Page 73 of The Seaside Homecoming
She glanced away, unable to meet his direct gaze. “Perhaps I shall.”
On Sunday, Claire donned her usual black dress and followed behind Mr. Hammond and Mira on the way to church. Again she quietly yet firmly refused Mr. Hammond’s request that she sit with them. And when Georgiana sidled up to her and whispered, “Come and sit with us,” Claire shook her head and sat in the same pew she’d occupied before.
Mamma and Sarah walked by without a word, although Sarah squeezed her hand in passing. Mr. Thomson and Emily followed. Emily hesitated upon noticing her and seemed about to stop and talk, but her husband gently took her arm and ushered her forward to their pew with aquiet word in her ear, perhaps to avoid drawing attention to themselves.
Viola appeared next. She paused at the end of the pew and glanced along its length, evidently to gauge if she and the major could squeeze in, but the pew was full. Claire gave her an apologetic look.
She heard a whispered exchange behind them, and a moment later Major Hutton positioned a wheeled invalid chair next to the end panel beside Claire.
The chair’s elderly occupant patted the major’s hand in thanks and waved him on his way. Then she turned a beaming smile on Claire. At first Claire tensed, expecting disgruntled looks or mutterings from her pew-mates, but none of them objected. In fact, a few actually smiled at the old woman who’d joined their row.
Regardless, Claire was relieved when the service began and everyone looked toward the raised pulpit at front. She did her best to concentrate, even as she wondered who the woman was. She also tried not to stare at the Hammonds or her family.
When the service concluded, the elderly woman in the chair reached over and took her hand. “You are Miss Claire Summers, I know. Viola has told me much about you.”
She wished she could say the same. “Thank you, Mrs....?”
“Denby. Jane Denby.”
“I’m afraid I am new to town,” Claire said, “and am not yet acquainted with my sisters’ friends.”
“We shall have to remedy that. I hope you will come and take tea with me at the poor house one day soon. I can’t promise the tea won’t be weak and the biscuit tin empty, but I can promise a warm welcome.”
“Sounds lovely. I will even bring some tea and biscuits, if you’d like.”
“Just the tea, I think. Your sister Sarah often brings us baked goods. Such a dear.”
Sarah came down the aisle at that moment, and the sisters held gazes. Claire said, “I have always thought so.”
Then others began greeting Mrs. Denby, clearly a popular person. Claire excused herself and slipped from the pew.
As she left the church, she glanced over and noticed Mr. Thomson and Mr. Hammond in a quiet conversation that ended with a shaking of hands.
18
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A few days later, Mr. Hammond said he would be busy in his study most of the afternoon. Finding the house quiet and her tasks completed, Claire went down to her room. As she opened her shutters to let in more light, she noticed men wearing Hessian boots with swords at their sides march past. Military men were a fairly common sight in Sidmouth, so Claire gave them little heed and sat down at her small table with the satinwood sewing box.
She had meant to make herself a new dress straightaway, but as Mr. Hammond had said, she was up early and up late most days as it was, and the project seemed overwhelming to her. She had progressed no further than sketching out the basic design. Where would she spread the fabric to do the cutting? And what if she made a major mistake and ruined the gifted material? Perhaps she should ask Sarah for help. Or begin with something smaller.
She had made a good start on her wraparound stays, which the French calledcorset à la paresseuseor “lazy stays.” Contrary to the name, constructing and stitching the undergarment had proved to be more work than she’d anticipated. She still needed to add boning and gussets, but even so, the project was coming along well.
In the meantime, she had grown thoroughly weary of her few frocks. Mr. Hammond’s words,“I notice you wear the same few dresses in rotation”—though kindly delivered—revealed others were aware of her limited clothing as well.
Her gaze strayed to the trunk against the wall. Mr. Hammond had said she should feel free to wear anything that suited her or to make something over for herself.
She remembered the almost-strangled look on his face—the repressed emotion, the tight voice—when he’d said,“Vanita’s clothing. I have not looked inside since she...”
Claire had not yet looked inside either, but surely he’d expected her to by now.
Curiosity rising, Claire opened the trunk. She carefully began extracting the garments within and laying them on her bed—a spencer, two chemises, and two day dresses.
She paused to consider the day dresses. One was of gauzy white muslin, which did not seem practical in her situation. The other was of a sturdier green cambric with dainty embroidered flowers on the bodice. A flounce had been sewn to the hem of the skirt and a wide strip of shiny satin ribbon stitched at the waist. After studying it, Claire decided she could easily remove the flounce and waist trim. At the neckline she could wear the fichu Sarah had returned to her. These changes combined would hopefully render it less recognizable for Sonali’s sake as well as Mr. Hammond’s. Claire had no wish to provoke the one or sadden the other by parading around in a gown that had obviously belonged to Vanita.
