A miracle in itself, my father says.” Again Anna’s smile appeared, as bright and appealing as sunlight on water.