Page 8 of The Seaside Homecoming
“Are you not certain? With all your churchgoing and donations and piety?”
“Pff. That gets me nowhere. The only reason I can hope for heaven is this.” She lifted the cross on its gold chain.
“Your necklace?”
“Don’t be daft. What it symbolizes. The cross alone renders sinners acceptable to God.”
“Do you include yourself in that number, or only me?”
“I am in the same boat, my girl. But you are still at sea.” She waved her veined hand. “Now, enough of that. Have you given any thought to where you might go?” Her lips quirked. “While alive, I mean.”
Worry pinched Claire. “I have thought about it but have made no decision as yet.”
“Your mother won’t have you, you know. Your father made his wishes clear.”
“As you’ve often reminded me. Speaking of the future, I hate to ask, but I will need some money. Most companions are given an annual allowance.”
“An allowance? Ha. You have had a roof over your head, a warm bed, and meals prepared for you. You’ve been givenproper clothing. Not to mention spiritual instruction from my minister. Far more than most in your situation would expect. I’d say you’ve already received more than adequate compensation.”
All the old shame washed over Claire, paired with heavy defeat. She hung her head. “I am sorry. I do appreciate having a home here.”But for how long?
Another wave of her hand. “Enough idle chatter. Off with you, now.”
Claire swallowed. “Do you not wish me to read to you?”
“Not today.” She tapped her whiskery chin. “I have a great deal to think about.”
3
...Died in this city, Miss Jane Austen. Her manners were most gentle, her candour was not to be surpassed, and she lived and died as became an humble Christian.
—Obituary,Salisbury and Winchester Journal
The day after Lord Bertram’s visit, Aunt Mercer sent for her lawyer as well as her doctor. The doctor prescribed something new to ease her discomfort and offered to take the prescription directly to the apothecary on his way home. Her aunt must be declining, for he had never offered before. They’d always had to dispatch Fergus to do so.
“I am sorry, Aunt,” Claire said, noticing her tight expression. “I did not realize you were in such pain.”
Agnes Mercer was typically stoic, but she admitted, “It is getting worse, I own.”
Less than an hour later, the apothecary himself delivered the prescribed draught. Recalling Fergus’s accusation about Mary and the “ginger-haired assistant,” Claire wondered why that young man had not made the delivery as usual.
When the apothecary had gone, Claire asked, “Shall I giveyou some now, Aunt?” She stood at her bedside, ready to pick up bottle and glass.
“Not yet. Any word from my solicitor?”
“No. Have you pressing business with him?”
“Do not pry. It does not become a lady.”
Her ... a lady?Aunt Mercer must be confused as well as in pain.
“What can I do for your present comfort in the meanwhile? A glass of wine, perhaps? Or shall I read to you?”
“Nothing, nothing. Just sit with me.”
“Of course.”
Claire sat at her bedside. After a moment’s silence, she attempted to distract the woman from her discomfort by asking about her past.
