A Week in Brighton

by Moore, Jennifer

  Heat exploded on Daphne’s cheeks. “Sarah, that was . . .” She didn’t dare to look up at Mr. Grande for fear she’d meet his gaze.

  “Ah yes.” He cleared his throat. “I imagine so . . .”

  Daphne prayed for a distraction. Anything at all to save her from the humiliation of this conversation.

  A voice behind her immediately made Daphne wish her prayer had been more specific. “Yoo-hoo! Miss Dayley, Mr. Grande!” Daphne braced herself as Mrs. Libby hurried over, lavender ruffles fluttering around her.

  Mr. Grande stood. “Lovely to see you again, Mrs. Libby.” He helped her to sit in his vacated spot on the blanket.

  “Oh, thank you, Mr. Grande. Sarah, Daphne, how do you do this afternoon?” she asked. “Oh, and Little Ronald,” Mrs. Libby went on without waiting for the other women to reply. “Isn’t he growing so fast?”

  Daphne handed the baby into Mrs. Libby’s outstretched arms.

  “Wonderful day for a picnic, is it not, Mr. Grande?” Mrs. Libby asked.

  “It is indeed,” he said.

  “And where would we be without your help, sir? Mrs. Eddings would still be carrying crates of preserves, and Mrs. Johnson was just thrilled with how you arranged her quilt display.” She turned to Daphne. “He has been here all afternoon, assisting with the preparations.”

  “How thoughtful,” she said. She was surprised to find she meant it.

  “If you please, ladies”—Mr. Grande reached out a hand—“I was hoping Miss Dayley would join me for a promenade about the green.”

  “That sounds lovely.” She took his hand and allowed him to help her to her feet.

  “Oh!” Mrs. Libby clapped her hands, and Sarah snatched away the baby before the vicar’s wife could drop him in her excitement. “Don’t the two of you look nice together?” She smiled fondly between Daphne and Mr. Grande. “Getting along well, are we?”

  “I—” Daphne began. She heard a snort and narrowed her eyes at Sarah’s poorly restrained laughter. Sarah pressed her fingers over her mouth.

  “I hear there will be dancing at the assembly hall this Saturday. It’s been a long time since we had an assembly, but I suppose with summer on the way, and all the tourists who will be joining us, it is time again . . . though I don’t care for dancing myself. I do hope the two of you will attend.”

  “Perhaps,” Daphne said. “Excuse us.”

  Mr. Grande tucked her arm beneath his. “Good day, ladies.” He tipped his hat. and they started off toward the road.

  “And shan’t you make a fine-looking couple?” Mrs. Libby continued, raising her voice so they could hear as they drew further away. “With your figure, Daphne, and Mr. Grande’s broad shoulders, I dare say, you will be quite the . . .”

  “Do you still long for a community, Mr. Grande?” she asked as Mrs. Libby’s voice trailed off behind them.

  He threw back his head, laughing heartily. “I shall certainly never worry about life becoming dull.” He laughed again. “And she’s right, we are a fetching couple.”

  Daphne slapped his arm, her cheeks heating at the tease in his voice. She needed to do something about all this blushing. She hadn’t realized it was a problem until Mr. Grande came along.

  “In truth, Daphne, I find every member of this town to be absolutely endearing,” he said in a more serious tone.

  Daphne started. “What did you say?”

  “Well, some of the townsfolk are . . . unconventional, but they mean well. And their quirks are charming.”

  “No, I . . . I was just surprised that you called me by my Christian name.”

  “Oh, did I?” he asked. “I beg your pardon. I didn’t realize I had taken such a liberty.”

  “I don’t mind.” Why did she feel so uncertain? Where had all this shyness come from? And had her cheeks developed an ailment that kept them permanently warm?

  “Well, I’m glad you take no offense,” he said. “I believe friends should call one another by their names.”

  “Are we friends, sir?”

  He slowed his steps, turning toward her. “Daphne, I consider you to be one of my very dearest friends. I do hope you think of me in the same light.”

  She tried to think of something witty to say, but her thoughts had become confused by the warmth in his voice. “I—” Hearing men’s raised voices, she looked ahead, then pulled on his arm. “Mr. Grande, let’s turn around now.”

  “Arthur,” he said.

  “What? Oh yes, Arthur.” She walked completely around him, turning him in a circle, and started back along the road in the opposite direction. “I should like to avoid those men.”

  He glanced back over his shoulder. “Oh?”

  “Jim Garrick is not a nice person when he’s been drinking,” she said.

  “Garrick?” He looked back again. “Weren’t you the one who defended him when Mr. Simper had him dismissed from the hotel?”

  “I was extremely angry with you at the time,” she said. “And I do worry for his wife, with him out of work.” She pointed to where Sally Garrick stood with a group of women. “That is her there, in the tan-colored dress. She’s a delicate sort. Very quiet.”

  Arthur looked in the direction of the woman and then back toward Jim Garrick and his friends. “Young, isn’t she?”

  “She is. Much younger than her husband.”

  She felt more relieved the further they got away from the loud men. “Mary told me about the vandalism to your property. She was very worried about Mr. Fawcett.” She glanced up at him. “Do you suspect Jim?”

  “Well, I rather suspected you,” he said. “But I imagine your lettering to be much neater, as well as your spelling of profanities.”

  “If it had been me, I’d have signed my name, leaving you with no doubts.”

  “Good of you.” He nodded, his lips twitching. “In truth, I have no reason to suspect Mr. Garrick, but Mr. Simper believes it could be him. He says Garrick is just the type to do something like that.”

  A cool feeling of foreboding made Daphne shiver. “He’s definitely the type. I hope you’ll be careful.”

  “If I need a bodyguard, I’ll send for you.”

  “Do be serious, Arthur,” she said. “A dangerous man threatened you. I hope you do not take it lightly.”

  A boy ran up to them when they approached the green. “Mr. Grande, we need you to finish our game.”

  He smiled. “If you’ll pardon me, Daphne. This match is very important.” He winked and started away after the boy, but he turned back. “And I plan to walk you home tonight, if that is agreeable?”

  “Thank you.” She hurried away to hide her blush.

  Once she was certain Mrs. Libby was otherwise engaged, Daphne returned to the blanket beside Sarah. They watched Arthur and the children play, and she considered how the man had become an important fixture in her life in such a short while.

  As much as the townsfolk bothered her at times, she still loved them, and she had worried that once away from Sarah and Mrs. Libby, Arthur would say something insulting about them. It was one thing for her to be frustrated with her people, but quite another for a newcomer to be. But he hadn’t been. Even when she’d given him the chance. He really did love Brighton and its people.

  She watched him lift a child up onto his shoulders when the boy made a good play. The other children cheered, and Daphne thought her heart might melt.

  ***

  That evening, Daphne strolled with Arthur along the Steine. The wide road was a fashionable promenade that passed in front of the prince regent’s Royal Pavilion. But while the tourists were away, the locals enjoyed it as a pleasant thoroughfare. The pair had stayed at the picnic much later than Daphne had intended. Apparently Arthur was not one to leave when there were still people to assist with the after-party clean up. The longer she knew him, the more she discovered to admire about Arthur Grande. “How did you find the Annual Ladies’ Auxiliary League Spring Picnic?” she asked. Aside from the tapping of his walking stick, her voice was
the only other noise on the street.

  “I loved every moment of it,” Arthur said.

  “Even the moments when Mrs. Libby recruited you for the bell-ringer’s luncheon?”

  “Especially those,” he said with a wide grin. “She does have a way of convincing a person to do things.”

  “And you have a way of not refusing.”

  “I fear you’re right,” he said. “I shall have to work on that.” He sighed. “And wasn’t Little Ronald a wonder? So perfect and so tiny. He seemed to prefer me, I think.”

  “Yes.” She smiled at his enthusiasm for the baby. “You were the one who tickled him the most.” They turned to walk along a smaller road toward her house.

  “Do you imagine you’ll be at the assembly?” Arthur asked. “I would very much like to dance with you.”

  “Perhaps.” She was glad for the evening shadows that hid her face. “You shall love Brighton in the summer, Arthur. The theaters open, and there are cricket games and . . .”

  Her voice trailed off at the sound of raised voices. The noise made her uneasy. “We should take a different route,” she said.

  A man yelled, and though she could not make out the words, she knew by their tone that he was angry. Daphne pulled on Arthur’s arm, wanting to get away.

  A woman screamed, and instead of moving away, Arthur ran toward the sound.

  Daphne followed.

  The sound led them behind the lodgings in a neighborhood that Daphne knew to avoid. Jim Garrick stood in a narrow alley, his fist raised. Below him, his wife, Sally, was on the ground. The woman cowered away, holding her cheek. Their children were crying.

  Arthur wasted no time. He charged at Garrick, grabbing him around the waist and knocking him off balance. He twisted the man’s raised fist behind his back and held him tightly.

  Daphne knelt beside Sally, pulling away her hand to see the damage to her face. The woman’s cheek was swollen and red, her lip split open and bleeding. “Oh, mercy.” She could not believe a husband being so cruel.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Garrick bellowed, turning his head to see who held him. “You’ve no right to interfere in my business.”

  “Sir, I can hardly stand by and allow you to assail this woman.” Arthur spoke calmly, but there was anger beneath his tone.

  “Assail?” Garrick squirmed, trying to get his arm free. “She’s my wife. I have every right to—”

  Arthur pulled the man’s arm tighter, and Garrick’s words stopped as he gasped in pain.

  Daphne used a handkerchief to wipe the blood. She brushed the strands of hair out of the woman’s face. “Sally, do you have somewhere to go tonight?”

  She nodded, glancing toward her husband with fearful eyes. “My sister’s.”

  “We’ll make sure you get there safely,” Daphne said.

  “Lad, fetch a constable,” Arthur said. His voice was commanding, but he still managed to sound kind.

  “Go on, Davy,” Sally said.

  Davy ran off, and the other boy rushed into his mother’s arms.

  “Get yer hands off me.” Garrick grunted. “You have no right.”

  “That’s enough, sir.” Arthur said.

  Mr. Garrick let loose a string of profanities that made the young boy cover his ears and his wife’s sobbing increase.

  Constable Humphries arrived with Davy.

  He looked around the alleyway, taking stock of the situation. “Shoulda known it would be you, Garrick.” He sighed. “Had a few too many again, I see.” He took Garrick’s other hand, slipped a cuff onto it, tightening the pin, then motioned for Arthur to release the other so he could cuff that wrist as well. “Come along, then. We’ve yer usual cell all ready.”

  “Not many would have interfered,” Constable Humphries said to Arthur. “Glad you did, sir. Don’t often see these situations end happily.”

  “I’m happy to help, Constable,” Arthur said.

  “You’ll see to Mrs. Garrick and the lads, Miss Dayley?” the constable asked.

  “We will.” She helped the woman to stand.

  The constable tipped his hat and gripped the back of Garrick’s collar to lead him away.

  “You have no right, Grande,” the cuffed man yelled. “This is my family, and I won’t forget what happened here—”

  “Ah, stop yer yellin’.” The constable gave a shove, making him stumble.

  Daphne felt ill. Jim Garrick was certainly the type to hold a grudge, and with the man’s propensity toward violence . . . She shuddered, fearing he would seek revenge on Arthur.

  Once Sally and her children were safely delivered to her sister, Daphne and Arthur turned their steps back toward her house.

  “I must say, this was a very eventful day. I am utterly exhausted, and I imagine you are as—”

  Daphne slid her hand into his, and his words stopped.

  He glanced down at her and gave her hand a squeeze, one corner of his mouth pulling in a smile.

  “I’m frightened for you, Arthur,” Daphne said.

  He squeezed her hand again. “While I appreciate the sentiment, there is no need for it.”

  “But you heard Jim Garrick. He is likely to seek revenge.”

  Arthur shook his head. “Men like Garrick will hurt people weaker than themselves because they are cowards. I do not fear him at all.”

  She considered what he said, wishing the words would soothe away her worries, but they did not. “Most people would have run the other direction,” she said. “You are a good man, Arthur.”

  They stopped in front of her door.

  “Am I?” he asked. “Did you not call me the most infuriating man you have ever met?”

  She smirked. “Well, you still are that.”

  “Oh, that is a relief,” Arthur said. “I should not like to lose that distinction.”

  “I do apologize for the things I said and the judgments I made before I knew you. I was hasty and prejudiced.” She held his hand in both of hers. “You really are all the things everyone believes about you.”

  “I assure you, I am not perfect, Daphne.”

  “Well, I intend to apologize all the same. I’m sorry for yelling at you and for calling you a cold-hearted tyrant.”

  “You did not call me a cold-hearted tyrant.” His lips twitched.

  “Well, perhaps not to your face.”

  Arthur chuckled. He leaned his walking stick against her doorframe and lifted her gloved fingers to his lips.

  Daphne’s breathing stopped, and her heart pounded. When Arthur’s gaze held hers, the intensity in his eyes made her throat go dry.

  “Good night,” she said, opening her door and hurrying inside. She kept her gaze averted from his. “I’ve a big order tomorrow and need to begin early.”

  “Until tomorrow, then.”

  Daphne closed the door and stood still in the darkness as her breathing and heartbeat returned to normal. Something had changed in that moment when Arthur looked into her eyes. Something bigger than she could fathom. Could anything ever be normal again?

  Arthur kept a watch on Our Dayley Bread as the day progressed. Even from the worksite, he could feel a heaviness in the air, and whether or not it was simply a projection of his own emotions, he wasn’t certain. The little shop appeared to have more customers than usual today as people made their final purchases and said farewell.

  In the late morning, Mary walked outside with a customer, giving the woman a warm embrace, then wiping her eyes before returning into the bakery.

  Arthur felt a pang of sadness and wondered how Daphne was managing. He was certain she maintained a steady pace, smiling, working, and stoically pushing down her own emotions. He debated whether or not he should go to her but decided he would wait and allow her privacy this morning.

  A warmth burst in his chest each time he thought of their parting the night before. Her blush and her worry for him. The feel of her hand in his as they walked. Though it was impossible to believe, after only a week, he was smitten w
ith Daphne Dayley.

  Finally, midday drew near, and Arthur walked with Mr. Fawcett to have a final meat pie. He felt a bittersweet pang at the sound of the bell over the door.

  Mary waved from behind the counter. Her eyes were red, but she still gave a bright smile. “Mr. Grande, Mr. Fawcett. Good day to you, gentlemen!”

  “Good day.” Arthur glanced at the hook by the door and saw Daphne’s bonnet.

  “Hello, Mary.” Mr. Fawcett tipped his hat. “Oh, chicken pies today. My favorite.”

  “I prepared a special meal just for you.” Mary pulled out a plate of pies and muffins from behind the counter for her favorite customer.

  Mr. Fawcett took his plate to the table and immediately began eating, but Arthur remained at the counter to talk to Mary. “How is Miss Dayley managing today?” He kept his voice low, not wanting Daphne to overhear and think he was meddling in her affairs.

  Mary’s expression turned serious. “As you might imagine, sir. She puts on a strong face, but it is difficult.” She ran her hand over the countertop. “Lot of memories in this place. For Daphne, it must feel like severing a link with her parents.”

  Arthur nodded, his throat feeling tight as he glanced up at the portrait of Daphne and her family behind the counter.

  “She’s preparing your order today,” Mary continued. “Wants to do all of it herself. I think the poor dear needs something to keep her mind and hands busy.” She glanced back toward the kitchen, shaking her head. “All that kneading . . . she’ll be sore tomorrow.”

  Arthur took his seat but stood up after only a moment when Daphne came out of the back room. Flour dusted her hair and apron. “I thought I heard you,” she said. “Do sit down, gentlemen. How do you do today, Mr. Grande?”

  He scrutinized her face, trying to determine her state of mind, but her expression was closed. “Very well.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. And Mr. Fawcett?”

  The older man dabbed a bit of gravy from his lip with a napkin. “Splendid, Miss Dayley. These chicken pies are delicious. I may just have another.”

  Daphne smiled, and even though it was a very small thing, it relieved Arthur greatly. “Please tell Mary if you need anything at all. If you’ll excuse me, I still have a lot of work to do for your order, Mr. Grande.”