The Jewel of Gresham Green

by Lawana Blackwell

  That was so. She had known it all along in her head, but her heart was willful.

  “You’re fortunate to have your parents,” he said. “I would give anything in the world to have mine.”

  Now Loretta’s eyes misted. As infuriating as her father could be, she could not imagine life without either parent. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Hollis. The only thing I’m grateful for is that they did not live to see what a mess I made of things.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He sighed. “I had started up a little import business. It was going well, but you can’t up and leave it in the hands of managers and expect them to have the same visions. But no regrets! My uncle comes first.”

  “I admire your loyalty.”

  “My uncle has always been loyal to me.”

  A thought sparked in Loretta’s mind. Would it be indelicate to voice it? She’d told him practically her whole life story. Why would he resent her delving into his?

  “Please don’t take offense, but . . .”

  “What is it, Mrs. Hollis?”

  She hesitated.

  “There is nothing you can say that will offend me,” he said. “We are kindred spirits. I believe fate had a hand in our meeting, as well.”

  She smiled and thought what a difference having a friend made. But still delicately, she said, “You’re your uncle’s only heir . . . correct?”

  “I would give it all up if it would buy him renewed health.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen,” she said gently.

  He ran a hand through his dark hair. “Yes, you’re right.”

  “It would surely comfort him to know that he’ll leave you the means to restart your business.”

  “The business is beyond repair. Even after mortgaging my family home. I may as well have burned the money in the fireplace.”

  “Oh dear. But . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “At least your inheritance will pay off your mortgage?”

  “And more. It’s just maintaining the monthly payments that—”

  He stopped, gaped at her with a horrified look. “Mrs. Hollis, this is unforgivable.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’ve taken advantage of your kind sympathies in a most ungentlemanly way!” He took his hat from his knee and got to his feet. “I will trespass upon your company no longer. Good afternoon, dear lady.”

  “Wait!” She rose, caught up with him at the gate, and put a hand upon his sleeve. “You said fate had a hand in our friendship. You’re going through a trying time, and so am I. May not friends bare their hearts to each other?”

  “Oh, Mrs. Hollis,” he groaned. “But a man has his pride.”

  “I led you into the discussion . . . remember? But if it humiliates you, we’ll speak no more of money.”

  “Thank you. You are too good for this earth, Mrs. Hollis.”

  “My husband would argue with you there,” she said dryly. “Will you call again tomorrow?”

  He gave her an incredulous look. “You would wish me to?”

  “Yes. You may even bring the cake.” She smiled. “Though I fear this friendship may be too fattening.”

  He took up her hand and kissed it. “Then I shall bring strawberries.”

  She wished tomorrow were already there, but a small worry nudged her mind. She bit her lip.

  “What is it?”

  Loretta hesitated. “My husband’s sister lives near Bartley Lane, and if she spots you entering the path . . .”

  He smiled understanding. “Say no more. I played in these woods as a child, and there are bridle paths running behind the house that connect with this one farther along.”

  “Not that we’re doing anything wrong,” she hastened to say, lest he assume she intended more than friendship. “But you understand . . .”

  “I absolutely do.” He kissed her hand again and took his leave.

  Her hand could still feel the faint pressure of his lips as she went upstairs to tear up the letter she had written to her mother. She had only entertained Mr. Gibbs’ sentiments over fate for politeness’ sake. But perhaps there was something to it after all.

  As Jewel prepared supper that evening, Doctor Hollis returned to the cottage bearing a parcel about the size of two loaves of bread.

  “I stopped off at Trumbles, and Mr. Sanders said it came in today’s mail. He was going to send out a notice in the morning for you to pick it up.”

  “For me?” Jewel said.

  Doctor Hollis grinned and set it upon the table. “Actually, for Becky.”

  “Me?” Becky said from the foot of the staircase, immediately putting Tiger to the side. “But what is it?”

  Even Mrs. Hollis came from the parlor. Doctor Hollis took a knife from the dresser and cut the string. “That’s for you to find out, don’t you think?”

  She tore into the paper with such joy that Jewel did not have the heart to instruct her to save it for future use, as she would have in leaner days.

  “Oh, happy, happy, happy!” her daughter cried at the dozen children’s picture books.

  There was a brief letter inside.

  Dear Mrs. Libby,

  After my return to London, I realized my publisher, Macmillan’s, also publishes children’s books. I pray you do not mind my taking the liberty of asking them to send Becky an assortment. I hope you and Becky are well.

  With highest regards,

  Gabriel Patterson

  “They’re from Mr. Patterson, mite,” Jewel said.

  “Oh, I like Mr. Patterson!” Becky piped, picking up book after book.

  Mrs. Hollis smiled. “He’ll never give up, will he?”

  “Give up what?” Doctor Hollis asked.

  “Well, trying to impress Aleda.”

  “I don’t think that’s his reason,” Doctor Hollis said.

  Whatever he meant, whatever the reason, the happiness in her daughter’s face prompted Jewel to write a note to Mr. Patterson that night, thanking him.

  And she could not wait to tell Miss Hollis of his kindness. She was still praying for that miracle.

  Chapter 29

  On Monday morning a week later, Jewel passed through the parlor with her basket of cleaning soaps and rags, to happen upon Mrs. Hollis and Becky seated together upon the sofa. Still in dressing gown, Mrs. Hollis read from a book of nursery rhymes while Becky held Tiger in her lap.

  “Solomon Grundy,

  Born on a Monday,

  Christened on Tuesday,

  Married on Wednesday,

  Took ill on Thursday,

  Grew worse on Friday,

  Died on Saturday,

  Buried on Sunday.

  That was the end of

  Solomon Grundy!”

  “What a morbid one!” Mrs. Hollis said with an exaggerated shiver, which made Becky giggle.

  As any mother, Jewel was pleased with any proper attention shown to her child. “That’s very kind of you, ma’am. But are you over your headache?”

  She had lain up with one all day yesterday. Jewel had overheard her insist that Doctor Hollis go on to church and dinner with his family without her, saying Jewel could stay to bring up a tray. Which she did.

  “I’m much better. I just feel like reading. She’s such a bright little sprite.” She waved a hand at Jewel. “Now, run along with you, so we may find some sunnier rhymes.”

  “I thought to pick some blackberries for tarts,” Jewel said. “Perhaps I’ll—”

  “Oh, Mummy!” Becky exclaimed, torn.

  “We’ll wait till tomorrow,” Jewel said. In a couple of hours she would have to prepare lunch, and then after Becky’s nap they would be off to the manor house. Supper preparations and cleaning up would take over the remainder of the day.

  “No, go with your mother,” Mrs. Hollis said, nudging the cat from Becky’s lap and helping her scoot forward on the sofa cushion. “We’ll resume where we left off another time.”

 
She was in the kitchen when Jewel came out of the pantry with the pail.

  “I’m almost tempted to go with you.”

  “Please do, ma’am,” Jewel said. “The woods are so peaceful.”

  “Perhaps some other time.”

  “If you change your mind, just follow the path to the left when it forks.”

  It was good to see her happy, Jewel thought as she led Becky up the dark, cool path. And yet her heart felt heavy. It was obvious her newfound happiness lay in Mr. Gibbs’ daily visits.

  From the evidence of tray and dishes left in the garden every afternoon, the two did not venture into the cottage. But for how long? And what of Doctor Hollis? She lived in the same cottage, and knew Mrs. Hollis had not informed him of these afternoon teas.

  They filled their pail, or rather, Jewel filled the pail and Becky filled her stomach. On their walk home, she realized she had not reminded Mrs. Hollis that it was laundry delivery day. But Vernon Moore usually came later in the morning, when she was starting lunch preparations. And so she was not surprised when the canvas sack did not rest beside the umbrella stand.

  “Let’s brush your teeth before they stay that way,” she said to Becky.

  “Yours are purple, too, Mummy.”

  Jewel laughed. “So we both can use some grooming.”

  When they reentered the kitchen, Mrs. Hollis had come downstairs trailing perfume, her fair hair pinned up into ringlets, her slender figure draped in blue silk with ruffled bosom and waterfall bustle. She admired the bucket of blackberries, which pleased Becky.

  “Shall we read some more while your mother prepares lunch?” she said.

  Jewel thanked her, happy for the distraction, for Becky’s eager help in the kitchen made it twice as difficult to cook.

  Today’s lunch would be salmon with caper sauce. She was beginning to enjoy experimenting with recipes as her confidence increased. It helped that Doctor Hollis usually took breakfast and lunch at the vicarage or at Doctor Rhodes’, and that Mrs. Hollis wanted only tea for breakfast, sometimes with toast. She and Becky were content with cheese and fruit in the mornings, with the two regular meals coming later.

  They ate far better than they had in Birmingham. And there were no rats in the walls! God had answered her prayer, and then some.

  As she dotted bits of butter onto the salmon in the pan, she could hear Mrs. Hollis’s voice from the parlor, faint, but clear enough for the words to be recognizable.

  “Mary, Mary, quite contrary,

  How does your garden grow?

  With silver bells, and cockle shells,

  And pretty maids all in a row.”

  An unsettling thought struck Jewel. While Mrs. Hollis had always been kind to Becky, today’s doting had almost a frantic feel about it. As if the hours lay so heavy that she felt pressured to fill them; the equivalent of pacing the floor. There could be only one reason: Mr. Gibbs would be calling again this afternoon. But why the agitation of nerves? What would be different?

  Two worrisome answers rushed into her mind. Did they plan to run away together? That did not seem probable, with the squire on the verge of dying.

  The other answer sent a shiver down her spine. Today would she not find the tray and cups in the garden chair? Would they bring indoors what appeared to be more than friendship?

  While running away together would be the more drastic action, there was something more repulsive and even sinister about the latter.

  You don’t know this to be for certain. She prayed, O God, please let me be wrong.

  But it did not seem that way, for when she and Becky went downstairs after Becky’s nap, Mrs. Hollis was actually pacing the kitchen.

  “Ah, there you are. I was just about to come up for you. Best be on your way . . . the squire’s waiting.”

  This could not happen. Jewel had to say something. She ushered Becky through the door.

  “Wait for me by the chairs.”

  “What is it?” Mrs. Hollis asked as Jewel closed the door.

  Jewel drew a fortifying breath, albeit a trembling one. “Mrs. Hollis, I’m more grateful for your kindness than you can know. But I feel I must say something.”

  “What is it?” Mrs. Hollis repeated.

  “My Norman was a simple bricklayer. But he would have died for Becky and me. And actually he did, to give us food and a roof over our heads.”

  “I’m sorry, Jewel. But why are you saying this?”

  “Because Doctor Hollis is a kind, decent man.” Jewel swallowed. “Far better than Mr. Gibbs, who pretends to love his uncle but barely looks in on him.”

  Mrs. Hollis’s lips thinned into a disapproving line.

  “I know I’m speaking out of turn. But it’s so hard to stand—”

  “That will be quite enough,” Mrs. Hollis said softly, but with tiny nostrils flaring. “You’ve been listening to servants’ gossip.”

  “I saw it for myself. . . .”

  “We each handle grief in different ways.” She went to the door, opened it. “Mr. Gibbs is hardly one to confide in his staff. I suppose I should appreciate your concern, but I will thank you to keep your opinion to yourself. Now, go make your visit.”

  “What’s wrong, Mummy?” Becky said as Jewel opened the gate.

  “I just needed to remind Mrs. Hollis of something important,” Jewel replied with a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

  “Will we move to another house?”

  “I don’t think so, mite.” If Mrs. Hollis were inclined to dismiss her, surely she would have done it on the spot.

  As they were about to turn onto Bartley Lane, Jewel heard, “Yoo-hoo! Jewel!”

  In the near distance, Mrs. Raleigh waved from the side of her garden, the younger children visible through the fence pickets.

  “You’re visiting the squire?” she asked when Jewel and Becky drew closer. “Would Becky care to play?”

  “We’re going to blow bubbles with hoops!” Claire enthused.

  “Bubbles . . . hoops!” Samuel echoed.

  Mrs. Raleigh motioned Jewel aside as the children chattered. “My parents stopped by on their way to see the squire. Doctor Rhodes said he could go any minute. It might not be good for her to be there.”

  “Oh dear. You’re very thoughtful.”

  Mrs. Raleigh nodded. “Just drop her off every afternoon. It won’t be that much longer. Anyway, she’s good for Claire and Samuel. They’re much calmer with an older child about, but I can’t ask John to give up playing with his friends all the time.”

  Jewel thanked her and hurried up the carriage drive. As much as it had seemed to comfort the squire to see Becky, she was too young to be exposed to dying. Vicar and Mrs. Phelps were coming down the manor house steps, toward a horse and trap tied to a post. Mrs. Phelps embraced her, and the vicar took her hand.

  “At last we meet, Mrs. Libby.”

  “How is your health?” she asked.

  “I’m almost fully recovered. In fact, I preached yesterday while you were with Loretta. It was good of you to take care of her.”

  “The squire’s still hanging on,” Mrs. Phelps said. “I’ve never see such strength of will.”

  A lightning-quick glance passed between husband and wife. They bade her farewell and moved toward the trap, but then Mrs. Phelps turned.

  “We wonder if we should look in on Loretta. We don’t want her to think we don’t care. Philip is working so Doctor Rhodes can be here, so we’ve not had the chance to ask if her headache is gone. But what do you think? Would now be a good time?”

  “No, ma’am,” Jewel said, and hoped not to be asked to explain. As much as she loathed lies, she feared she might slip into one. “This wouldn’t be a good time.”

  They thanked her and moved on. As Jewel knocked at the door, she wondered if she had given the wrong answer. This could possibly be the best day to visit. Surely Mr. Gibbs was with the squire. Surely even he would not abandon an uncle hovering on the brink of death.

  “In Nottingham there lives a
jolly tanner,

  His name is Arthur-a-Bland,

  There is never a squire in Nottinghamshire,

  Dare bid bold Arthur stand.”

  Donald sang softly, pleased with himself. He had made plenty of mistakes in the past, but all for all, if cleverness was worth as much as gold, he would be as wealthy as Midas.

  He was seriously considering theatre, once his life was reestablished. His good looks and talent would go a long way, given the right contacts. Had Ambrose Clay known Uncle Thurmond? Perhaps the actor would be caught up in the wave of sympathy soon to flow his way and agree to write letters of introduction.

  For his performance before Doctor Rhodes and Vicar and Mrs. Phelps had been nothing less than stageworthy. As the clock hands had neared the appointed time, he had put his increasing agitation to good use by kneeling by the old man’s bed and weeping profusely into his hands.

  “I’ve failed him in so many ways! I can’t bear the shame! Vicar, pray tell me . . . is it too late? Can God ever forgive me?”

  It was like dangling a worm before a carp. He had smiled into his hands at the touch upon his shoulder, the sound of the vicar’s gentle voice.

  “God will forgive anyone who truly seeks repentance, Mr. Gibbs. Why don’t you go off to a quiet place and pour your heart out to Him?”

  Wiping his eyes with his handkerchief, Donald had sniffed and said, in a touch of genius, “It has been my custom of late to walk among the trees, where I felt His presence so strongly as a young man.”

  And thus, his feet trod the path to the cottage.

  Manufacturing tears had been easy. All he had had to do was think of Reese.

  Reese!

  He blinked as new tears threatened. Reese, who would come begging when Donald became the toast of England. The thought stretched his lips into a bitter smile. He would ignore Reese’s pleas for forgiveness. For a while. Show the consequences of abandoning him. Ride around London in his uncle’s coach. Flaunt his fortune.

  But alas, his fingertips could not quite touch the money. Because of legal steps Mr. Baker must take, the will would not be executed for at least a fortnight into the old man’s stay in the ground.