Her father drew himself up, and for the first time she noticed how bony his shoulders were, how thin he was.
“But I could not do it. I had already lost my beloved Rani. I could not bear to part with our child too.”
“Of course you could not. I am glad you brought him with you. I thank God for you both. Now, no more talk of not seeing him grow up.” Jane wiped away her tears. “We will consult the best doctors and take excellent care of you—nutritious food, plenty of rest. Now you’re here in England, you will improve, Papa, I know it. You will be here with Jack Avi—and me—for many years to come.”
He gave her a lopsided grin. “From your lips to God’s ear, my dear. From your lips to God’s ear.”
After Jane helped her father and Priya move into rooms in The Bell, she left them to rest and get settled.
Jane boosted Jack Avi up onto the gig’s bench. “You are going to spend the night with Gabriel and me, Jack Avi. How does that sound? And perhaps tomorrow, I shall take you to the menagerie to see the lion and many other wonderful animals.”
“What about Bapu?” he asked.
“He is having dinner with his old friend Lord Winspear tonight. Adults only.”
“And my ayah?”
“Priya is going to enjoy a rare night of leisure. Mr. Basu plans to cook for her again.”
“And what shall we eat?” her brother asked.
Jane patted the basket on the bench beside her. “I have asked Mrs. Rooke to prepare some of your favorites: pigeon pie, sponge, and biscuits.”
He raised a triumphant little fist. “Yes!”
Jane got an unpleasant whiff. “When was the last time you had a bath, Jack Avi?”
He shrugged and wrinkled his nose. “I don’t like baths.”
“Well, I think it’s time for one. I’ll fill a nice warm tub for you and help you wash your hair.”
He expelled a long-suffering sigh.
Later, when Jack Avi sat in the bath, Jane set a small wooden boat Gabriel had carved, mast and all, upon the water. The boy’s dread of bathing vanished. “If only it had a sail!”
Jane said, “I shall fashion one for you.”
“Would you? Thank you, Didi.”
She washed and rinsed his hair and, when the water began to cool, helped him step out, wrapping a large towel around him. “How good you smell!”
“Now I get pigeon pie, sponge, and biscuits?”
She chuckled. “Yes, now you do.”
After they ate, Jane helped Jack Avi into a nightshirt and read him a story. When it was almost time for sleep, he knelt beside the bed and clasped his hands, praying in his musical tongue she wished she understood.
“What did you pray for, Jack Avi?” she asked. “If it is not private.”
“I said, God bless Gable, Didi, Ayah, and Mr. Basu. And please make Bapu better. And thank you for pigeon pie and biscuits.”
Jane smiled and kissed his sweet-smelling hair.
Sometime during the night, Jack Avi got into bed with them. He climbed over Gabriel and wedged himself between them.
“Bad dream,” he mumbled. “Lion chasing me . . .”
“You’re all right, Jack Avi,” Jane soothed. “You’re safe.”
Gabriel turned on his side, facing them, and stretched his strong arm over them both. In the moonlight filtering through the window, she could see Gabriel’s eyes were open, resting on her. Jane stroked Jack Avi’s hair, and in moments he was asleep. Jane reached for Gabriel’s hand, and the two looked at each other over the little boy. Tears heated Jane’s eyes, but they were not sad tears, exactly. The moment was achingly poignant, and she did not want it to end.
chapter
Forty-Five
Mercy continued to meet with the boot boy for reading lessons, but he was not progressing as quickly as she had hoped. They met in the servants’ hall belowstairs, at a time when the room was not otherwise in use. After a frustrating quarter of an hour with a lesson book, Mercy set it aside.
Hoping an article with local flavor might spur the adolescent’s interest in reading, Mercy spread the hotel’s copy of the Salisbury and Winchester Journal before him and traced her finger along the lines of print.
“Let’s try this, Bobby.”
He arduously sounded out each word. “‘The cap-ture of a lion-ess in Wiltshire has captured the pub-lic’s imm . . .’”
“Imagination,” Mercy supplied.
“‘And is being re-counted in newspapers na-tion-wide. Reports praise the fi . . .’”
Mercy read the more difficult words, “‘Financial prowess of the menagerie owner in purchasing . . .’”
“‘. . . the in-jured coa-ching horse,’” Bobby continued. “‘The horse with its wo . . . wounds, the re-cap-tured lioness, and the dog have all become part of the show.’”
Mercy restrained a weary sigh of relief and smiled at the boy. “Well done, Bobby.”
She looked up and noticed James Drake leaning against the doorframe, cup of coffee in hand, a tolerant grin on his handsome face.
Seeing his employer, the boy jumped to his feet. “Thank you, Miss Grove. Better get back to it.”
“See you tomorrow, Bobby.”
Mr. Drake raised his cup. “Came down for coffee. Thought I’d see how you were getting on.”
Mercy expelled the sigh she’d held back in the boy’s presence. “Slowly.”
“I heard him, Mercy. He’s no orator, but he was reading. You are doing a good job. I think some boys are slower to catch on. I know I was.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your encouragement.”
He tilted his head in thought. “I know you miss teaching, Mercy. I’ve been wondering, could you not find another place in the village to teach?”
She looked at him in surprise. “Even if it were possible, it would interfere with my duties as Alice’s governess. I hope you are not trying to get rid of me.”
“Of course not. Just thinking of you, of the future.”
Mercy had thought he might have overheard Mr. Paley giving her the disappointing news in the churchyard several months before, but apparently he had not.
She explained, “I did ask Mr. Paley if I might use the church. But the churchwardens refused my request. They might eventually allow Sunday school classes, but not general education.”
“Then what about the circulating library?” he suggested. “Would your friend Rachel allow you to teach there? Perhaps you might give reading lessons, if nothing else. It would perfectly complement her business by creating more patrons for her library.”
She looked at him, impressed. “That is an excellent notion. I cannot believe I did not think of it myself. I have been so busy grieving the loss of my school, and feeling sorry for myself, that I have been blind to a rather obvious option.”
He shrugged easily, lips pursed. “I don’t say it would be the same as having your own school. And I suppose any classes you taught would have to be outside of library hours. But it would be something—after you’ve finished with Bobby, that is.”
Mercy nodded. “I will discuss it with Rachel when next I see her. For the . . . future, as you say. Thank you, Mr. Drake.”
“You are very welcome.” Again his gaze lingered on her face. “There, you see? I’ve earned another of your lovely smiles, which is all the thanks I need.”
Dr. Burton’s son Franklin, a man of perhaps five and thirty, seemed competent and knowledgeable about Asiatic illnesses, having served a term with Indian Medical Services as well as several years with London’s renowned teaching hospital. He examined Winston Fairmont while his father looked on, and Jane waited nervously in the corridor for his verdict.
Examination completed, the younger physician invited Jane to join them as he wrote out a prescription for a tonic of his own composition to help alleviate the lingering effects of the fever, offering to oversee its preparation by the local apothecary. He also prescribed a low dose of digitalis for her father’s heart and several days of bed rest while
they waited to see how he reacted to the course of treatment.
“It is not a cure, mind you,” Franklin Burton said to him. “But I believe it will make you more comfortable and improve the functioning of your heart, which will, in turn, extend your life.”
Her father groaned. “Bed rest? I shall go mad with boredom.”
“Don’t fret, Papa,” Jane soothed. “We will keep you company and keep you entertained—though quietly. In fact, Matilda Grove is waiting downstairs, if you are feeling equal to a visitor.”
“I don’t want everyone in the village gawking as if I’m some foreign creature in a menagerie, but Matilda, yes. A visit from that old friend is always welcome. As is your company, Jane. I hope that goes without saying.”
Colin came up to assist her father into clothes more suited to bed rest: a pair of loose “pajama” trousers he’d brought back from India over a fresh nightshirt, with a long banyan jacket belted snugly around him. While Colin helped her father get settled into bed, Jane went downstairs, returning a few minutes later with Matilda. Jane held the door for her, and Miss Matty went inside and took the chair beside the bed.
“I shall bring you tea in a few minutes,” Jane said, and turned to go, leaving the door ajar to allow her to enter with a tray more easily.
When Jane came back upstairs a quarter of an hour later, she heard the low exchange of conversation. As she neared the open door, Matilda’s words made her pause in the corridor.
“You do know I once hoped you and I would marry, when we were young?”
“No. . . .” Her father sounded as astonished as Jane felt.
“Did you never realize I was in love with you?” Matilda chuckled. “No, I suppose not. Not when your heart was always in India.”
“But I thought you were being courted by that Essig fellow.”
“Oh, he admired me. But I didn’t care for him, so I turned him down.”
“I did wonder.”
“I doubt you had time to wonder about me,” Matilda said mildly. “Not when you were bent on making your fortune abroad. After your brother died and you returned, I foolishly raised my hopes again, but then your parents introduced you to Jane’s mother and that was that.”
“I am sorry, Matty. Sorry I . . . disappointed you.”
“Oh, never mind. It’s all a long time ago. I am not that foolish young girl any longer.”
Voice husky, he replied, “You will always be that foolish young girl to me, Matty Grove.”
“And you will always be that rascal who got away, Win Fairmont.”
Jane turned and tiptoed back downstairs. The tea was still warm, but it would wait.
After a few weeks in the area, attendance numbers at the menagerie began to fall. Eva’s father gained permission to store the hail-damaged tent and a few extra wagons in the tithe barn, while the troupe traveled more lightly to the neighboring counties of Hampshire, Berkshire, and Somerset. Eva knew part of the reason her father remained nearby was to be closer to her and Henrietta—and because he hoped Eva would choose to travel with them when the troupe finally left the area for good.
Eva was tormented by indecision. Her three-month trial had passed, and she had failed. Perhaps she should just leave with the troupe. It would be easier than trying to win over the village women who now knew she had not made the model gowns she’d displayed and others who were disappointed in her skills as a dressmaker. No doubt everyone would learn of her shortcomings if she stayed much longer. But Eva didn’t want to leave. She liked it in Ivy Hill. Her sister and niece were nearby. She was fond of Jane, Mercy and Matilda, the Paleys, Mrs. Mennell and the almshouse residents, and so many others. And then there was Jack . . .
While the menagerie had been in the village, people had come to Ivy Hill from surrounding towns, and all the businesses on the High Street had profited. Eva herself had sold two hats and received an order for a straw summer bonnet with cherries on it, like the one she’d made for Miss Bingley.
But now the tithe barn was quiet, and the High Street as well. Eva reduced the shop’s hours and spent more time at the almshouse—quilting, mending, and chatting with the residents, or reading to Mrs. Hornebolt, whom she’d begun to look on as something of an adopted grandmother.
She also rode with the carter, Mrs. Burlingame, over to Wishford to visit Henrietta and help as the couple worked on their lodging house—caring for Betsey, painting walls, and cooking meals. What a pleasure to prepare their mother’s favorite ragout of burgundy beef, or her sole meunière in Hen’s sunny kitchen. And how satisfying to spend time with her sister again, to dote on her darling niece, and become better acquainted with the husband and father who clearly adored them both.
Eva enjoyed every minute, even as she realized she could not put off her decision much longer.
chapter
Forty-Six
Jane was glad she’d convinced her father to move to The Bell, nearer to her and the old friends who cared for him. His being in Ivy Hill allowed Dr. Burton to check on him often. And the vicar, Mr. Paley, visited regularly as well.
Cheerful Miss Matilda came to sit with him every afternoon, bringing baked goods, medicinal barley water, and conversation. Her visits always did her father good.
On a drizzly June morning, Jane left the farm and rode into town. She stopped at the circulating library to borrow a book for her father, then continued on to The Bell. As she was going up the stairs to deliver it, she met Matilda coming down, head bowed to watch her step.
“And how did you find him this morning, Miss Matty?”
The older woman looked up, and Jane saw tears glistening in her eyes.
“Oh, Jane . . .” she murmured, reaching out to grasp her free hand.
And in Matilda’s glittering eyes and forlorn expression, Jane saw a depth of grief that startled her.
“What is it? Is he worse?”
Matilda hesitated, then inhaled deeply and forced a smile. “Oh, I am probably imagining things. It is just so hard to see him weak like this. No doubt he will be right as a trivet in no time.” She squeezed Jane’s hand—hard—but Jane felt more desperation in the gesture than reassurance.
Matilda took her leave, and Jane continued to her father’s room, a cord of concern tightening her chest.
“Good day, Papa.”
Her father sat atop the made bed, dressed comfortably and freshly shaved. “Jane. How are you? You have just missed Matilda Grove.”
“Yes, I saw her leaving. How are you feeling?”
He leaned back. “Dashed tired, truth be told.”
Jane spread a lap rug over him, then sat on the chair near the bed. “I brought you another book. Rachel tells me it was one of her father’s favorites.”
He accepted it, his gaze caressing the cover, expression softening. “William’s favorite, ey? Then I shall relish it.”
“Colin mentioned Dr. Burton was here this morning. What did he say?”
“The father or his son? Neither offers much hope, unfortunately. My heart is weak and will eventually give out. I may experience a period of renewed vigor first or I may not. The timing is difficult to predict, and there is little they can do to affect the outcome.”
“What about the digitalis?”
He shook his head. “Yet to produce any noticeable improvement.”
“Then what about Mr. Fothergill? He must have something else you can take, some strengthening elixir among the many compounds on his shelves?”
“Jane, there is not a pill for everything, however badly we—or the apothecary—might wish it were so.”
He extended his palm to her, and she laid her hand in his. “Whatever happens, it will be all right, Jane.” He hesitated and then added, “If you will do one thing for me.”
“Anything.”
“When I’m gone, will you take care of Jack Avi?”
Jane’s heart pounded as waves of emotion washed over her. She was not ready to lose her father after so recently being reunited.
She for
ced a bright tone. “Of course I will, Papa. But that will be years from now, Lord willing.”
His head moved side to side on his pillow. “Jane . . .”
She interlaced her fingers with his. “I don’t want to lose you, Papa—not when I have only just got you back!”
“I know, my dear, but just in case, humor me. I will rest easier once Jack Avi’s future is settled.”
“Then don’t fret. No matter what happens, Jack Avi will be well cared for. I will make sure of it.”
He nodded, but a worry line lingered between his brows. “Will you raise him as your own, Jane, not just as a guardian or even his sister? He needs a mother. You need a son. And God is a gracious provider. Now that you’re married to Mr. Locke, he shall be his pa—”
“Jack Avi has a papa.”
“A boy needs a father, Jane. One young enough and present enough to teach him to ride and play cricket and be a good man. A gentleman.”
“He is learning that from you.”
“He is still so young. He’ll need parents, Jane. A mother and father, ideally, but—”
“Shh. . . . Don’t fret, Papa. If the worst happens, as you fear, then I will raise Jack Avi and love him as my own.”
“Good.” He sighed. “Then talk to that husband of yours, and if he agrees, I will ask Alfred Coine to draw up the requisite papers. But I should warn you, Jane, not everyone will like it—you raising him as your son. Such prejudice exists.”
“I will do my best to shield him from that.”
“Can’t shield him forever. Teach him to face it with courage. Remind him who he is.”
Jane nodded. “I will make sure he remembers that he is the beloved son of a respected gentleman.”
“Well, that too, yes. But I meant a beloved child of God, who loves us all without respect to color or country of origin.”
“I perfectly agree, Papa. And I am . . . sure Gabriel will too.”
She wasn’t completely sure, of course, as she and Gabriel had never discussed the matter. Would he be willing to raise Jack Avi as his own son? Regardless of prejudice or a longing for a son of his own? She swallowed a nervous lump at the thought of the conversation to come and managed a smile for her father.
The Bride of Ivy Green Page 34