Page 68 of Doing No Harm
Putting on her new bonnet required kitchen assistance, with Maeve shaking her head and retying the bonnet’s bow until it was located under her ear.
“I will look like a coquette,” Olive protested.
“And what is the matter with that?” Maeve asked, not about to be cowed.
“You know there is no one in Edgar to … to coquet for,” Olive insisted, even though she did like the effect in the mirror, when Maeve dragged her in front of it.
“Then call it practice,” her servant said, unperturbed.
The fishing fleet had already left for the day, but Olivestood a moment and looked toward the docks, and then beyond to the clean but quiet shipyard. She remembered the shipyard sounds and the fun of standing by the graving dock as the shipwright—long since gone to work in Glasgow—knocked away the wooden supports and the new fishing boat slid sideways into the water.
She thought of the extreme expense and wondered if Douglas Bowden was waving farewell to all of his retirement funds, whatever they were. “We just can’t do this,” she said out loud. “It’s one thing for me to go destitute in Edgar, but why should the surgeon who hadn’t even meant to spend any time here lose his shirt? I own that I have very cold feet right now.”
Mrs. Fillion turned her purposefully from the docks toward the bridge spanning the Dee. “I had a moment exactly like this, my dear,” she said, and started Olive in motion. “It was during the Peace of Amiens, when few ships sailed, and the officers were cast ashore on half pay. I needed to make some essential repairs to the Drake, which would drain my account.” She sighed with the memory. “And I had few lodgers.”
“Did you pray for a renewal of war?” Olive teased, happy to think of someone else’s misfortune for a moment.
“Very nearly!” Mrs. Fillion teased back. “I stood in front of my mirror and took a good look at a woman who had started out in the Drake’s kitchen as a scullery maid.”
“Surely not,” Olive murmured.
“Oh, yes. It’s a lengthy story, but the place became mine.” Her voice softened. “I stared just long enough to trust myself. I began the repairs and war was declared again a month later.”
“I suppose if Douglas Bowden wants to spend his money this way …” She let the words trail away. “He is helping us beyond any reason.”
“Have you ever considered that you and the people of Edgar might be helping him more?”
They were across the bridge now and walking toward Lady Telford’s manor. “Does he even know that?” Olive asked.
“You will have to ask him someday.”
There was no backing out now. Mrs. Fillion gave the doorknocker a sharp rap. Olive nodded to Maidie when she opened it. “We’re here.”
Maidie dropped a clumsy curtsy and led them down the hall. She opened the door on what was a bookroom. Seated behind the desk was Lady Telford, who scowled to see someone besides Olive.
“And who, pray, are you?” she asked, not rising.
“Nancy Fillion,” Nancy said. She gave a little curtsy. “I am a friend of both Miss Grant and Mr. Bowden, from Plymouth.”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” said a stout fellow dressed in unrelieved black. “I am Frederick Hornby, Lady Telford’s solicitor.” He indicated that they sit, when Lady Telford seemed disinclined to observe the courtesies.
He handed Olive a sheaf of papers. “Take a look through these if you wish, but I will draw your attention to the part of it that affects you and your tearoom.” He pointed to the page marked by a scrap of paper.
She began to read, touched at the generous provisions for the tearoom, where everyone and their family who labored in the boat works would eat for a mere penny each a day. Her hands nearly started to tremble, just looking at the monthly sum that would be hers to buy food. She had to dab at her eyes to see Douglas Bowden’s last stipulation. “Miss Grant, owner of the tearoom, will be paid an annual salary of fifty pounds a year, until such point as her depleted inheritance has recovered.”
“I think that is exorbitant,” Lady Telford said. “I tried to remind the surgeon that you had undertaken to spend your inheritance of your own free will and choice, but he wouldn’t have any of it.”
“Bravo, Douglas,” Nancy Fillion said under her breath, then turned innocent eyes on Lady Telford.
“Aye or nay?” the solicitor asked, his eyes merry, but only since his head was turned and he knew Lady Telford could not see his expression.
“I should really argue with Dou … Mr. Bowden,” Olive hedged.
“He would only ignore you,” Mrs. Fillion said.
“Aye, then,” Olive said. She sat there amazed at one man’s generosity. Until Douglas Bowden had come to town, she had faced certain ruin. Now she need fear for nothing. Still, this was only a portion of a much greater outlay, and she cringed inside that he would impoverish himself to help her. She thought of his kiss in the garden and felt the tiniest grain of hope.
“Very well,” the solicitor said. “Initial here and here, and I will incorporate this into the document.”
