Page 118 of The Seaside Homecoming
When the front knocker sounded on Monday, Claire answered it, hoping for a new guest. A thin man of forty-odd years stood there, impeccably dressed, wearing small spectacles, and somehow familiar.
“Good day,” she began. “How may I help you?”
“Good day, madam. I am John Wallis, proprietor of the Marine Library. I come bearing a book Mr. Hammond ordered.” He lifted the brown paper–wrapped parcel in his hands.
“How good of you to bring it yourself. I believe he is upstairs in his study. You are welcome to step inside while I let him know you’re here. Or I would be happy to make sure he gets it.”
“I cannot leave the library in my clerk’s hands for too long. If you could see that he gets this safely, Mrs....?”
“Summers. Miss Claire Summers.”
“Ah! Any relation to Miss Emily Summers, or I should say, Mrs. Emily Thomson now?”
Claire nodded. “She is one of my sisters.”
“I see a resemblance. And are you a great reader as well?”
“I doubt anyone can compare with Emily, but yes, I enjoy reading.”
“Then I shall have no qualms about handing this over to you. It’s new, you see. Only recently published.”
She accepted the paper-wrapped book. “May I ask what it is?”
“The first of a three-volume account of the travels of William Turner, Esquire, a British diplomat, according to the publisher’s description. It is entitledJournal of a Tour in the Levant.”
“Levant?”
“A term for a region in the Eastern Mediterranean, I believe, although I am not well-read on the topic.”
“Then perhaps Mr. Hammond might give you a summary after he is finished reading it.”
The man nodded. “Excellent notion. I always enjoy a good discussion of books. And a pleasure to meet another Miss Summers. I’d thought I had met them all.”
He started to go, then turned back. “By the way, I hope you will visit the Marine Library one day soon. We have many compelling novels, both mysterious and romantic.” He tipped his hat and walked away at a sprightly pace.
Watching him go, Claire quietly chuckled. This was the man she’d seen talking with Mr. Hammond in the alley beside the house. She’d suspected some clandestine meeting, and here they had simply been discussing a book Mr. Hammond had wanted—one he wasn’t keen to explain his interest in, as he avoided mentioning his previous profession.
Unbidden, the playful scene on the beach played through her mind again—laughing together, splashing, Mr. Hammond’sstrong arms coming around her, their faces close ... Had she misread that change in his expression? Only imagined he’d wanted to kiss her?
Claire shook her head at herself. Perhaps she would be wise to avoid reading any of the compelling novels the man had mentioned. She already saw mystery where there was none and read romance in Mr. Hammond’s every look and action.
No.
If hecouldever love another woman as he had Vanita, that woman should be someone without a tainted past. Someone worthy to help raise his daughter. And that someone was not her.
The next morning, after Claire had washed and dressed herself, thanks to the new wraparound stays, she went into the kitchen to help carry up the breakfast things. Mrs. Ballard was there with her maid, but no Mary. Feeling responsible, since she had brought Mary to Broadbridge’s, Claire said she would go up and see what was keeping her.
Reaching her room in the attic, Claire knocked softly, and the unlatched door swung open. The housemaid sat sobbing on her bed, face in her hands, shoulders shaking.
“Mary? What is it? Are you feeling unwell again?”
“Aye, miss. I fear I am very unwell indeed.”
Claire sat on the narrow bed beside her, the bed ropes creaking under their combined weight. “Do you need a doctor?”
“Not for five or six months yet.”
Dreadful realization rushed over her. “Oh, Mary.”
