“I see you are praying for me.” Katherine turned to Helen. “It is a wonder I am not fit as a fiddle, since Lavonia consistently keeps me in her prayers.”
“And so she should,” Luke observed. “What was Osmond telling us in his sermon last week? Something about praying without ceasing?”
Lavonia could not resist a retort. “Indeed, when Vicar Gladstone prays, it appears as though he will never cease!”
Luke threw her a chastising look. Helen let out a titter and Katherine looked perplexed.
“My apologies for making a joke at your friend’s expense, Luke.” Lavonia set her countenance into a serious demeanor. “I always enjoy a sermon on 1 Timothy 5:17. All of us would be well advised to adhere to the words of Saint Paul.”
“If only they worked. I really do not feel much better at all,” Katherine insisted. “In fact, being forced to wear this old dress now that I am finally out of mourning clothes only serves to add to my poor temper.”
Casting a disdainful look upon the pretty frock, Katherine added her best pout. Recalling the doctor’s diagnosis, Lavonia at once realized she had seen this tactic employed upon her father a number of times. Many new dresses, hats, shoes, and even a trip abroad had been the fruits of her efforts. No, the doctor’s diagnosis must have me imagining the most peculiar things. He has to be wrong about Kitty. He just has to be!
“Really,” Katherine told Helen, “I do not know how much longer I could have abided wearing those horrible old black dresses. I know I must respect Mama and Papa, but Papa especially would not have wanted me to suffer.”
Lavonia chose that moment to take a long sip of tea. How will she react when I tell her we can afford no new clothing at all?
“There is no need for you to worry, Katherine. I shall make an appointment with my dressmaker and have several new gowns sewn for you. And Lavonia as well,” Helen reassured.
Lavonia cringed upon seeing how Katherine beguiled her hostess with barely any effort on her part. Yet she was not ready to condemn her sister. Surely Kitty does not intentionally trick and manipulate others. Like a little child, she merely wants her way.
Her sister’s eyes shone. “Just contemplating a new dress sends me into a favorable temper.”
Though it pained her to dampen the mood, Lavonia knew she must. “Your offer is quite generous, Helen, but we have a fine selection of dresses suitably subdued for this stage of mourning.”
“Oh, Lavonia,” Katherine protested. “Must you always be so practical?”
“I fear I must.”
“Then you must be hiding some bad news from me.” Turn-ing her attention to Helen, Katherine gave her cousin a look designed to garner sympathy. “You can surmise why I thought it wise to lunch with you. My sister will not confide in me when I am ill. I am aware our uncle was here on business. Five days have passed, and still I know nothing about what was said between them.”
“Let me take the burden of worry on my shoulders,” Lavonia offered.
“You need not make such sacrifices, my sister. Though I am cursed with sickness, I desire to be informed about my future.”
“Very well.”
Helen and Luke rose from their chairs, obviously intent on exiting to offer the sisters privacy. But Lavonia raised her hand, causing them to stop. “You are our closest family and have shown us nothing but kindness since our parents’ deaths. Please remain here. There need not be secrets between us.”
The newlyweds exchanged curious looks then returned to their seats at either end of the table.
“Both of you have been more than charitable and benevolent to provide us obliging accommodation in our time of distress. We are both grateful to you,” Lavonia began. “But because of the small sum the sale of our house brought, we cannot repay you. Therefore, we must be leaving so I may seek gainful employment elsewhere.”
“Small sum?” Katherine’s voice shook. “Do you mean to say we are. . .poor?”
Unwilling to encourage an outburst, Lavonia kept her voice firm. “Yes.”
“Such drastic action is not necessary,” Helen said. “I meant what I said earlier. There is no hurry.” Apparently thinking Katherine would be more easily persuaded to stay, Helen turned to her. “You must remain at least long enough for Dr. Amory to find a cure for your headaches.”
“No. We shall be leaving tomorrow,” Lavonia proclaimed.
“Tomorrow? Why so soon?”
“As you have noticed, the doctor has not returned in the five days since his first visit with Katherine. I surmise he will not be making another call. I fear he may have been put off.”
“Put off? Whatever for?”
Lavonia felt her face flush with chagrin. Bowing her head, she muttered, “I called him a charlatan.”
“Au contraire.” Helen let out a laugh. “A charlatan? How droll! Our doctor does have modern ideas, but I do not believe I have ever heard anyone call him such. If only I could have seen his face when you displayed such a spirited disposition.”
Lavonia winced when she remembered her reaction to the doctor telling her she was being manipulated by her sister. “I doubt he would share your humor.”
“I fancy the doctor was not offended, but scared to death,” Helen smirked.
“Scared?”
Helen giggled. “Though I do not wish to offend you, I must say you were la flirteuse with our good doctor the last time the two of you met. Why, you practically asked him to marry you!”
“Really? My devout sister exhibited romantic inclinations?” Katherine’s voice dripped with sarcasm. She batted her eyes at Lavonia. “Though I must ask, did you propose before or after you called him a charlatan?”
A heated flush rose from the base of Lavonia’s neck to the top of her hair line as she disputed Helen’s account. “ExaggПree tu!”
“Vraiment? I have never seen you play la coquette as you did with our poor doctor.” She gave Lavonia an indulgent smile. “Flirt if you must, but William Amory is not the one for you, my dear cousin.”
“And why not?” Lavonia blurted.
“Perhaps I should pose a question to you. How much do you know about William Amory?”
“Not much, I admit. But at least the doctor and I have been properly introduced. I could not say the same about my secret admirer only a few days ago, and yet you were set to betroth us.”
Helen was about to reply when a visitor interrupted.
“Did I hear someone speak of a betrothal?”
Lavonia needed not turn to know the voice belonged to the vicar in question.
“Osmond!” Luke rose to welcome his friend. “I had no idea you were here.”
“I knocked at the door, but no one answered. I beg your pardon for entering unannounced, but as an old friend, I feel I am privileged to take such liberties.”
“Indeed you are. Although for your expediency in the future, I shall instruct the servants to be more alert to the prospect of visitors knocking upon our front door. In the meantime, do join us for luncheon.”
“Luncheon?” A partially carved pork resting in a pool of dark brown gravy on a platter in the center of the table offered ample evidence that a meal was in progress. He let his eyes rove over the meat and the remaining Yorkshire pudding as though he had only then discovered their existence. “Oh, my!” With a flair of his hand, he withdrew his pocket watch from his vest. “I’ve come at a bad time—I did not realize it was noon.”
Helen was seated close enough to Lavonia to whisper sarcastically, “Oh my! What a surprise, n’est pas?”
Lavonia covered her grin with her napkin in a show of wiping her lips. Having invoked Luke’s ire with one insult directed at Osmond, she dared not laugh aloud at Helen’s astute observation.
Surveying the dinner party as he returned his watch to its pocket, the vicar allowed a look of dreamlike rapture to cross his features. “Performing my tasks as a member of the clergy offers such great reward. The morning hours fly by as if they are but a moment in eternity.”
“Please!” All Lavonia’s willpower was required to control the outburst of laughter that threatened.
“Pray tell, of whose betrothal were you speaking when I arrived?” He tilted his head toward Katherine. “Perhaps you are the future bride, Miss, Miss. . .?”
“Forgive my negligence,” Luke apologized. “This is Miss Katherine Penn, our dear Lavonia’s sister. Regrettably, the younger Miss Penn has been too ill to attend Sunday morning worship services with us.”
“Regrettably, indeed,” he agreed, his voice lilting on the last syllable. The vicar studied Katherine as if he were charmed by her appearance. “I trust you are feeling better?”
“I feel quite well now, thank you, Vicar.”
“Then allow me,” Luke interrupted. “Vicar Osmond Glad-stone, this is Miss Katherine Penn.”
“EnchantП, Miss Penn.” To Lavonia’s amazement, the vicar’s voice seemed soft and inviting.
Looking down at the meal of which she had partaken little, Katherine blushed as a little smile reached her lips. Lavonia wasn’t sure whether her reaction was one of genuine shyness or if she was acting coy. Regardless, the vicar seemed to be enjoying himself.
As soon as the servant set yet another place at the table, Osmond stood before the chair and asked, “Might I add my blessing?”
“We would be pleased if you would do so,” Luke responded.
The vicar cleared his throat and began to speak. “Father in heaven, we give our thanks for this exquisite meal of which we are about to partake. We thank You for the delectable roast pork and a delicious Yorkshire pudding, along with vegetables You created, cheeses of all descriptions, fresh fruit made by Your hands, which shall be enriched by generous portions of premium clotted cream, wonderful yeast rolls accompanied by fruit jams and creamy butter, and the rich tea for which our great nation is known and loved, all prepared by faithful and devoted servants, as well as for the scrumptious dessert that will conclude this excellent lunch-eon. We are grateful that You have seen fit to shower us with Your blessings, as shown by the prestigious company we are keeping among us today, the well-appointed home in which we are privileged to dine, the fair and fine ladies who, by their very presence, enrich the lives of men by allowing us to drink in their beauty, not unlike the most exotic and exquisite flowers, and the charming and gracious host whom You have blessed with the prosperity he assuredly deserves, and for the agreeable disposition he possesses, which allows him a willingness to share with me, his devoted and lifelong friend, the finest food available in all the land. We pray that all of us dining here today shall retain Your good favor, and that You shall continue to find us worthy of the superlative comforts Your creation has to offer. Amen.” Opening his eyes, the vicar beamed with obvious self-satisfaction.
“That was the most beautiful blessing I have ever heard in all my life,” Katherine said in a voice just above a whisper.
Aware that her sister seldom employed hyperbole, Lavonia snapped her head in Katherine’s direction. An angelic look had overtaken her features, emphasizing their loveliness.
“It is so wonderful that you happened by.” If she realized the timing was the vicar’s ploy to dine with them, she gave no indication.
“It is lovely, indeed. I only hope I did not interrupt a private discussion. Although, since I am a member of the clergy,” he noted, eyeing Katherine, “any confidence you wish to share with me will naturally be kept under the darkest cloak of secrecy.”
“We were simply discussing Lavonia’s visit with Uncle Joseph,” Katherine revealed.
The flush from her praise drained from his face. The vicar remained uncharacteristically silent, stabbing at the meat with his fork as though he wished to butcher it a second time.
Katherine did not seem to notice. “He is settling our parents’ estate.”
“Then you should be quite well spoken for,” Osmond ob-served, though his terse tone of voice indicated otherwise. “He has the reputation of being quite the shrewd businessman.”
“So he continues to remind me,” Lavonia quipped. “Though he offers little proof.”
The vicar glanced at her. “I noticed at luncheon the other day that he seems to be acquainted with Dr. Amory?”
Lavonia’s stomach felt as though it were flipping upon the mere mention of the doctor’s name. “Apparently, although I know nothing about their relationship.” Lavonia wished she had queried William about why her uncle’s arrival so disturbed him. She decided to seize the opportunity to discover more. “Luke, what do you know about them?”
Her host shook his head. “Nothing. I was not even aware of their acquaintance. Were you, Helen?”
“No. But I fail to see why it matters.”
“I suppose it matters not.” The vicar shrugged and let out a chuckle that seemed to be forced. “Perhaps I am so accustomed to my role as a clergyman that I show concern for everyone as if they are all members of my flock.”
“But as Christians, are we not to show concern for our fellow pilgrims in the faith?” Lavonia challenged. “Recall Jesus’ words in John 13:34–35: ‘A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another. By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.’ ”
“Saint Paul also cautions us twice, in 2 Timothy 3:11, and again in 1 Timothy 5:13, that we shall not be busybodies,” said the vicar.
“Passages you would do well to review, no doubt.” Though Lavonia knew her comment was ungracious, bathed in rile, she did not regret voicing her opinion.
The vicar gave her a disagreeable look. “Then perhaps I should refrain from recommending that a woman from a family of stature and means such as yourself should not employ one, but two, business advisors.”
“Really? Do you think that would be most politic?” Kath-erine said sincerely, her eyes widened as though she were a small child just entrusted with the keys to wisdom.
Osmond’s chest puffed when he realized the younger sister was entranced by his every word. “I fear I do not command great knowledge of financial affairs, but am imparting what is merely recognized as common sense.”
“Lavonia and Katherine would do well to heed your words of advice,” Luke agreed.
Emboldened by the encouragement, Osmond added, “And if Dr. Amory has close connections with any businessman in whom you do not have the utmost conviction, I would seek the services of another doctor.”
“Are you saying my uncle and Dr. Amory are dishonest?” Katherine asked.
Her unvarnished candor left the vicar flustered. “Miss Penn, I assure you, I would make no such assumptions. Why, I know very little about either man.”
Indeed, Lavonia mused to herself. That, my dear vicar, shall remain to be seen.
❧
William Amory stirred his soup. The motion caused the corn and peas to travel through broth that remained flavorless despite the few bits of salted ham that constituted a serving of meat. The salt and pepper made their way around the long table at Mrs. Potter’s boarding establishment as each lodger shook a few grains of each into the soup in hopes of adding life to the listless meal.
“You simply cannot take two pieces of bread, Mr. Barron,” Miss Goodwin protested.
“Is that right?” he answered, his bulbous lips puffing into a pout. Tilting his head toward William, he murmured, “ ’Tis no wonder she’s an old maid, the battle-ax!”
“I heard that,” Mrs. Ford scolded. “Miss Goodwin is right. If you take two portions of bread, there shan’t be enough for everyone. Do you not agree, Dr. Amory?” The older woman cast him a smile as attractive as possible for a woman whose best days were last seen during the revolt of the American colonies.
William plastered on his best smile for her. For once, he was grateful for her interference. The soup would hardly be satisfactory to keep his stomach from griping until the following morning’s breakfast. For a lady, he
would have relinquished his serving of bread, but he wasn’t willing to be as generous with the obese Mr. Barron. “Of course, if the platter contains only one portion for each of us. Simple mathematics.”
Snarling, Mr. Barron hurled the bread back onto the platter. “Make us another batch, will you, Mrs. Potter?”
The skinny woman shook her head in the negative, though not with enough vigor to shake loose any gray hairs from her severe coiffure. “For a pound a week, that is all the bread you get. You should be obliged to me for such a bargain, and cease your grumbling.”
“Is there dessert?” Mr. Barron wanted to know.
“Not with the price of sugar at the market. You’ll have to wait ’til Sunday.”
A round of resigned sighs fluttered around the table. Mr. Barron threw his napkin into his empty bowl. “I’ll be at the tavern for a round of stout, I will. Mebbe a stiff brew will stick to me ribs.” He tossed his head in William’s direction. “How’s about you, Doc?”
“No, thank you.”
He shrugged. “Suit yerself.”
After dinner, William climbed the steep, narrow set of stairs to the third floor. The rented room was so depressing, he almost wished he had accepted Mr. Barron’s invitation. Paint that had once been white had turned a light shade of gray from smoke that belched from the fireplace. Next to the fireplace stood his easel, which held an unfinished portrait and his box of paints. The floor, spotted and stained from years of abuse, creaked in several places no matter how softly he walked. At least on this night, he wouldn’t have to endure the wrath of Mr. Barron’s broom tapping on his ceiling below in protest to the noise.
A single bed made of dented knotted pine held a hard mattress. It, along with a wardrobe housing the few garments he owned, consumed most of his allotted space. The only piece of furniture William could call his own was an oak rolltop desk and comfortable secretary’s chair, a purchase made only after scrimping for a year. Sitting in the chair, William opened the desk and extracted a small box from one of the cubicles.
Inside the box was a diminutive silver ring. William had not taken it from its place in such a long time he had almost forgotten what it looked like, how the cold silver warmed in his hand. The ring was the only memento he had from his mother, a woman he had never met. The engraving on the delicate band read Vous et nul autre.
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