Page 113 of The Sisters of Sea View
On her way to the poor house the next day, Viola stopped at the post office for Emily, then continued up Back Street. She was surprised to see Major Hutton standing in front of one of the shops, talking to a smaller man. The major wore a bandage over his ear and a patch over his right eye. Otherwise, he was dressed in fine gentlemen’s attire, with a beaver hat brushed to perfection. As far as she knew, it was the first time he had braved the busy shopping street. Miss Truman’s doing, she suspected. What else would prompt him to overcome his reticence?
She began to approach, but hearing the combative tenor of the conversation, she stopped at the window of Kingwill’s Repository, feigning interest in the local fossils and Devonshire marble displayed there.
The small, balding man said, “We do not serve just anyone, sir.As I told him yesterday, I am a tailor to English gentlemen. It says so right on my sign.”
“And what makes you think he is not a gentleman?”
The tailor gestured toward the shop window. Armaan stood stiffly inside, staring down at rolls of fabric, hands clenched. “Well ... he does notlooklike one.”
“But he is. I can vouch for that. I can also vouch for the fact that you will have no more business from me, my father, nor my modish brother if you do not serve Mr. Sagar with every sign of respect you would show any other man. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir. Major, sir. I understand. And you will be pleased.”
“It’s Mr. Sagar you need to please. And I will hear of it if he is not, or if you overcharge him.”
“Never, sir. I am most respectable. Ask anyone.”
The tailor fled into his shop, and the major turned to go. Seeing Viola there, he redirected his steps in her direction.
As he neared, she said, “It is good to see you out and about.”
Pulling a face, he said, “Only came because that man refused Armaan service yesterday.”
“I am sorry to hear it.”
He shrugged. “Think it bothers me more than it does him. He is used to it.”
He glanced down at the brown paper parcel in her hands. “Out on another mission of mercy?”
“Just taking these to Mrs. Denby.”
“May I walk with you?”
Her heart lightened. “Of course.” They turned north, toward the poor house. After a few steps, she asked, “Did you leave Miss Truman and her mother at Westmount?”
“No, they are taking tea at the York Hotel.”
“Ah.”
Together Viola and the major walked past the shops and onto Mill Lane. Viola was conscious of his nearness as they strolled side by side. His arm brushed hers, and her own tingled in reply.
A carriage careened around the corner and sped toward them. In response, he threw an arm around her and pulled her close, away from the street.
Her pulse thumped in reply. “Th-thank you.”
For a moment longer, his arm remained around her waist. She felt the warmth of it through her muslin day dress and barely resisted the urge to lean closer. Until she recalled Miss Truman. Then she straightened and walked on.
When they reached the poor house, he opened the door and held it for her.
“Will Mrs. Denby mind another visitor, do you think?”
“Not at all. She will be delighted.” Viola led the way inside and down the corridor to Mrs. Denby’s room.
And she was right.
They were welcomed with warm greetings and effusive thanks for the visit and the gift. Viola made the introductions, and the woman beamed up at Major Hutton.
“You are very welcome, sir. Viola reads to you as well, does she?”
