Page 6 of The Sisters of Sea View
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Women with a spare room or two—especially at the seafront—saw an opportunity to make money, and the seaside landlady was born. Offering accommodation was an ideal business for women: it was socially acceptable [and] it utilised their domestic knowledge.
—Helena Wojtczak,
Women of Victorian Sussex
Amonth later, the first week of May, twenty-six-year-old Sarah Summers dressed in a simple gown of deep blue cambric, leaving behind her black bombazine at long last—not because she no longer grieved, but because she knew guests would not wish to be greeted by a dour hostess. Standing before a small mirror, she smoothed her dark hair, pinned back in a plain chignon, and studied her tired blue eyes. Peter had often said she had fine eyes....
Sarah blinked away the memory of his gentle gaze and the shaft of pain that accompanied it. She turned to the open chest at the foot of her bed and ran a finger over the white linen shirt she had sewn for him during his absence, and the last letter he’d sent before going to sea. She knew the short missive by heart, yet unfolded it anyway and read:
My dear Sarah, I shall miss you. May our time apart pass quickly and fruitfully. I pray God keeps you well untilwe are reunited. Please remember to return the book I borrowed from the vicar. Thank you and God bless you. Yours, Peter
The mixture of affection, faith, and practicality was so like him, and a bittersweet quiver touched her lips even now. Sarah had prayed for Peter’s safe return, yet sadly, those prayers went unanswered.
Shifting her thoughts back to the present, she moved a few more of her belongings into the chest, making room for Emily, and closed the lid with resolve.
Then Sarah stepped into the passage and went from chamber to chamber, inspecting the guest rooms.
Unable to manage more than a few stairs, Mamma had kept her bedchamber on the main level, and Viola moved into its adjoining dressing room.
Emily should have already moved into Sarah’s small room on the bedroom level but had yet to transfer her belongings.
Georgie had moved to one of the former servants’ rooms in the attic, and relished having not only a room to herself but nearly an entire floor.
Viola still refused to help with preparations, and Mamma was reticent to push her too hard. In part because she empathized with Viola’s objections. The situation was, after all, rather humbling for the once-proud daughters and wife of a gentleman. But what else could they do? Sarah desperately wanted to keep what was left of her family together. If the venture failed, she and her sisters would probably have to find far-off situations as companions or, worse yet, governesses as the solicitor had advised. And who would care for their ailing mother then?
Pretty Emily, the writer of the family, had composed advertisements and sent them to newspapers in Bath and London, and to a few publications farther afield. Then they had waited anxiously for a response. Although Sidmouth was becoming increasinglypopular with tourists, they expected to host elderly invalids, who frequented the south coast to improve their health.
The first correspondence they received, however, was an angry letter from a Major Hutton, who’d recently moved into the neighboring house called Westmount. He had heard they were opening Sea View to guests and was not happy about an influx of strangers near hisprivateresidence. He threatened to involve his lawyer if anyone trespassed upon his property. Sarah hoped it would not come to that. Additional legal fees were the last thing they needed. She had tried to pay a friendly call, but the servant who answered the door told her the major was unwell and not receiving callers. Imagining an aged curmudgeon nursing old wounds and old grudges, she made do with sending a polite note of reply, promising to make their guests aware of the property line and to inconvenience him as little as possible.
Ifthey ever had any guests to inform...
To their astonishment, the first to write to secure rooms was a Mr. Callum Henshall of Kirkcaldy, Scotland, who would be traveling with his daughter. Emily insisted she had sent no advertisement that far north, so they all wondered how the man had heard of Sea View.
Sarah prayed their inaugural guests would not be difficult to please. She and her sisters had little notion what they were doing! As Miss Stirling had said, they had hosted many guests over the years at their former home, but certainly never paying customers. And in those days, they’d had many more servants to help them.
Despite these shortcomings, Sarah hoped they would succeed in pleasing their guests and gaining the good reputation required to secure more visitors.
God, please grant us favor.
Twenty-one-year-old Emily Summers took a deep breath of fresh, invigorating air. This was their last day of leisure before thefirst guests arrived, and she was determined to enjoy it. She stood atop Salcombe Hill and gazed over the shrubs and wind-bent trees toward Sidmouth below.
Sidmouth, their new permanent residence—whether she liked it or not. They had been there for more than six months, yet it still did not feel like home to her. Would it ever?
She missed their former home—Finderlay, near May Hill, Gloucestershire—but had to admit the views here were lovely. She wondered what Charles would think of the place. Would he change his mind, realize he missed her, and come to visit? Emily might not have minded the move here so much had it not meant leaving him behind, her hope of a future with him seemingly dashed.
Georgiana stood several yards away, throwing a stick to a scraggly terrier, a stray called Chips, who seemed to follow her whenever she left the house. Georgiana planned to spend her free day with a friend, yet had agreed to accompany Emily on a long walk first. Sarah was too busy and Viola refused, saying she would stay in the house with Mamma.
Mamma had tried to persuade her to go out but had given up after a token effort. It was always the same. Viola did what Viola wanted and very little she did not. And because of her ... condition ... no one pushed her too hard.
In preparation for their move, Emily had read everything she could about the area, and her frequent walks taught her even more. Sidmouth was situated near the mouth of the River Sid, where it flowed into the English Channel. The town lay in a valley bounded on the west by Peak Hill, its rugged cliff face glowing sandstone-red, and on the east by Salcombe Hill, where she now stood.
Below her, the seaside esplanade ran parallel to the beach, and was lined with businesses: the York Hotel, several lodging houses, medical baths, and there, Wallis’s library, her favorite.
Behind these buildings, narrow streets led inland. These held thatched cottages, shops, the market house, and the parish church with its square, battlemented tower.
Past the eastern town lay a grassy field used for lawn bowling and cricket matches.
