The Widow of Larkspur Inn

by Lawana Blackwell

  In spite of the reasonable attitude she’d encouraged within herself since Vicar Wilson left, she now found herself fighting back a decidedly unreasonable tinge of resentment. It wasn’t the new vicar’s fault that Reverend Wilson had been transferred.

  In the fleeting second before the vehicle turned onto Church Street, she imagined she could see a couple of faces at the window peering at her from the interior. She lifted a hand to wave, just in case her imagination was not playing tricks on her. When the carriage could no longer be seen, she picked three more sprigs of mint and went back around to the courtyard door. “Here’s some garnish for the quince pudding,” she told Mrs. Herrick on her way over to the scullery to rinse the leaves.

  “Thank you, missus,” Mrs. Herrick nodded from the step stool she was standing upon at the worktable. “But I could ha’ asked Karl to fetch it.”

  “No need to do that.” Julia brought the mint leaves over to the table, where Mrs. Herrick carefully ladled Northseas Crimped Cod and Oyster Sauce from a copper pot into a serving platter. “Besides, I believe he’s fixing up a box in the lamp room for the kittens.”

  That brought a smile to the cook’s face. “I’ll warrant he’s got someone helpin’ him too,” she replied, scraping the pot for the last of the sauce.

  Julia had to admit she was right. Grace had scarcely left the kittens’ side since they were discovered yesterday morning.

  Mildred came from the dining room wearing her usual anxious expression. “I wonder if Mrs. Hyatt is feeling poorly today?” she said to Julia on her way to the worktable.

  “Why do you think that?”

  “She usually comes down to help me lay out napkins and silver, but I haven’t seen her all evening.”

  “That’s odd, all right.” No one would have dreamed of asking a lodger to help set the table, but Mrs. Hyatt had generously insisted upon doing so since her second day at the Larkspur. The elderly woman enjoyed being in the dining room early enough to greet the others as they arrived for meals and had no qualms about being seen performing servants’ work. “Would you like me to help you set the table?” Julia offered.

  “Thank you, ma’am, but it’s already done.” Mildred began sticking mint sprigs into the individual dishes of quince pudding. “It’s just that I’m a bit worried about Mrs. Hyatt.”

  “Well, everyone loses track of time now and then,” Julia told her, using two folded dish towels to pick up a tureen of mulligatawny soup. “I’ll take this on to the dining room. And don’t worry about Mrs. Hyatt. She’ll most likely be down with the others.”

  The others consisted of the lodgers, as well as Philip, Aleda, and Grace. The adults actually seemed to enjoy her children’s company at the long table, very likely because Julia did her part in insisting that the children keep silent during meals unless spoken to. As a child, she had gleaned much information about the world by listening to the conversations of adults and felt it would also be good for her own children.

  At five minutes of seven, the dining room began filling. At five minutes past, Mrs. Hyatt still had not presented herself.

  “Perhaps I should run upstairs and knock on her door?” Mr. Durwin offered.

  Julia eyed the side tables, groaning with dishes of chicken-and-leek pie, boiled beef and carrots, pickled onions, swedes, tomatoes, and Yorkshire pudding. Mildred, her cheeks glowing from the heat of the kitchen, waited to dish up bowls of mulligatawny soup at the sideboard.

  Meals were served à la Russe, with each person responsible for filling his or her own plate. It was likely that she could be downstairs with Mrs. Hyatt before the chairs were filled. “Thank you, but I’ll go. Mr. Durwin, if you would be so kind as to ask the blessing….”

  “We shan’t mind waiting,” spoke up Miss Rawlins.

  Mr. Clay echoed her sentiments. “We don’t mind at all.”

  “I’ll try to hurry, then,” Julia said gratefully. Three minutes later, she stepped from the first floor landing and stopped at the second door to her left. “Mrs. Hyatt?” she called, giving a gentle rap on the oak wood.

  There was no answer, though she imagined she heard a footstep. Julia was lifting her hand to knock again when the knob gave a faint creak. She took a step back as the door edged open wide enough to reveal a serious gray eye.

  “Is that you, Mrs. Hollis?” came a voice barely above a whisper.

  Puzzled, Julia nodded and whispered back. “Everyone is in the dining room now.”

  “Oh, dear. Would you mind sending up a tray?”

  “A tray, Mrs. Hyatt?”

  “Yes.” The eye blinked. “I’m afraid I’m rather stiff from the hike today.”

  Narrowing her eyes suspiciously, Julia peered down at the fragment of face before her. “You’ve been up and down the Anwyl dozens of times, Mrs. Hyatt.”

  There was a pause, and then, “I suppose my age is catching up with me.” The door opened another inch, exposing half of an apologetic smile. “Actually, I’ve a huge apple on my dresser that will make a lovely supper. Do run on down and join the others, dear.”

  Julia couldn’t fathom what was going on, but not for a moment did she believe that Mrs. Hyatt was feeling her age. Why, two months ago, the spry woman had turned her ankle against a loose stone on one of the footpaths that crisscrossed the Anwyl. Regardless of the pain, she’d still limped up and down the stairs afterward, in direct disobedience to Dr. Rhodes’ orders, and against the admonitions of practically everyone in the house.

  The need for a bit of solitude was something that Julia could understand, what with so many people living under one roof. But Mrs. Hyatt, bashful as she was, seemed to thrive upon the company of others. Remembering the appetites downstairs that were presently being held in rein by good manners, Julia leaned closer to the door. “May I come in, Mrs. Hyatt?”

  The eye blinked three times in rapid succession. “Come in? But the others …”

  “ … are only too glad to wait for you,” Julia finished, applying firm pressure to the door with the tips of her fingers. “May I?”

  She could hear a sigh from the other side as Mrs. Hyatt stepped back to allow her entrance. When they were face-to-face, the petite woman looked up at her with the expression of a young schoolchild who was about to be scolded for not completing an assignment. A slight tremor had even taken hold of her lips. Assuming her most non-threatening smile, Julia said, “If you truly wish to be alone, I understand. But I shan’t enjoy my meal for worrying about you.”

  “I’m simply tired,” Mrs. Hyatt replied, but her doe eyes lowered to focus somewhere in the vicinity of Julia’s chin. “You needn’t worry.”

  “Are you sure that’s all?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’ll send up a tray, then. An apple won’t hold you until morning.” Julia was about to turn and leave when a face flashed across her mind—one that wore a decided frown. Could it be … She reached out a hand to touch Mrs. Hyatt’s shoulder. “Has Mrs. Kingston said something to you?”

  Footsteps sounded in the hall. Julia turned to find Georgette framed by the doorway, her spectacles magnifying the confusion in her eyes. “Mrs. Hollis?”

  “Please ask the others to go ahead with their supper,” Julia told the girl. When they were alone again, she turned back to Mrs. Hyatt and lowered her voice. “Has Mrs. Kingston hurt your feelings?”

  “Perhaps it wasn’t intentional,” Mrs. Hyatt murmured with typical charity.

  Oh, I doubt that, Julia thought, tightening her lips to keep the words from escaping from them.

  Before Julia could advise her that the best way to handle the occasional nips from Mrs. Kingston’s tongue was to ignore them, Mrs. Hyatt looked up at her and blurted out, “Do you think I’m throwing myself at Mr. Durwin and making a spectacle of myself?”

  “She told you that?”

  Mrs. Hyatt’s soft cheeks turned pink. “She didn’t refer directly to me … but after our hike she said, ‘Isn’t it ridiculous the way some old heifers are so afraid to be
alone that they follow any available man around.’”

  Julia felt her own cheeks grow warm. “And so that’s why you won’t come down for supper.”

  “What must the others think of me?” the older woman glanced at the door and wrung her hands. “And Mr. Durwin … why, I feel such a fool.”

  Sighing inwardly, Julia reminded herself of Mrs. Kingston’s good qualities—how she’d kept her word about being agreeable, for the most part anyway. Why, the woman had become almost like a mother to poor Mr. Clay. She’s considerate of the servants and doesn’t complain about my children making noise outside or walking through the garden. And she was even a faithful member of the Women’s Charity Society, which met weekly to knit woolens for needy families. Why then, Julia wondered, did she feel the need to make so many negative comments to dear Mrs. Hyatt, who wouldn’t purposely hurt a soul?

  In an instant the answer came. Of course! Had she been too busy to notice what was going on under her own roof? Julia eyed Mrs. Hyatt seriously. “And why do you suppose Mrs. Kingston would say such a thing?”

  “Mr. Durwin was the one who initiated the conversation,” came out in a defensive tone, as if Mrs. Hyatt feared that Mrs. Kingston wasn’t the only one who believed her to be an aging coquette. “While Mrs. Kingston and I were strolling back down the Anwyl, Mr. Durwin caught up with us. He wanted us to see some herbs he’d collected among the ruins. Mr. Durwin believes that very type of herb was used by the Romans for toothaches.”

  Julia nodded thoughtfully. “And he didn’t show them to Mrs. Kingston, did he?”

  “Well, he was just about to. She was on my other side, you see, and Mr. Durwin to my left. But before he could hand the basket across to her, she began muttering something about not having the time to waste on a handful of weeds and took off ahead.”

  “Yes, I can imagine.” In fact, Julia actually could visualize the whole scene in her mind—Mrs. Kingston’s formidable figure bustling down the path, her expression as foreboding as March thunder. “And then later she accused you of pursuing Mr. Durwin.”

  Before Mrs. Hyatt could answer, Julia went on. “Have you asked yourself why Mrs. Kingston would say such a thing?”

  “Why?” the older woman echoed pensively. It was obvious from her tone of voice that she had not. “Perhaps she didn’t feel well?”

  Julia shook her head. “I suspect there is some jealously at play here.”

  “Jealousy?”

  “Haven’t you noticed that Mrs. Kingston seems to have some affection for Mr. Durwin herself?”

  “Why, I never noticed.” After a long moment’s thought, though, she nodded sadly. “But I believe you’re right, Mrs. Hollis. She does seem to light up at times when he’s around.”

  “And so when Mr. Durwin gave you some attention first …”

  “The poor dear!” Mrs. Hyatt exclaimed, raising a hand to her soft cheek.

  “Jealousy is a painful thing to suffer, Mrs. Hyatt.”

  “Why, I’ll have to reassure her that I have no intention of coming between the two of them.”

  At first Julia was satisfied with Mrs. Hyatt’s change of mood, until the true meaning of her words took hold. Folding her arms, she said, “But, Mrs. Hyatt, if you’re fond of Mr. Durwin, you shouldn’t have to step aside to spare Mrs. Kingston’s feelings.”

  Mrs. Hyatt just stood there, her flush deepening to a bright crimson.

  “There is nothing ridiculous about having affection for someone, no matter what your age,” Julia went on gently.

  “But what if he suspects how I feel about him?”

  Julia smiled. “Why, I imagine he would feel flattered.”

  “And Mrs. Kingston …?”

  “Isn’t betrothed to Mr. Durwin. You have as much of a right to enjoy his company as she has.”

  “Won’t she be terribly hurt if—”

  “If it becomes apparent that he prefers your company to hers?”

  The gray eyes lowered again. “Yes.”

  “Possibly so,” Julia answered. “But that will have been his decision. And your stepping aside won’t make Mr. Durwin any more or less fond of Mrs. Kingston.”

  Mrs. Hyatt’s brow knitted together as she considered this for a moment. “Things were so much simpler with my Adam,” she said in a voice colored with remembrance. “We were third cousins, and my family had taken it for granted ever since we were children that we would marry one day.”

  “A woman never forgets her first love, I suppose,” Julia said, and for a brief minute an image of Philip smiling lovingly at her brought a hollow ache to her heart. It was the first time she’d thought of him in weeks, and she forced the image from her mind.

  “I do so enjoy Mr. Durwin’s company,” Mrs. Hyatt went on to admit, her voice dropping to a near whisper again. “The things he has to say about herbs and nutrition. Well, I don’t understand some of it, but it’s very interesting.”

  Julia had to smile again. “Of course it is.” Then linking her arm through the older woman’s, she said, “Now, why don’t we go downstairs? I’m sure you don’t really want to have supper alone.”

  “No, I don’t,” Mrs. Hyatt smiled back. “Thank you, Mrs. Hollis. It is so reassuring to live in a house with such a capable person in charge.”

  The usual mealtime voices and clicks of silver upon china drifted from the dining room, muffled by the double doors. As Julia opened the one on the right, Mrs. Kingston’s voice could be heard above the rest.

  “Well, I don’t care how much education he has. His sermons will never hold a candle to Vicar Wilson’s … you just wait and see. There are some things that can’t be taught in ivory towers!”

  Julia felt ashamed of the resentment she’d felt in the kitchen garden toward the new vicar.

  “Pay her no mind,” Julia whispered to Mrs. Hyatt and received a grateful nod in return.

  “Why, we were afraid you weren’t coming,” Mrs. Dearing beamed from the table, while Mr. Durwin and then Mr. Clay rose to stand behind their chairs until Mrs. Hyatt and Julia could serve themselves.

  When everyone was finally seated, Mr. Durwin asked from behind his platter of boiled vegetables and fresh fruit, “Everything is all right, I trust?”

  Julia caught the meaningful glance he directed at Mrs. Hyatt and wondered if he had always looked at her in such a manner—right under her own unobservant nose.

  “Everything is quite all right,” Julia answered to deflect attention away from Mrs. Hyatt, who would likely need some time to settle into the table conversation. “Thank you for asking.”

  She glanced over at Mrs. Kingston, seated adjacent to Miss Dearing, but there was no expression on her face as she busied herself with her meal.

  “We were just saying that the new vicar should be moving in today,” Miss Rawlins said. “Reverend Phelps is his name. Degree from Cambridge.” To the “humph!” that came from farther down the table she cut her eyes to Mrs. Kingston and said, “It’s only the most prestigious university in the world!”

  Speculation about the new vicar continued as every meager morsel of information was chewed over thoroughly. Julia was curious about the new vicar too, as she was of any new face in Gresham, but after a while she found her thoughts drifting to the compliment Mrs. Hyatt had given her upstairs.

  She said I was capable! Julia had been too busy since arriving in Gresham to pause and take inventory of her skills … but could it be so? Mistakes she’d made, but none of them major. And everyone seems to feel at home here—even Mrs. Kingston. From the head of the table she looked at Philip and Grace to her left and at Aleda to her right. They were so caught up in listening to the adult conversation around them that only Aleda caught her eye and smiled. Julia smiled back. And most importantly, the children are thriving.

  Capability had crept up upon her unawares, it seemed, while she was laboring over linen inventories and choosing wall coverings. And it had come from God, she was certain, for He answered most of her prayers that way. Unobtrusively. Quietly.


  She smiled again, to herself this time. Six months ago, on her first night in the Larkspur, she had determined to learn to be content one day. She had naively assumed back then that one particular day would arrive hand in hand with the absence of any troubles. Now she realized that there would likely never be a trouble-free time in her life.

  For one thing, it was difficult raising children without a father, and trying to manage a business at the same time made it even more so. And Philip still seemed to distance himself from her at times, even though when asked he would insist that there was nothing wrong. Still, I’m more content now than I have ever been in my life. Perhaps it was because she had seen the hand of God mightily at work in her life, and now she knew she could trust Him with her present concerns as well. It was a safe, comfortable feeling, and one she prayed she would never take for granted.

  Chapter 21

  Philip’s vow to graduate from Gresham School as top student had not diminished over the summer months. Three weeks into a fresh school year, he found himself studying harder than ever and easily performing better than the other students in the sixth standard. Success was becoming such a habit that he felt no concern when the new vicar’s daughter, Laurel Phelps, walked into the classroom for the first time.

  The only impression that struck him was that she was pretty, with straight blond hair tied in a blue ribbon and dark brown eyes. Not that her appearance mattered, for with studying, fishing, and cricket taking up the bulk of his time, he had none left to think about girls. Philip glanced around at Jeremiah and Ben. Both faces watched with slackened jaws as she made her way down the row of desks on the opposite side of the classroom. I suppose they’ll be fighting over her now, he thought wryly.

  He heard a clunk and looked over at the girl again. She’d dropped a book on the floor beside her new desk, and just before kneeling to retrieve it, she happened to look over at him. A dimple appeared in her cheek as she gave him a quick bashful smile.