Page 41 of A Winter By the Sea
After dinner, Viola arrived early from Westmount for the planned meeting and joined Emily and Mr. Thomson in the drawing room to await the others’ arrival.
He bowed. “A pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Hutton.”
Viola curtsied. “And you, Mr. Thomson.”
They chatted for several minutes until their visitors arrived.
When they had all gathered, Emily began, “Mrs. Fulford, Mrs. Robins, allow me to introduce Mr. James Thomson, private secretary to the Duke of Kent, with oversight of charities.”
He bowed to the ladies.
A squeal escaped from timid Mrs. Robins, and she quickly pressed a handkerchief to her lips to suppress another.
Mrs. Fulford, tall and elegant, and the obvious leader of the pair, showed no such sign of being intimidated. Rather, her countenance shone with eager speculation.
“Delighted to meet you, Mr. Thomson. We appreciate this opportunity to acquaint you with a charitable organization dear to us all.”
Once the ladies were all seated, Mr. Thomson sat as well. Emily served tea and a plate of pastries prepared by Mr. Bernardi. She took a bite, and the crumbly pastry melted in her mouth.Goodness ...She privately vowed not to tell Sarah that his pastries were even better than hers.
Mrs. Fulford sipped her tea, then set the cup and saucer on the side table. She faced Mr. Thomson squarely and began, “The Poor’s Friend Society endeavors to check neglect and disorder of the poor here in Sidmouth, whether living in our local poor house or elsewhere. We also solicit donations of cast-off clothes, so we are able provide those in need with decent apparel. Since the formation of the society, relief has been afforded to sixty-four families and individuals, and not less than two hundred and sixty distinct visits have been made by committee members or volunteers. In fact, Mrs. Hutton here is one of our most active volunteers.”
He nodded. “Most impressive. May I ask how the charity is sustained and governed?”
“Of course. Our work is made possible by the generosity of subscribers. We carry out our mission under the superintendence of local magistrates and other leading gentlemen of Sidmouth. Here is a list of our governors.” She handed it over.
“And how might His Royal Highness be of most assistance at this time?”
Again Mrs. Robins stifled a giddy squeal behind her lace handkerchief. With her free hand, she clutched her pearls.
Ignoring her, Mrs. Fulford smiled and calmly replied, “How kind of you to ask. If His Royal Highness would perhaps consent to become our royal patron?”
Clearly astonished by the bold request, Mrs. Robins’s eyes widened. Sharing the woman’s tense anticipation, Emily held her breath.
“I would be happy to present the good work of your societyto him,” Mr. Thomson said. “Although naturally I cannot make any promises.”
“Of course, of course.” Mrs. Fulford handed over a page of ornamental script on fine stationery. “Here is a list of our current subscribers, any of whom would be willing to provide a positive report on our work.”
“Excellent. Thank you.”
A short while later, Mrs. Fulford and Mrs. Robins departed.
Viola lingered. “That went well,” she said. “At least from my point of view.”
“I agree,” Emily said. “But Mr. Thomson must be the judge.” They both turned to him.
He nodded. “I was impressed by the little they shared.”
Viola tilted her head as she regarded him. “What might truly sway you is to see some of the good works for yourself. Perhaps you might visit the Sidmouth Poor House?”
“I shall indeed. At my first opportunity.”
Taking Viola’s admonition to heart, Mr. Thomson asked Emily to direct him to the poor house the very next day.
She readily acquiesced. She had already seen Viola pass by in the carriage, on her way to read to the residents as she often did on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Being more familiar with the place, her sister would be better qualified to give him a tour. If Emily and Mr. Thomson left soon, they could walk to the poor house and meet Viola there.
Together they set off for the eastern town. Thankfully the day was milder, with barely a hint of wind and plenty of sunshine to warm them.
As they walked from Fore Street onto Mill Lane, they passed the Sidmouth School, its yard enclosed within a brick wall.Through its gate, they saw a group of boys kicking a ball over patchy grass worn to dirt in places by many feet. Only a hint of snow remained around the perimeter. The boys were supervised by the schoolmaster, Mr. Ward, who had graciously allowed her to read Mr. Gwilt’s tale to his pupils and had even asked for his own copy.
