Page 13 of The Seaside Homecoming
Sarah added, “That’s assuming she is still living in Aunt Mercer’s house. They won’t have sold the property already, surely?”
“Unlikely,” Mamma agreed.
Emily said, “Viola and Jack are on their way to Edinburgh now, and they plan to call at Aunt Mercer’s during their trip, so—”
“To what purpose?” Mamma asked.
“To learn how Claire fares. To assure her of our love. I hope she is still there when they arrive.”
“Your father would not have approved.”
Emily frowned. “Come, Mamma. Has Claire not been punished enough?”
“Emily...” Sarah warned.
“It was never about punishment,” Mamma replied, voice rising. “At least, not for me. It was about shielding the rest of you.”
“Let us not argue about all that now,” Sarah said. “Let’s decide what to do.”
“Viola won’t reach Edinburgh for some time yet. A letter might arrive more quickly, thanks to the Royal Mail.”
“How will a letter help?” Sarah asked. “Claire may need more than a letter. She may need tangible help—somewhere to live. Funds to live on.”
“We must do something,” Emily insisted. “I will write to Claire, in hopes the letter reaches her, or might be forwarded on to her. Sarah, perhaps you might write to the lawyer? For if Claire has already left, he might have a forwarding address.”
Emily turned to her, eyebrows high in expectation.
“Very well. I shall write to Mr. Dumfries and ask. Unless ... do you object, Mamma?”
Her mother sighed heavily. “I suppose not. Just to make sure she is all right.”
Claire began gathering her belongings in preparation for departure. She supposed she would have to find cheap lodgings for a few days until she worked out what to do.
Two years ago, she had left home with only one valise, at Lord Bertram’s request. He’d said hefting a trunk from Finderlay at midnight was sure to draw a servant’s notice. How hastily and ill-advisedly she had packed. At least she had takenthe time to change from the ball gown she’d worn that last night of the house party into a carriage dress of dark blue, the better to conceal herself in the shadows. She had also brought a nightdress, dressing gown, slippers, and one evening dress (sure she and her new husband would share romantic dinners) as well as stockings, a hairbrush, and teeth-cleaning supplies.
Upon arrival in Edinburgh, her great-aunt had examined her clothing, instantly declared the low-cut evening gown of fine muslin scandalous, and insisted Claire donate it to a poor seamstress she knew who could make it over into two shifts and perhaps even a petticoat. Aunt Mercer commissioned the same seamstress to make over one of her own grey day dresses to fit Claire, complete with a plain linen tucker for added modesty. Then, when news came of her father’s death, she also ordered a dress in black, modest and mournful enough for afternoon calls or services at the kirk. Later, when the weather turned cold, she had provided a hooded cloak and sturdy half boots as well.
Claire had worn the black and grey dresses in rotation since her aunt’s death, and longed to shed herself of both.
She was torn between not wanting to take any of the dreary, practical garments her aunt had provided and the reality that she would be foolish to leave behind warm clothes. Springtime in Scotland was often chilly and rainy. And who knew where she would be once autumn and winter rolled around once more?
In the attic, Claire found a second small valise, too old to be of much value, to hold her boots and cloak. She packed everything she would not need until her imminent departure, and left out only her toiletries and nightclothes.
Mary came in as she packed.
Surveying the partially filled cases, the housemaid’s face stretched in dismay. “Yer leavin’ already?”
“Not yet. Just getting ready.”
Mary stepped closer. “Please, miss. Take me with ye when ye go.”
Claire glanced over in surprise. “You don’t even know where I’m going.Idon’t even know.”
“I don’t care where. Just ... please.”
Claire straightened, studying the girl’s troubled face. She said gently, “You’re young, and you work hard. You’ll have no difficulty finding another situation.”
Mary shook her head. “I canna. Not round here. I doubt anyone will take me on.”
