Page 4 of The Seaside Homecoming
Callum Henshall”
Emily threw up her hands. “Unsatisfactory report is right! Where does this leave us? We know no more than before.”
“At least we know Claire is probably still living there,” Sarah said. “Although I would feel better if he had seen her.”
“How rude not to receive him,” Viola said. “Surely that was Aunt Mercer’s doing and not Claire’s.”
“I agree,” Sarah said. “Unless, perhaps, her experience with ... a certain gentleman ... has left her wary of men in general.”
“I had not thought of that.” Emily looked at her twin. “I am so glad you and the major are traveling there soon, Vi. Surely they won’t refuse to see you.”
“Let’s hope not.”
“Are you all packed?”
“Yes. We leave bright and early tomorrow morning.”
Emily squeezed her hand. “Have a wonderful time.”
“Thank you. I shall write with news as soon as I can.”
2
USEFULCOMPANION.
A lady, in her 24th year, anxiously desires a SITUATION as above. She is a good reader, domesticated, and industrious. She would be most suitable for an elderly lady. Salary a secondary object.
—Advertisement,The Times of London
The next day, when the butler delivered the post, Claire eyed the missive hopefully, but it was only a letter for her aunt in a hand she did not recognize.
Claire helped her sit up in bed and then watched as the old woman peeled up the wax seal, read, and then sighed.
“Another charity requesting my support. So many poor, miserable people in this world. Write a reply for me, please.”
Claire rose in silent obedience, her aunt’s shrewd gaze studying her in disapproval.
“You’re even more aloof than usual today. And what a long-suffering expression you wear. I suppose you’re still upset about that note the gentleman left. I did not prevent your reading it because I am a mean old bat, but because your father insisted the rest of the family cut ties with you. I am merely enforcing his wishes. Be glad he did not forbid me to shelter you as well.”
“Yes, Aunt.”
Agnes Mercer narrowed her eyes. “I know you find your life here an odious one, but there are many in your situation who would happily trade places with you. Fallen women often find themselves facing far worse fates. You might have ended up in the Magdalen Asylum, one of the charities I support, or even the workhouse, if not for me.”
“Yes, Aunt.” She forced herself to add, “And I am grateful.”
The old woman harrumphed, clearly not convinced, and handed her the key to her desk.
Claire accepted it and turned. A brass quill and ink holder sat on the desk’s surface, along with a wax jack, but paper itself was kept in the drawer. She unlocked it and slid it open. Her gaze strayed to a few letters in the far-right corner, the top one face down with its seal still intact. Might one of them be for her? Aware of her aunt’s hawklike eyes, Claire withdrew only paper and closed the drawer.
She spread the blank page before her and dipped the quill, saying, “Ready.”
Agnes Mercer began her reply, her voice growing increasingly thin and reedy as she continued. She thanked the charity’s governors for their request and gave her stipulations for agreeing to make a donation. Claire could have written it without the woman’s prompting, as she had written similar responses on her aunt’s behalf many times before.
Claire finished the last line in silence and stood to take it to the bed for her aunt’s scrawly signature. But the woman had fallen asleep.
How unusual. She always made sure the desk drawer was locked and the key returned to her before dismissing Claire or allowing herself to nap. It was so unexpected that Claire watched the woman’s thin, flat chest to make sure it rose and fell, which it did, with weak regularity.
Claire would surely be caught if she unsealed the letterto read, but perhaps she might write a brief one of her own. Dare she?
