The Jewel of Gresham Green

by Lawana Blackwell

  Jewel shifted her weight upon her feet. If only there were a chair facing the sergeant’s desk so she would not have to stand there like a worker called up for slacking. If only Becky weren’t standing right beside her, taking everything in through wide eyes. But there was no way she would allow her daughter out of her sight.

  “Why would he be there, sir, if not to intimidate me? He knows I won’t leave Becky if he’s out there.”

  “Again I say, it’s no crime to stand in front of a building. And we didn’t give the owner your name when we spoke with him—for which you seem to have no gratitude.”

  “I’m grateful, sir. More than you can know. But my daughter’s safety outweighs even gratitude.”

  He sighed. “I’m not unsympathetic to your plight, Mrs. Libby. But the law—”

  “Then it’s the law that’s unsympathetic,” Jewel said, voice shaking from humiliation and desperation. “If I were the lord mayor’s daughter, I believe you would find a way around the law.”

  “Now, see here!”

  But what was there to see? She took Becky’s hand, walked back on Great Russell Street. The bells of Saint Mary’s chimed eight o’clock. Shop fronts and carriages blurred. She blinked salt tears.

  “Are you crying, Mummy?” Becky asked.

  “No.” Jewel sniffed, lowered herself to reassure her daughter. “Well, a bit. But you mustn’t worry.”

  Becky pressed hands against Jewel’s cheeks. The smallness and coolness were a balm. “He’s a bad man!”

  “No, Becky. He’s a good man. He’s just done a bad thing.”

  Visions tormented her, of losing her job, of turning Becky over to an orphanage just to put a roof over her head and food in her stomach. Father, please don’t let it come to that!

  “Will we go home now?” Becky asked.

  “Not now.” But where to go?

  Saint Philip’s snug vicarage appeared younger than the chapel in whose shadow it rested, but the worn stones had seen their share of decades. A round-faced housemaid led them through a narrow hallway and out to a compact garden where Mrs. Treves sat in dressing gown and slippers.

  “Why, good morning,” said the vicar’s wife, rising from a cast-iron bench. “I was just collecting my wits after the mad rush to send the children and Paul off to—”

  She paused, jade eyes meeting Jewel’s.

  “Mrs. Libby? What’s wrong?”

  Jewel opened her mouth but could not force out the words. Her eyes, however, had no difficulty producing tears.

  Mrs. Treves eyed her for a second, then stooped to touch Becky’s shoulder. “Mrs. Exter’s making gingerbread. Why don’t you go and watch?”

  The look Becky gave Jewel was half hope, half worry.

  “Go ahead, dear,” Jewel said, forcing a smile.

  Mrs. Treves nodded at the maid, who led Becky back into the house, saying, “Mrs. Exter bakes the best gingerbread in England, lamb.”

  “Now, come sit and tell me what’s happened,” Mrs. Treves said.

  With such kind prompting, Jewel spilled out the story. “If I still have a job, I’ll be docked yesterday’s and today’s wages. I’m barely hanging on as it is.”

  “Why haven’t you come to us before?” Mrs. Treves asked.

  “We were getting by. And you have so many parishioners worse off than us.”

  Mrs. Treves shook her head. “When Paul returns from his morning calls, I’ll ask him to deliver you to the factory and speak with your employer. Becky may spend the day here.”

  Jewel let out a relieved breath. But on the heels of that relief came a terrifying thought.

  “But what about tomorrow? And the next day? Mr. Dunstan’s never going away. I saw it in his eyes.”

  The maid returned with tea. Jewel took three sugars. Sympathy and sugar. Both immensely comforting, but what she needed was a solution.

  “You must stay here with us tonight,” Mrs. Treves declared. “However long it takes. Paul will help us figure out what to do.”

  Again, the swallowing of pride. But relief helped it go down easier.

  “How can I ever thank you?” Jewel asked, her voice thick with emotion.

  Mrs. Treves patted her arm. “You would do it for us.”

  “I—I would hope so.”

  “I know so,” Mrs. Treves said. “Which is not why we’re helping, mind you. It’s our Christian duty. But I’ve known you long enough to recognize the quality of your character, Jewel Libby. And I believe you would help anyone within your power to help.”

  It had been far too long since Jewel had heard anything so kind said of her. The words caused fresh tears to threaten her eyes.

  But she would hold them in, lest she lay yet another burden upon Mrs. Treves’ kind shoulders.

  Chapter 6

  “Can you go any faster?” Philip Hollis leaned out of the coach window and cupped his hand beside his mouth on the morning of the seventeenth of May. “I’ll pay double!”

  A snap of the whip and a jarring burst of speed jolted him back into his seat, tumbling his portmanteau to the floor. Fear that he would miss his sister’s wedding set his heart pounding as fast as the sixteen hoof beats against the macadamized road.

  His heart quickened even more when the Anwyl rose into view. Named from an old Celtic word for beloved, it was actually a hill of some five hundred feet. Soon the coach was turning up shady Market Lane. The shops were closed, unusual for a Saturday morning, but then, most villagers would be at the wedding.

  He took a half crown from his pocket and, when the village green came into view, pulled the bell rope. Alighting, he pushed the money into the cabby’s outstretched hand.

  The shadow of Saint Jude’s steeple stretched out across a green gilded with buttercups. As Philip ran, portmanteau thumping his side, lungs straining for breath, he prayed he would not be too late.

  “Will you, Grace Lilleth Hollis, take Thomas Norton Lang-ford as your lawfully wedded husband?” Andrew asked.

  “I will,” she answered.

  The couple stood at the altar hand-in-hand. They were a study in contrasts: she fair skinned, petite and dark haired, he tall, blond, bronzed by the sun.

  From the front row, Julia could see Andrew’s eyes shining. She glanced across the aisle at Thomas’s parents. Seth was blinking, Mercy wiping her eyes with a handkerchief.

  Thank you, Father, for happy tears.

  And some poignant ones. Laurel’s absence was felt, but five-month-old Abigail was too young to be taken halfway around the world. Philip and Loretta, while not hindered by great distance, had yet to appear by the time Grace was to walk up the aisle.

  When did you grow so distant, Philip? How easy it would be to blame Loretta, but he was old enough to make his own choices.

  Only when she heard the piano and violin’s opening notes did she realize Ira Johnson and his sister Helen had stepped up to the platform to sing.

  My love is like a red, red rose . . .

  Grace’s wedding day is not for brooding, Julia reminded herself.

  That’s newly sprung in June.

  My love is like the melody . . .

  That’s sweetly played in tune.

  “Uncle Philip’s here, Grandmother,” Elizabeth and Jonathan’s son John leaned over Aleda to whisper. “Standing in back.”

  “Did you hear?” Aleda whispered. Her mauve silk gown— the same she had worn for commencement at Newnham College four years ago—had a small scorch mark on the upper sleeve. But at least she had taken pains to iron.

  “Yes,” Julia whispered back, her heart filling with blessed relief.

  “I’d wager the prima donna’s not—”

  Julia silenced her with a shake of the head, and smiled up at Grace and Thomas, poised to take their vows.

  “With this ring, I thee wed,” Andrew said.

  “With this ring, I thee wed,” Grace echoed, smiling up at Thomas.

  Thomas expressed the same intent to Grace, and then Andrew pronounced them husband and
wife. “You may kiss your bride.”

  After a short, sweet, and smiling kiss, they marched back down the aisle, hand-in-hand, to Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.” Julia and her family followed, along with Seth and Mercy Langford and their daughter, twelve-year-old Amanda. In the vestibule, Philip was already embracing Grace, murmuring something to her, and then he shook hands with Thomas. He turned to Julia.

  “Mother.”

  A lump welled in Julia’s throat. But for the auburn hair, he could have been her first husband, staring at her through cobalt blue eyes. Yet he looked weary. Thinner. Older.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late,” he said.

  She took him in her arms, kissed his cheek. “But you’re here now.”

  “Forgive the stubble,” he said, rubbing his face. “I didn’t have time to shave.”

  She smiled and looked past him. “Where is Loretta?”

  He shook his head. By then, the vestibule was filled and Julia was swept up into post-ceremonial activities.

  Thankfully, an obliging sun and benign white clouds allowed benches to be set up on the green outside the village hall. Inside, tables groaned with food prepared by the cooks at the Bow and Fiddle: cold chicken, small minced veal pies garnished with rolled bacon, curried rabbit, new potatoes, cucumber salad, and baked macaroni with cheese.

  Julia and Andrew followed Seth and Mercy outside the door and arranged themselves with the married couple to greet guests. Parishioners and shopkeepers, servants and farmers, old friends and new filed by to clasp their hands.

  “I only caught sight of Philip,” Andrew leaned close to say during a gap in handshakes and best wishes. “Did you speak with him?”

  “Yes,” Julia replied. “He’s over there with the girls and Jonathan.”

  “Sans Loretta,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  He touched her elbow, concern for her in his hazel eyes. “It’s still a lovely day.”

  She smiled back at him. “A lovely day.”

  “Hernia surgery with complications,” Philip explained to Elizabeth and Aleda. “My train arrived in Birmingham too late to catch the one to Shrewsbury yesterday evening.”

  In his arms he held Samuel, whom he had not seen since Christmas, when he came up for the day to deliver gifts. Claire stayed close to her mother’s skirt but did peek out to give Philip a timid smile.

  Elizabeth’s expression softened. “Did the patient come through all right?”

  “He did.”

  Aleda’s green eyes were still hard. “Did Loretta have to perform surgery, as well?”

  “She would have liked to come,” Philip said, ignoring the hurtful barb. “But she woke with a severe headache.”

  “Well, there you are!”

  Philip felt a pounding on his back. Jonathan Raleigh grinned, eleven-year-old John at his side.

  “How long has it been?” asked Jonathan.

  Philip’s insides tightened.

  “Five months,” Aleda said sharply. She turned and walked away.

  “She misses you,” Elizabeth said softly, taking Samuel from his arms, setting the boy’s feet upon the ground. “We all do.”

  “I’m sorry. I miss all of you, too.”

  His stepsister smiled, but there was an aching doubt in her eyes. “We need to feed the children now.”

  “Will you join us?” Jonathan asked.

  Philip eyed his mother and Andrew, greeting guests at the door.

  “Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”

  Of truth, he was ravenous. However, his reluctance to face his stepfather was stronger than his hunger.

  “Hello, young man” came a familiar voice from behind.

  Philip turned, smiled. “Doctor Rhodes. How good to see you.”

  “And you’re a sight for sore eyes.” The stoop-shouldered old man rested a hand upon his back. “Might I have a word with you?”

  After the feast, when guests began filtering away, Thomas turned to Julia and Andrew, and cleared his throat.

  “I want you to know I shall always take good care of her.”

  Julia embraced her new son-in-law. “Yes, Thomas, we know you will.”

  The married couple was about to face their first separation. Thomas left with his parents and sister to change his clothes and finish packing. Grace and her family returned to the vicarage.

  In Grace’s bedroom, Elizabeth began unfastening two dozen pearl buttons running up the back of the wedding gown while Aleda gathered last-minute items such as toothbrush and comb into a valise—the trunk was already loaded onto the coach Squire Bartley had lent for the journey to Shrewsbury Station.

  For Julia’s part, she simply propped weary feet upon a footstool and watched her daughters interact.

  “You’re not . . . afraid, are you?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Of Scotland?” Grace asked with a little glint in her emerald eyes.

  Julia smiled to herself.

  “No, of—” Elizabeth glanced sideways at Aleda. “Would you mind stepping outside for a minute?”

  “Heavens, Beth,” Aleda said. “I haven’t lived in a cave for twenty-six years.”

  “You would like to have,” Elizabeth said with a little laugh.

  “Now, there’s a happy thought,” Aleda replied. “Mother explained all that business to me when I was fourteen. But you’re embarrassing Grace.”

  Grace shook her head. “I’m not embarrassed. As Mother said, all God’s gifts are good. My only fear is of missing the train.”

  Elizabeth resumed unfastening buttons, and Aleda went over to the bed and picked up Grace’s going-away gown, of yellow cambric with narrow white stripes and knife-pleated trim at the bottom of the skirt. She and Elizabeth helped Grace slip it over her head.

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs, a knock, and then Philip’s voice. “Please inform Cinderella her coach awaits.”

  “Almost ready!” Elizabeth called, combing Grace’s mussed curls while Aleda fastened buttons.

  Philip’s voice came again after a pause. “May I come in?”

  “No!” Aleda replied.

  “Yes!” Grace called.

  The door opened. He entered, smiled at his youngest sister. “I hope Thomas tells you every day how beautiful you are.”

  “He already does,” Grace said, and opened her slender arms and took a step toward him.

  Philip made the rest of the distance, gave her a quick squeeze and peck on the lips. “Don’t want to detain you. I’m sorry I haven’t had the chance to get a gift.”

  Aleda frowned and opened her mouth. Julia sought in vain to catch her eye. But before whatever recrimination could be let out into the room to spoil this bit of family harmony, Philip withdrew an envelope from his pocket and pressed it into Grace’s hand.

  “Please buy something . . .” His voice broke, and he looked away for a second.

  “Thank you, Philip,” she said softly.

  He smiled at her again. “. . . something nice for yourselves on your trip.”

  The family stood outside the gate to wave the couple down Vicarage Lane—even Dora, Wanetta, and Luke, though they had been given the remainder of the weekend off. When they were out of sight, the men and John started setting up the badminton net. Aleda announced she would return to her cottage.

  “You’re leaving?” Elizabeth said.

  “I’ve a story to finish.”

  “I’d like to speak with you,” Julia said, and turned for the vicarage, trusting she would follow. As they stood in the vestibule, she took her daughter’s hand and said gently, “We can’t have hard feelings at him for not visiting, but then treat him harshly when he does.”

  “He could have made her come with him.”

  “How? Bound her in chains? This isn’t the sixth century. And she had a headache.”

  Aleda let out a bitter laugh. “That’s up for debate. How long will we allow her to spit upon our family, Mother?”

  “We won’t allow that. But she has not crossed that line so far.
Please bear in mind Philip’s caught in the middle. Have some pity for him.”

  “He put himself in that position.”

  “Then have some pity for me,” Julia said, touching her arm softly. Tears pricked her eyes, born of all the emotions of the day. “I’m caught between two children I love more than life itself.”

  Aleda’s frown wavered. Her expression softened. “I never thought of it that way.”

  “I understand that.”

  “But I’m still going home.”

  Julia closed her eyes, felt the tears course down her cheeks. Then Aleda’s fingers brushing them away.

  “To change my clothes, Mum. I can’t play badminton in this.”

  Julia laughed. “You’re a good daughter.”

  “I have my moments,” Aleda said, heading for the door. Over her shoulder she said, “Anyway, I’m rather glad the prima donna’s not here. I just didn’t want you to be hurt.”

  Julia shook her head as the door closed. But how could she have chided Aleda anyway, when she herself was glad they had Philip all to themselves?

  She wondered much later, when the game was over and Philip and Jonathan raced around the net with Samuel and Claire up on their shoulders, if Loretta’s presence would have put a damper on the fun.

  But Philip would have been happier, she thought.

  Would he? He seemed very much at ease now.

  Until Andrew spoke his mind in the parlor that evening as he, Philip, and Julia sat with dishes of leftover wedding cake.

  “Have we done something to offend Loretta?”

  “Of course not,” Philip replied. “She loves all of you.”

  He was too adamant on this point, almost as if trying to convince himself, as well.

  “She barely knows us,” Andrew said.

  Stop, Andrew, Julia urged with her eyes. Yet how could he, when she had poured out her heart to him over this matter so many times? Like Aleda, he wished to protect her.

  “She didn’t plan on a headache.” Philip set his dish of half-eaten cake upon an occasional table with a sharp click. “You know, you could visit us once in a while.”

  They had, less than a year after the wedding. Never had Julia felt so unwelcome in a house. Philip had been gracious, but fair or not, it was the woman who set the tone of a house. The few times Loretta had consented to occupy the same space with them, it was as if she had sent her body in for duty’s sake but left her mind in another room. Questions put to draw her out had been answered in monosyllables, unless she was boasting about her parents’ social status and wealth.