Page 16 of If I Loved You
Within minutes, Emma was following a still chatty Langdon into a cottage at the edge of the small town, having asked Peter to remain with the gig. It had a rough and ramshackle exterior, and even before entering there was an odor about the air that was decidedly unpleasant. Inside, Emma hugged Bethany tighter, hereyes adjusting to the dimness of the interior. She heard, before she saw Mrs. Smythe. The old woman let out a howl of glee upon spying Emma and the child, coming straight at her from what Emma imagined must be the kitchen, when her eyes finally settled.
“Oh, my dear,” Mrs. Smythe cried, “never have I been happier to see a soul! So worried about ye, we’ve been.” She stole Bethany abruptly but cheerfully out of Emma’s arms, crying and fussing over the little girl. “And look at ye, dressed in your finery—the both of ye!—oh, I pray he’s been good to ye. Seems as much, I daresay.”
Emma glanced around the house, wondering at their arrangement here, as it appeared only a single dwelling, and one of improbable character.
“What have you—?” She began but was interrupted by the appearance of the innkeeper himself, Mr. Smythe. She smiled expectantly at him as he entered the front room. He’d never been a warm and fuzzy person, but Emma did decide that he looked rather pleased to see her. “Good afternoon, sir,” she said.
“Emma, girl,” he acknowledged. “You’re well, then?”
“Oh, yes, sir!” She was quick to assure him. “I’m so very pleased to find you all. I’ve worried so!”
“Won’t have an inn no more,” Mr. Smythe said, with a bit of a shrug to his shoulders, and a pursing of his lips. “But we’ve a roof for now—until Mrs. Coombs returns from London next month and again takes up her residence here. So we’ve time still to figure out where best to land.” And he nodded. He looked to Langdon, who nodded along with his boss—former boss, now housemate.
“But that’s why I’m so happy to find you!” Emma said. She touched Mrs. Smythe’s arm next to her. “What are your plans?Will you rebuild? Will you find another inn to buy? Have you other property or...even monies to see you through?”
Mrs. Smythe lowered her eyes, offering only a weak smile. Mr. Smythe shuffled his feet a bit.
“Never did ‘ave much for savings. And what we did was burned up in there,” he said roughly, tossing his head in the general direction of the King’s Arms Inn. “But I’ve a mind to head south, more toward London. We’re thinking there might be a need of a good and experienced manager—if you will—for all those fancier public houses down there. Maybe have need of a cook and stablehand,” he finished, but it was quite apparent from his lackluster tone that he hadn’t really any hope of this. “Maybe another barmaid,” he added when the light from one of the doorways was briefly blocked.
Emma turned to find Alice staring at her. The young woman did not look entirely happy to see Emma, but her moods were ever mercurial, and her face—when not serving in the taproom, hoping for coin—was often hard. She was different somehow, though, Emma realized instantly, her shoulders wilted, her eyes rather lifeless. She wore a gown of somber brown—dreary was more apt—with threads that looked to have seen better days, and Emma knew this to be a huge embarrassment to the girl; ever did she love her vivid colors and loud combinations.
“Hullo, Alice,” she offered hesitantly, never quite sure of her reception.
Alice only nodded, her gaze raking over Emma’s finery. If she did try to smile, it appeared only as a grimace. Awkwardly, she shoved her hands into the flap pockets of her borrowed, pilfered, or scrounged-for dress.
Emma turned back to the Smythes. She looked from one to the other. She guessed they’d aged about twenty years since the fire had taken everything they had in the world. Perhaps she’d never thought so much about their specific ages but guessed Smythe, with his balding, craggy head and long face, having once been tall and thick-chested though those days were long behind him now, to have seen about 60 years by now. And his wife, that dear Mrs. Smythe, with her short and stout form, and her wiry hair and kind eyes, might have seen just a few less than that.
She approached Mr. Smythe, putting her hand on the rough fabric of his sleeve. Momentarily, she wondered if she had ever touched him at all before. She’d known him almost a decade, had worked side by side with him, knew he truly did care for her, but this felt new.
“Come with me,” she said shortly. “The old earl—Michael—truly did make provisions for me. Well, likely for Bethany really.” She turned to look at Mrs. Smythe, who seemed to be waiting, interested, but not yet willing to be hopeful, it seemed. “His lordship—the new earl, that is—has purchased a house for us.” Emma watched as Mrs. Smythe slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes crinkling with her upset. “No, Mistress, not like that at all, I promise. The house is for Bethany and me. Just us. I truly didn’t want his money, or his help. But...but I’ve Bethany to think of. And Michael, well, he wanted this for us.” Emma turned, and looked at an expressionless Alice, and Langdon who was nodding again, apparently in agreement, and then to Mr. Smythe, who was frowning, seemingly not in annoyance but with consideration. She continued, talking quickly to convince them, to assure them, it could work, “The house is big enough. It’s close to Perry Green—likely we can find workthere, though I think Mr. and Mistress, you wouldn’t need to work if you’d not mind helping to take care of the house,” she said, hopefully. To Langdon, “There’s space for you, too. An entire floor of bedrooms I’d not know what to do with. And there’s a small barn, a stable, maybe we can find a horse and gig eventually.” She turned to Alice, “Perry Green has a handful of pubs—there’s even a modiste, and a milliner. We can find work, I’m sure.” No one said a word. Emma turned to Mrs. Smythe, “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind looking after Bethany if I’m to find a job.”
When they remained silent, Emma spun around to Mr. Smythe again. “Our own house again,” she imagined.
His eyes lifted over her to settle on his wife. After a moment of worrying the inside of his cheek, he asked, “What say ye, missus?”
When Emma turned back again, she found Mrs. Smythe crying into a squirming Bethany, who’d thus far had been intent enough on the people and the atmosphere of this room to have been quiet, but now was reaching for Emma with a whine.
“Shh,” Emma cooed, and stroked her daughter’s hair but did not take her. Emma kept her eyes on Mrs. Smythe. “Won’t you come with me?”
Mrs. Smythe began to nod her head against a warm but still fussing Bethany. Emma let out a happy cry. Eventually Mrs. Smythe raised her wet and red eyes to Emma. “Oh, but ye always were the sweetest thing, Emma,” she said through tears. “And here ye are, still thinking of everyone but yerself. Oh, but we thank ye!” And she leaned forward, kissing Emma’s cheek, and Emma squeezed her tightly in a happy embrace. “We needn’t fret no more, husband,” she said to Mr. Smythe.
Emma looked at Mr. Smythe. He nodded at his wife’s words, and surprised Emma by gently touching her arm, a gesture of appreciation.
A quick rapping sound brought all eyes to the door, where Peter stood, wringing his hat in his hand. He looked apologetic, but said, “Miss, I hate to hurry ye, but I’m needing to get back to Benedict House—ye as well, I imagine.”
“Oh, yes, Peter,” Emma answered hurriedly, “I’ll be along shortly—very quickly,” she amended, when he appeared unsure. Emma looked at Langdon and Alice, smiling hopefully. “You’ll come, too, right?”
“Of course they will!” Mrs. Smythe insisted, her tone motherly.
Langdon shuffled his feet just for a moment, his face reddening with this attention, as all eyes rested on him. “Aw, miss, I ain’t nowhere else to go. Yer all I have, I guess. I can be helpful.”
Impulsively, Emma hugged him, so happy to have these people back in her life. “I know you can, Langdon. You’re going to love the house!” She turned to Alice. “You will love the Daisies Cottage, it’s just perfect—"
“I appreciate the offer, I truly do, Emma,” Alice interrupted her. “But I will be all right here.”
Emma thought she looked sincere. They had never been close, but they had shared so much over all these years passed. “Alice, you must,” she said softly.
Mr. Smythe spoke up. “Alice, girl, there just isn’t much opportunity here, we’re finding out.”
