Page 186 of The Sisters of Sea View
“Major Hutton put in a good word for us—even insisted Mr. Butcher call here. That’s at least part of the reason he came here the night of the flood.”
Emily regarded her twin with a twinkle of admiration. “Personally, I think it was because he was impressed with our Viola and all her good works.”
Sarah slowly sank into the desk chair. Whatever the reason, she was filled with gratitude and relief.
She suddenly sat up straight and tapped the register. “This will probably mean more guests and more work for us all to do. Except for you, of course, Viola.”
Sarah considered, then added, “This gives me an idea. Mr. Gwilt told me he would like to stay here as long as he can afford to. I wonder if we might offer him a job. He used to work for a bank, and I need help with the accounts, but we could not justify a dedicated bookkeeper.”
“Then perhaps he could help in other ways too,” Emily said. “Lowen can barely carry pails of water and valises up all those stairs, let alone heavy trunks.”
“True. But how would you all feel about him staying on here in some ... official capacity?” Sarah looked from face to face, then added gingerly, “Keeping him means keeping Parry, you know.”
“Mr. Gwilt is kind for his eccentricities,” Emily defended.
Mamma nodded. “I’ve spent only a little time with him, yet he seems a humble, respectful man.”
“True. And I like Parry,” Georgiana added. “Though if they stay on, let us hope Chips never catches him out of his cage.”
Again Sarah tapped the register. “Ifand when we have a steady stream of guests, we could afford to pay him. In the meantime, perhaps we might reimburse him with room and board, if he is willing. Are we in agreement?”
They all nodded.
“Very well. I shall speak to him.”
Emily tipped her head to the side. “Speaking of a ‘steady stream of guests,’ did Mr. Henshall say anything about coming back next year?”
“No.”
“Did you ask him to return?”
“Of course not.”
Emily turned to Georgiana. “Did Effie say anything?”
Georgie shook her head. “Mostly she bemoaned the long journey.”
“There, you see?” Sarah said. “That is that.”
She feigned nonchalance even as regret filled her. Should she have invited him to return? Or at least given him permission to write to her?
Sarah cleared her throat. “I doubt we shall ever see them again.”
“That is up to you,” Emily said. “We have his direction, after all. What is to stop you from writing to him? In fact, as proprietor of the Sea View guest house, I’d say you are obligated to write to thank him for his stay and let him know he is more than welcome to return.” She waggled her eyebrows.
Hope rose until reality quashed it. “It would be terribly brazen of me to write to him.”
Emily shrugged. “Then I shall write to him on your behalf. That advertisement I wrote for Viola did a world of good.”
“Oh no, you won’t!” Sarah shook her head. “If anyone writes to him it shall be me.”
Emily grinned. “I am very glad to hear it.”
Eventually, her family dispersed. Finding her tasks completed, Sarah went into the parlour to continue embroidering the handkerchief for Mamma.
As she crossed the room, something on her worktable caught her eye. She walked closer, then stilled. There atop the table lay a thistle—green stalk, spiny bulb, purple flower crown—the symbol of Scotland. The image of Callum Henshall sprang to mind, and with it a wistful smile quivered on her lips.
Sarah gingerly reached out. Touching the spiky flower brought a small stab of pain as well as hope. Memento or no, she guessed a certain Scotsman would never be far from her thoughts.
