Page 102 of The Sisters of Sea View
Sarah thought of her own faults and added, “And please do not saint me or overestimate me. I am far from perfect. I try too hard to manage things and people, to wrest control from God because my faith is not all it should be. I try to hold my family together—what is left of it.” She lifted a cupped palm. “But it’s like ... trying to hold water in my hand. And it’s difficult for me to ask God for help. To accept His will, when He allows things I don’t like to happen.”
“Like the loss of your betrothed?”
“Yes. Among other losses.”
“So.” He drew a long breath and then exhaled. “You are reticent to love again because ye fear ye could never be as happy. And I, because I fear to repeat the unhappiness.”
She attempted to lighten the moment. “So you see? We are both hopeless cases.”
Once again, he held her gaze, sunlight shimmering in his eyes. “Speak for yourself. I, for one, am still hopeful.”
———
After the trip, Sarah returned to Sea View and returned to work. A glow of relaxed happiness lingered, even as she warned herself it was only temporary. Mr. Henshall would leave soon, while her responsibilities would remain.
Mrs. Fulford proved to be true to her word and had recommended Viola to others of her acquaintance. Soon Viola was also reading to a Mrs. Gage, who’d rented number five in Fortfield Terrace, an elegant row of tall, adjoining houses at the back of Fort Field. Mrs. Gage was neighbor to Mrs. Fulford, a full-time resident, while the other ten homes were let as seasonal lodgings. The lord of the manor had long ago commissioned an architect to build a seafront crescent to provide accommodation for fashionable visitors. The scheme was never fully realized, however, leaving the field open in front, formerly used for military exercises and now for sport and recreation.
While indoors and out, Mrs. Gage used a wheeled Bath chair—an open, upholstered chair with a steering mechanism in front and push handles in back—which could be pulled like a wagon or pushed from the rear.
The wealthy widow asked Viola to read aloud from the social column in the newspaper—the notices of births, marriages, appointments, and deaths. She asked which names mentioned were known to Viola and what additional details she might share about the people involved.
Some days, instead of reading, she asked Viola to push her along the esplanade to take the air. She confided that she could ask her maid, but she preferred Viola’s company, as Viola offered livelier conversation.
As Viola strolled and Mrs. Gage rolled, often with her little dog, Nero, on her lap, the plump older woman asked her to identify every person they passed. Viola knew some but not enough to satisfy her curious new client.
Once or twice, Georgiana or Emily happened upon them during one of their walks, and Mrs. Gage insisted the sisters walk beside her in entourage and join in the conversation because Georgiana and Emily were acquainted with more people.
As far as Viola could tell, there was nothing wrong with the woman’s eyesight or her ability to read, but she was happy to pay Viola for her time, so Viola did as she requested. She planned to save the extra money—after Bibi’s wages were paid—to buy a gift for Mrs. Denby.
Viola realized that, in reality, she was performing the role of lady’s companion for Mrs. Gage—although for only a few hours a week.
The thought of a lady’s companion reminded her of Claire.
Viola still sometimes wondered why her eldest sister left home to fill the role of companion to ailing Great-Aunt Mercer. Had Papa insisted?
Viola had always spent a great deal of time alone and never attended social events, so she was often the last to know when something happened. Claire’s departure had taken her by surprise, nearly as much as it had Emily, who was away at the time with a school friend.
They had all known Papa wanted Claire to marry the son of an old friend of his, and that she had refused. Had Claire gone to Scotland to escape the pressure to marry a man she did not like? Or had Papa sent her to live with his demanding aunt as a sort of punishment? He had been a benevolent, if distant, father until the last two months of his life. Yet he’d often lost his temper when crossed.
Viola had secretly hoped her sister might return after Papa’s death and once their disagreement had been forgotten. Sadly, no. Claire never even corresponded with them.
Oh, Claire.Would they ever see her again?
After that day’s appointment with Mrs. Gage, Viola went to Westmount to read to the major as usual. When she arrived, she walked in on a flurry of activity.
Chown was bellowing orders, Taggart wielding a broom, Mr. Hutton clearing ashes and crumbs from the table beside his favorite chair, and Colin ... still in his dressing gown, yawning.
He smiled when he saw her. “Ah, Miss Vi. Please forgive the chaos. Visitors are expected tomorrow, and we have all been conscripted to get everything shipshape.” He shook his head. “House full of bachelors. What does one expect?”
“May I ask who is visiting to cause such a flutter?”
He stepped closer and said in conspiratorial tones, “It is a lady, you see. The beautiful Lucinda Truman.” He added with a theatrical shudder, “And her mother.”
Recalling the name from the major’s correspondence, Viola’s stomach knotted. “Are they ... friends of the family?”
“I suppose you could say that. She is Jack’s betrothed.”
Viola’s throat closed as if someone had gripped it tight. The major was engaged?
