Page 78 of The Sisters of Sea View
Angling his head, he glanced at the book she held. “And what are you reading, if I may ask?”
Mrs. Denby glanced at her expectantly. When Viola didn’t reply, she supplied, “Today it is the book of John. Last time it was ... oh, I forget.” Again she looked at Viola.
Licking dry lips, Viola managed, “The Natural History and Antiquities of Selborne.”
He smiled encouragingly. “Excellent choices, the both of them. Gilbert White, the author ofThe Natural History, was a clergyman as well. I do some writing myself, you know.”
Viola forced her sluggish tongue to speak. “I ... yes. My sisters and I have read your book. W-well done.”
He nodded. “Thank you. You know, I have a modest library, Miss Summers. You are welcome to borrow any books, should you need more reading material.”
“Thank you.”
The minister peered at her more closely through the veil. “I don’t believe I have seen you at the meeting house?”
“Um ... no.”
“The Summers family attend the parish church,” Mrs. Denby explained.
“Of course. Well, I shan’t keep you, seeing you are in such good hands. Good day, ladies.” He bowed once more, turned, and departed.
When the door closed behind him, Mrs. Denby said, “Mr. Butcher is minister of the Old Dissenting Chapel at the top of the High Street.”
Viola nodded, then asked, “You are Church of England too—is that not right?”
“Yes, although here in Devon, we have a long history of dissenting churches: Methodists, Baptists, Congregationalists, and the like.”
While not as well-read as Emily, Viola knew dissenters or nonconformists did not hold to the doctrines of the established Anglican Church.
She asked, “Does Mr. Butcher press you to attend his chapel?”
“He has certainly invited me, but he does not press me.”
“If you don’t want him to call on you, I am sure—”
The old woman’s eyes sharpened. “Who said I didn’t want him to call? He is a good and kind man.”
Viola’s neck heated. “Pray forgive me, I did not intend to speak ill of him.”
“My girl, if you live to be my age, you will learn to be thankful for anyone who takes the time to visit.”
Viola dipped her head, feeling chastised. “Even someone as churlish as me?”
“Especially someone like you.”
Viola glanced up, and Mrs. Denby’s fond, teasing look eased her discomfort.
The woman’s gaze lingered on the veil. “You know, you are welcome to take that off. If you are hiding spots or what have you, they can’t be as bad as all my wrinkles and liver spots.”
“Very well.” Viola slowly lifted the veil away from her face, not nearly as nervous to do so as she had been for the major. And itwouldbe easier to read without it.
Mrs. Denby beamed. “Much better. Thank you, my dear.”
Her expression grew pensive. “My neighbor, Miss Reed, wears a veil. She used to wear it only when she went outside, but these days she never goes out. She fetches her meals from the dining room and carries them back to her room instead of eating with the rest of us. ’Course, I don’t venture far these days either. But I would if I could.”
For a moment longer the woman looked wistful, then she smiled, and the wistful expression fled. “Now, do please read some more.”
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