The Widow of Larkspur Inn

by Lawana Blackwell

  “No,” Julia said adamantly. “We can’t live the rest of our lives on charity baskets.” Besides, the children had adored their father, no matter how little time he’d found to spend with them. To ask for assistance from the church would be to admit publicly what he had done, thus condemning the children to live with the knowledge and the stigma of having a father who failed to provide for them.

  Mr. Forbes’ face settled into lines of profound sadness. “Mrs. Hollis,” he began, lifting his hands helplessly from the ledger book on his lap, “Mr. Waldegrave and I have wives and children. We take no pleasure in this action.”

  There was genuine sympathy in his voice, and the resentment Julia felt toward the gentleman started to crumble at the edges. After all, it wasn’t their doing that put her and the children in this predicament.

  “I’m aware of that, Mr. Forbes,” she told him as calmly as possible, pressing her hands together tightly so that the two men wouldn’t notice how they trembled. You have to think now! What are you going to do for your children?

  “Haven’t you any means of support?” asked Mr. Waldegrave. “A trust from your family, perhaps?”

  “I turned over a sizable inheritance to my husband immediately upon receiving it ten years ago,” she answered, then couldn’t stop herself from adding in an acid tone, “as would any dutiful wife.”

  Mr. Forbes looked through his ledger again. “You know … there is something here you may wish to consider.”

  The faint hope in his voice caused Julia to lift her chin. “There is?”

  Mr. Waldegrave seemed just as surprised, for he raised an eyebrow at his partner.

  “The old inn that Dr. Hollis attempted to sell. Where was it located?”

  Nodding recognition, Mr. Waldegrave replied, “Shropshire. Gresham is the name of the village.”

  The name sounded familiar to Julia, but she couldn’t place it at the moment.

  “Your husband’s uncle, a George Hollis, came into possession of a piece of property there shortly before his death. He’d inherited it from a distant cousin, Ethan Banning.”

  She did recall Philip mentioning something about some property—most likely to Jensen within her hearing, for he would not have discussed such matters with her. “There was an old coaching inn in the Banning side of my husband’s family, but I believe it has been out of business for some years.”

  “Eight years, to be exact.” Mr. Forbes gave her an ironic smile. “And that is fortunate for you, Mrs. Hollis, or the bank would likely be seizing it now as well. But truthfully, the property is useless to us. We informed Dr. Hollis of that fact two years ago when he offered it as payment for some of his debts.”

  “You see,” he went on, crossing his knees, “the railways have cut the lifelines of hundreds of coaching inns. It was the Severn Valley Railroad that affected the two in Gresham when it bypassed the village by some twelve miles. We researched the Larkspur—that is the name of the inn—when your husband made the offer to us. It would be futile to open it up for business again, because the inn that is still functioning there, the Bow and Fiddle, is barely making a go of it.”

  Julia let out a relieved breath, the tenements of Saint Giles fading from her mind. “You mean … we can live there?”

  “It belongs to you, so you may do with it as you like. I don’t suppose your husband sold it privately, or he would have used some of the money to prevent foreclosure.”

  “We’re aware that you have no solicitor, Mrs. Hollis,” the older gentleman said. “Therefore I’m not certain if all the necessary papers have been filed. But we will be happy to have one of our bank solicitors look into that for you. I must caution you not to expect a palace, though. The inn has been shuttered up for eight years.”

  A frightening thought occurred to Julia and threatened the feeble hope that had just been presented to her. “But how will we live? I have no skills beyond needlepoint.” That, and hostessing the occasional dinner party, she thought with bitter self-recrimination. She looked down at her slender hands, of which she’d always been so proud. A lifetime of pampered living and applications of imported cremes had kept them soft and white. Now their fragile beauty seemed to mock her. I’ve never had to answer my own door, brush my own hair, or brew a pot of tea.

  She realized that Mr. Waldegrave was speaking, giving answer to her question. “Gresham has several dairy farms, Mrs. Hollis, and a thriving cheese factory. The railway hasn’t hurt those businesses at all. I’m certain you’ll have no trouble hiring on.”

  “Hiring on?” she echoed, staring down again at her useless hands. Who would hire someone who’d never worked a day in her life?

  Mr. Forbes must have sensed the panic in Julia’s thoughts, for he leaned forward and added gently, “They won’t expect you to know what to do on your first day, Mrs. Hollis. They’ll train you.”

  “Yes,” Julia whispered. “Of course.”

  “No doubt your son could find a position as well,” Mr. Waldegrave said, avoiding her eyes.

  She took in a sharp breath. “He’s only thirteen, Mr. Waldegrave.”

  “It is not rare for children to have to help their families. I myself was apprenticed at the age of twelve.”

  Never! she thought, while a more desperate side of her argued, Would you have him starve instead? How much can one woman earn at a cheese factory?

  A wave of nausea swept through Julia, bringing a clammy chill to her skin. Closing her eyes, she folded her arms tightly to her chest and waited for it to pass. Just let me die right here and now.

  “Mrs. Hollis?”

  She opened her eyes and gave Mr. Forbes, who was staring at her with brow furrowed, a somber nod. And since there seemed to be no point in belaboring the situation any further, she pushed herself to her feet and reached for the bell cord with trembling fingers. “Thank you for your concern and advice, gentlemen. We will comply with the new owner’s wishes.”

  The men got to their feet as well, looking guiltily relieved that the visit was over and they could return to their stoical duties on Threadneedle Street. When the butler entered the room, Julia said, “Will you please show these gentlemen to the jewel safe, Jensen?”

  There was a hesitation so fractional that only someone who had lived in the same house with Jensen would have caught it. “Yes, Mrs. Hollis,” he replied.

  Mr. Forbes frowned miserably. “Mrs. Hollis, I wish there were some other way….”

  “Apparently there isn’t, Mr. Forbes,” Julia told him. “At least we seem to have a place to live.”

  When they were gone, she walked unsteadily down the hallway to Philip’s study. She could picture him seated in the leather chair behind his desk. His medical books stood neatly arranged upon shelves lining one wall, and it struck Julia to wonder if they would be auctioned with the rest of the household furnishings. I hope someone burns them! she thought, bitterness rising like bile in her throat. Why didn’t you tell me about the debts, Philip? Did you think that the problem would just go away? Were you afraid we wouldn’t love you anymore?

  “That’s why it hurts so much,” she half-sobbed, reaching out to touch the onyx paperweight on her husband’s desk. Philip had professed to love his family. Had these blows come from a stranger or enemy, they would have been far less devastating to the heart. Perhaps he had loved them. A lump welled up in her throat. But not as much as he loved gambling.

  She had to leave this room at once, for recriminations were a luxury she could ill afford at the moment. From the corridor Julia turned to give the study one last look before the door clicked shut. She knew she would never open it again.

  As she walked back up the corridor she paused at the foot of the staircase, seized by an almost overwhelming desire to run upstairs and take her children in her arms. If she could only hold them tightly enough, as a mother hen tucks her brood under her wings, surely no ill could befall them. She fought against the compulsion. She had to appear strong for their sakes, and never in her life had she felt so weak
. Returning to the drawing room, she paced the carpet like a prisoner in solitary confinement.

  They’ve been through so much already, she thought. How can I tell them that they’re living in a house that is no longer theirs? That everything familiar to them is about to be taken away?

  Impossible! The weight of it all threatened to crush her, and she flung herself into a chair and began to weep against one of the padded arms. “God, where are you?” she whimpered.

  Chapter 3

  Sometime later Julia heard the drawing room door open over the sound of her own moaning. She opened one swollen eye and blinked away the haze of tears. It was Jensen, regarding her curiously.

  “Would madam care for my pocket handkerchief?” he asked from a respectful distance.

  She lifted a hand to show him a crumpled scarf she’d pulled from the top of the chair.

  “Shall I ring for a maid to accompany madam to her room?”

  “No,” she rasped through a raw throat.

  “Some tea, then?” There was a strange helplessness in his voice now, as if he weren’t quite sure if he should leave or stay.

  “No. Thank you.”

  “Very well then, madam,” he said. After watching her for another few seconds, he turned slowly to leave.

  “Wait, please.” Julia eased herself to sit up straight in the chair, wiped her eyes, and blew her nose again. “I should talk some things over with you. Do you mind?”

  With an “as you wish, Mrs. Hollis,” he inclined his head toward her, his expression once again unreadable.

  “I suppose you’re aware that the children and I will have to leave this house.”

  He did not deny that he’d listened at the door. Philip had often joked about it, declaring that spying was the reason Jensen knew more about the goings-on in this house than anyone else. “Yes, Mrs. Hollis.”

  “Do the other servants know about …?”

  Mercifully, he answered her question before she had to finish it.

  “Dr. Hollis was careful to conceal his … recreational activities from everyone in the house.”

  You mean, from everyone but you, Julia thought, barely able to stand the sight of the butler now. But she could not manage the house without him, so she swallowed her resentment and said, “The new owner is going to send over enough money to keep the house going for ten days. But is there enough money left in the household account now for our train and coaching fare to Shropshire?” She thought about Mr. Deems and wished she’d not been so hasty in handing over the fifteen pounds. No doubt it was wasted in a card game last night.

  “One would presume more than enough, Mrs. Hollis. There are twelve pounds left, plus some odd shillings. But I shall send for a railway timetable to be certain.”

  How can he stay so composed, Julia wondered, when this turn of events affects his life as well? While Jensen had never pretended anything but veiled hostility toward her, surely he had some misgivings about serving a new employer. He simply stood there awaiting further orders, his face its usual austere mask.

  “I don’t wish to interrupt the children’s lessons, but I should tell them as soon as they’re finished,” she said, rising to her feet. “Before word travels around the house. And if the servants ask why we are leaving, I would appreciate your not mentioning my husband’s debts. They’ll know soon enough after we’re gone.”

  Jensen nodded again. “That would seem appropriate, madam.”

  He held the door for her to leave the room, and she could feel his eyes upon her back as she walked toward the staircase. No doubt he’s gloating inside over his victory, Julia thought. Perhaps he’ll even dance a little jig when we’re gone. By the time she reached the bottom step, she could stand it no longer. She turned, and sure enough, he was still watching her from the open doorway.

  “I know you’ve never cared for me from the beginning, Jensen,” she said in a voice remarkably clear, considering her frame of mind. “Although I don’t understand why you should begrudge a seventeen-year-old girl for becoming mistress of the house. I never interfered with your authority—never.”

  He simply stared at her for several long seconds. When he finally seemed to be opening his mouth to reply, Julia did not allow him the opportunity to speak. “I’m not finished,” she said flatly. She had kept certain matters inside for too long now and needed to give them vent. “But no matter what grievance you have against me, I can’t imagine anyone being so callused as to have no pity for the children. They’ve just lost their father, and now their home. Will it make you happy to think of them living in poverty, Jensen?”

  She went on up the staircase, aware that she’d given him more cause to dislike her, but caring not one whit. In the nursery corridor she pressed her forehead against the closed door of the schoolroom. She could hear eleven-year-old Aleda’s muffled voice reciting the months of the year in French to her tutor.

  “Forgive me for my bitterness and doubts, Lord,” she prayed under her breath. “But I’m so afraid.”

  Having lived all her life under the provision and guidance of her parents and then her husband, Julia had never needed to depend upon God totally. Now she was learning a lesson in how weak her faith really was.

  A thought came into her mind then, something she supposed she’d heard in church. No matter how weak our faith, God’s Word still stands true. And it says you’re the Father to the fatherless. Please show me how to provide for your children.

  “Are we poor now?” thirteen-year-old Philip asked that afternoon as Julia and her children sat together in the day nursery’s window seat. Like his mother and Aleda, he had hair that became burnished copper in the sunlight shining through the glass. The cobalt-blue eyes were inherited from his father.

  Julia put her hand upon the boy’s shoulder. He was only a few inches shorter than her own five feet four now. Though the knowledge of her husband’s irresponsibility hurt more than any sickness she’d ever experienced, and their sudden plunge into poverty frightened her immensely, she managed to keep her tone of voice as encouraging as possible. “We won’t have servants or many belongings as nice as we have now. But you’re never poor if you have family and a place to call your own. And this Larkspur Inn belongs to all of us, from the ridge pole to the cellar.”

  “I don’t see why we can’t bring my piano,” Aleda said from Philip’s other side. “When the Simmons moved in next door, they shipped all their furniture from their old house in Yorkshire.”

  “I’ve explained that,” Julia told her patiently. She couldn’t fault the eleven-year-old for despairing of giving up her music. Aleda had a natural flair for the keyboard and had taken lessons for the past five years. “Perhaps one of our new neighbors will have a piano and allow you to play occasionally.”

  “Will there be other children?” asked Grace at Julia’s left. Grace was the only one of the children to inherit their father’s curly, chestnut brown hair, though like her older sister, she had Julia’s emerald green eyes.

  “I’m sure Gresham is full of children. And you’ll be able to go to school there. You’ll have many nice friends.”

  Aleda wrinkled her freckled nose. “I don’t think I’ll like going to school with country children. They seem rather dull to me.”

  “Why, you’ve never met any,” Julia admonished lightly. “I’m sure they’re no different from city children.”

  “And schools have competitions, and recesses when you can go outside and play,” Philip told his sister.

  Julia felt a pain knot up inside of her at the forced optimism in his voice. He was trying so hard to be the man of the family now, helping to encourage his sisters. How could she for even a second have considered allowing him to quit school to take on a job? We’ll take in washing, plant a garden … anything to keep him from giving up his education.

  “But why can’t you sell that old house so we can stay in London?” Aleda pressed.

  “Because it would be almost impossible to sell.” Julia gave the children a brief e
xplanation of the coaching inn business decline, as told to her by the bankers. “But just because no one else wants it doesn’t mean it won’t make a lovely home. And think of all the room we’ll have to potter about.” Aleda’s shoulders sagged, and Julia knew she was thinking of the neighborhood friends she would be leaving.

  “It’s too bad your jewelry is gone,” the girl finally sighed. “You could have sold it like Charmagne Courtland did when the Duke of Torbay tried to take her land. Then we could stay here.”

  “Charmagne Courtland?” Julia frowned. One of the nanny’s duties was to read to the children at bedtime, but reading had never been Frances’s favorite activity—unless it was a serialized story from a magazine. “Has Frances been reading magazines to you again?”

  “Well, sometimes,” the girl admitted, lowering her green eyes.

  “She says the storybooks are too boring. You won’t scold her, will you? She won’t allow us sweets when she’s angry.”

  “I’m only going to speak to her about it.”

  “Will Frances come with us?” Grace asked.

  “Why, no, dear,” Julia said patiently. “We won’t have any servants.”

  “Then who’s going to tuck us in?” Genuine worry crossed the child’s heart-shaped face, which saddened Julia more than any of the children’s other reactions to her news. Did Grace actually believe her own mother incapable of providing the nurturing that heretofore had been dispensed by a hired servant? But Frances made it clear I was in the way, she rationalized yet felt no better.

  What kind of mother allows a servant to dictate how much time she may spend with her own children? she asked herself, already knowing the answer. A childish, silly one!

  Reminding herself that her self-accusations could be saved for a sleepless night, Julia touched Grace’s cheek. “I’m going to be tucking you in from now on. All of you.”

  “You, Mother? And read to us?”

  “Every night, Grace.” The smile that lit the little face made her feel better. Yet Julia couldn’t bring herself to tell the children they would be spending most of their waking hours on their own in that unfamiliar house while their mother worked long hours in the cheese factory or on a dairy farm. First, she had to allow them time to adjust to the idea of leaving home.