Page 80 of The Seaside Homecoming
Claire attended church again that Sunday and sat in the same pew near the back. Once again Mrs. Denby gestured to Major Hutton to place her wheeled chair at the end of Claire’s row. Claire shared a smile with the woman and then with Viola before she and her husband continued on to the front.
After the service, Mrs. Denby reached over and squeezed her hand. “How are you keeping, my dear?”
“Fairly well, I think.”
The older woman leaned near and sank her voice. “I am sorry to see you separated from your family like this, but I hope we might be friends.”
“I would like that. Thank you.”
Viola and the major came to collect Mrs. Denby, but the sweet woman said, “Perhaps Miss Claire might walk me home, if she would not mind?”
“Oh, I ... would be happy to,” Claire replied.
“Good. That way, you can see where I live and then visit me again when you have the time.”
Claire nodded, and noticed Viola send the woman a grateful look.
A few minutes later, Claire pushed the wheeled chair down Church Street and then up narrow Back Street. They passed the post office and several shops. Outside the Nicholls lace shop, a young woman sat on a stool, bent over the plump pillow on her lap, bobbins shifting nimbly in her hands. Clairethought of Mr. Jackson’s admonition to pause and admire the skill of the lace makers. She would have walked past to complete her task, however, had Mrs. Denby not said, “Can we stop a moment?”
“Yes, of course.”
Together, the two watched the young woman work. The speed at which her hands moved the many bobbins was impressive indeed.
Mrs. Denby said, “My mother, sister, and I made sprigs like that. It does my heart good to see her make lace as we used to do.”
Mrs. Denby politely greeted the young woman and introduced Claire, and then the two moved on. When they were out of earshot, Mrs. Denby said, “And please don’t think poorly of her for working on Sunday. Times are hard for lace makers.”
Mrs. Denby then directed her to follow the next street until they reached a neat brick building, much nicer than she would have expected. Inside, rooms opened off a central corridor. As they started down it, Mrs. Denby said, “I am in number three.”
Claire pushed her to the door marked3. The woman lifted the latch with gnarled fingers, and Claire guided the chair inside a tidy, sparsely furnished room.
When she was settled, Mrs. Denby reached out and took Claire’s hand. “I lost my mother and sister years ago and still miss them. I can only imagine how you must be feeling. Yet never forget, where there is life, there is hope, and I shall be praying for all of you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Denby.”
On Sunday afternoon, the Summerses’ unwelcome guests arrived somewhat earlier than expected. A carriage halted on the drive, and a liveried footman hopped down to help theoccupants alight before Mr. Gwilt could hurry out to meet the coach.
Mamma and Georgie were still out on one of their long walks. Perhaps, Sarah thought, that was for the best. She asked Emily if she would prefer to be absent as well, but Emily squared her shoulders and said, “I shall not hide in my own home.”
As the new guests approached, Mr. Gwilt opened the door for them. First to enter were two women, past the first blush of youth but still pretty and elegantly attired in carriage dresses and smart hats.
After them came a slender man dressed in all the accoutrements of a dandy: cravat pin, quizzing glass, and gold-tipped walking stick that set off his well-tailored suit to ornate perfection. He looked vaguely familiar, but Sarah doubted she would have recognized him from the cricket match had Emily not told her.
Behind him trudged a grim-faced woman burdened with a load of bandboxes and other cases. The lady’s maid, Sarah guessed. Mr. Gwilt was quick to offer his assistance to her as well as to the footman now lugging in the trio’s baggage.
Sarah managed a smile. “Welcome to Sea View.”
Emily said, “How astonished we were to receive your letter asking to stay here.” Her words were perfectly polite, her tone less so.
If Mr. Craven noticed, he gave no sign. Instead his eyes lit with interest. “Ah, a pleasure to see you again, Miss Summers.” He swept off his top hat and bowed.
“That is no longer my name. I recently married. I am Mrs. Thomson now.”
The light in his eyes dimmed. “Pity.”
“Not at all, I assure you.”
“For me, I mean.”
