Page 115 of The Sisters of Sea View
“Thank you. I would enjoy that, I would.”
She dumped his bin into her larger one, reached to gather up crumbs on the table near the parrot, then stopped. “I almost took his seeds.” She raised her voice and said in affected tones, “I will leave them for you, Parry, in case you get ... peckish.” She chuckled at her little joke, proud of herself for her tolerant condescension.
Mr. Gwilt looked at her askance. “He does not actually eat anything, my dear. You feeling all right?” He gazed at her in mild concern, as though she were the mad one for talking to a stuffed bird.
And perhaps she was.
———
Her tasks finished, Emily returned to the library. For several minutes she sat motionless at the desk, resting her cheek in her hand. She was supposed to be writing back to the elderly couple who’d requested a ground-floor room, which, sadly, they could not offer. But she had gotten no further than the salutation. Instead, she stared blankly ahead, lost in thought.
She had so hoped Charles would come around in time and realize how much he missed her. Loved her.
Briefly, she had been distracted from her disappointment by herflirtation with Mr. Stanley. But with him spending more time with his sister, Emily’s thoughts returned to Charles.
Emily had not been alone in thinking she would marry their neighbor. Everyone had thought so. She had long been in love with him, and the attraction had seemed mutual.
She still felt the pain of his sudden detachment, when his teasing, affectionate manner had become cool and distant.
Emily pressed her eyes closed, trying to block the memory of the last time she spoke to Charles, but the mortifying scene surfaced anyway.
He and his mother had come to bid them farewell three or four months after Papa’s death, as they were packing and preparing to depart Finderlay. While their mothers talked in the drawing room, Emily had taken Charles aside. They were on the cusp of leaving, after all. Surely she had given him enough time. She kept her tone casual and asked how soon he might be able to visit them in Sidmouth.
His expression had turned stony. “I am afraid I shall not have that pleasure. Though I do wish you a safe journey.”
She had frowned up at him, perplexed. “What is it, Charles? Why are you behaving this way? Have I done something wrong?”
Emotions rippled over his face, but he quickly mastered his composure. “Not at all, Miss Summers.”
“Miss Summers? When I have been Emily and you Charles for years?”
“We are children no longer.”
“I know. I thought we were, well ... more.” She’d gripped his arm, and it stiffened into a lifeless branch under her touch. “Has something happened? Tell me, Charles, for heaven’s sake. What is the matter?”
The muscle in his jaw pulsed. “Everyone knows I am fond of you and your sisters, Miss Summers. If I have led you to believe my intentions were more than they are, I apologize. We are friends—that is all.”
Stunned, Emily sputtered, “W-why? Because of our ... distressed circumstances?”
“Not primarily, no. Your sis—” He broke off and ran a hand over his face.
“My what?”
“It is not my place to say.”
“My sister? Is that what you meant to say?” Incredulity flared into anger. She knew other people thought ill of Viola but had not thought Charles one of them.
He grimaced. “I have said too much already. Please know I am deeply sorry for your family’s... grief. I feel it keenly.”
He bowed curtly, turned on his heel, and strode from the house.
Recalling the scene now, Emily felt sick all over again.
She had not attempted to speak to him a second time before they left May Hill, and recalling Mamma’s advice, she had resisted the urge to write to him. Yet since then, he had neither written nor come to visit them.
Why? Might he be courting someone else? Is that why he remained estranged? Her heart ached at the very thought.
While Emily sat there, lost in reverie, Viola returned from her visit to the poor house. She walked in from outside, still wearing her mantle, bonnet, and gloves.
