Thora also knew a few women who walked around smiling incessantly for no good reason. Living in expectation of pleasure around every corner. It was annoying, really. She supposed, if they’d never experienced anything else, why wouldn’t they smile, naïvely assuming life would always hand them whatever they wanted, tied in a bow. She thought of young Miss Brockwell. Pretty, well-to-do, and not yet twenty. She’d never known how cruel fate could be. Mrs. Paley, the vicar’s wife, also came to mind. She probably felt duty bound to always look happy. A walking advertisement for God and the church.
No, that wasn’t fair, Thora amended. Mrs. Paley was sincerely contented most of the time.
And then there was the rare woman who had every right to look forlorn, yet did not. Women who lived in expectation of pleasure against all logic. Like Mercy Grove, whom Thora admired most of all. Mercy did not walk around like a ninny with an inane smile splitting her mouth wide. But her long gentle face seemed always on the verge of a soft smile—just waiting to be given a reason to brighten a little more. Her eyes, when she looked at you, shone with inner light. As though hearing whatever you had to say carried the promise of pleasure, whether you were itemizing your laundry list or granting some dearly held wish.
Mercy was plain, had few prospects, and worked tirelessly to teach those who could never fully repay her. Yet that brimming anticipation of finding good wherever she looked added brilliancy to her complexion and made her more beautiful in Thora’s view than any so-called “diamond of the first water.” Fortunately, men did not often notice and value that deep, beneath-the-surface beauty Mercy possessed. So she’d had no suitors and would probably avoid the pitfalls of marriage.
Thora thought about Jane. Perhaps she should warn her. She had seen the attentions paid to her by Mr. Drake, Sir Timothy, and Mr. Locke, and she didn’t want Jane to make the mistake of remarrying.
If Jane did so, the inn would become the property of her husband, unless she engaged a whip-sharp lawyer to draw up another marriage settlement. So warning Jane—protecting her—would be protecting the inn as well, to some degree. The only way marriage would be beneficial was if Jane happened to marry an experienced innkeeper determined to make The Bell successful—or a wealthy man willing to pour funds into the old place. None of her current suitors would do, in Thora’s estimation. It was more likely Mr. Drake would sell The Bell and divert the proceeds into his new hotel. A farrier wouldn’t have the experience or money to improve the place, and Thora doubted a baronet would marry an innkeeper, but if he did, the first thing he’d do is pluck his lady love out of anything resembling work and either sell the place or appoint some fussy dandy to manage it in her stead. Horrors.
Yes, Thora would try to find a good time to offer Jane some friendly advice and hope she wouldn’t resent it—and that she would listen to her more than her sons ever did.
On the journey back to Ivy Hill, the coach passed Fairmont House along the new turnpike. Jane glimpsed James Drake outside with Mr. Kingsley, heads bent over a paper spread wide. A wagon loaded with lumber arrived, and James gestured the driver around the side of the house.
Jane pulled her gaze away to find Cadi watching her. She met the maid’s questioning look with a reassuring smile.
When they reached The Bell, Cadi offered to take her valise to the lodge, knowing Jane was eager to check on things in the inn. Jane nodded her appreciation and thanked Cadi again for accompanying her on the trip.
Kipper appeared and wound himself around Jane’s ankles, mewing his protest of her absence. Jane bent to scratch his head. “Miss me, did you, Kip? I shall find you a treat as soon as I can.”
She went inside and found Thora talking with Patrick as he lounged at the front desk.
Her mother-in-law looked up, eyes measuring. “How did it go?”
“Better than I expected, actually.”
“How so?”
Jane glanced over the desk at Patrick. “I learned I was wrong about something.”
Patrick laced his fingers behind his head. “And that is a good thing?”
“In this case, yes.”
Thora asked, “Did you find the answers you were looking for?”
“I did. And then some. I happened into Gabriel Locke while I was there, and he showed me where the accident happened.”
She noticed Patrick raise a brow and send his mother a knowing look, but Thora ignored it.
Jane explained, “He was in Epsom to talk to a friend who works at the inn there, remember?”
Patrick smirked. “Whatever you say, Jane.”
Jane hadn’t decided whether or not to say anything about what she’d learned about Patrick in Epsom but found she couldn’t remain silent in the face of his smug innuendo. “While I was there I also saw someone who used to work here. I think you remember her. Hetty Piper?”
His smirk fell away instantly.
“She certainly remembers you.”
Thora looked from Patrick to Jane, lips parting to speak. Jane expected her to say something derisive about the girl again, but instead Thora closed her mouth without a word.
Jane said, “I learned that John had gone to Epsom with a view of helping Hetty, but he died before he got the chance.”
“Helping her?” Thora asked. “Why would John help Hetty Piper?”
“That is what I wanted to know. Rest assured, there was nothing untoward between them, but we can take comfort in knowing he intended to do a good deed the day he died.”
Thora jerked up her hands in exasperation. “Then why did God not spare him?”
Jane shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“‘The good die first . . .’” Patrick murmured, quoting Wordsworth.
Thora sent him a frown, then turned back to her. “Did you learn anything else about John?”
Jane wanted to clutch what she had learned to herself and treasure it. But seeing the unusually vulnerable expression on Thora’s face, Jane realized she was not the only woman who needed reassurance about John’s death.
Jane drew a deep breath and chose her words carefully. “Most of it we already knew, though I liked hearing it again. John wasn’t alone when he died. Gabriel Locke was with him—held his hand, stayed with him until . . .” She swallowed. “He assured me John was not in much pain, but rather, numb with shock. A blessing, in this case. John lived for several minutes. Long enough to apologize for being gone so much. And to say that he loved me.”
Thora nodded. “Of course he did.”
Jane looked at her in surprise. “He loved you too, Thora, I know. He thought the world of you and respected you highly.”
Tears brightened Thora’s eyes, but she blinked them away.
Jane thought back, then added, “John also said something like ‘May God forgive the rest.’ So I’d like to think he made peace with his Maker before he died.”
Thora nodded. “I would too.”
Talbot and Colin emerged from the office at that moment and hesitated at seeing Thora, Jane, and Patrick deep in serious conversation.
“Pardon us.”
Thora drew herself up, glad for the interruption. She’d had more than enough emotion for the time being.
“That’s all right. We were just hearing about Jane’s trip.”
“Ah.” Talbot nodded. “And was the Marquis of Granby everything Locke claimed it was—fast turnouts, excellent service . . . ?”
Thora looked to her daughter-in-law. She doubted Jane had paid much attention to the coaching inn itself, focused as she had been on the details of John’s passing.
Jane replied, “I . . . thought it very nice. It hasn’t the character of The Bell, but the rooms were comfortable and the food excellent. I am sure Mr. Locke will have more specific details to report about their turnouts when he returns.”
“And when will that be?” Patrick asked.
“I don’t know exactly. He mentioned other errands, including acquiring a horse, so a few days, I’d guess. How is Mr. Fuller doing in his stead???
?
“Excellent question.” Patrick looked at their porter. “Colin, why don’t you and I go out and talk with Jake. See if he has everything he needs.”
“Good idea, Mr. Bell.”
“I think I will slip out as well,” Jane said. “Wash off some of this travel dust. But I will return to relieve you soon.”
Thora shook her head. “It’s growing late, Jane, and you’ve had a long day. Go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am.”
After Jane left, Thora wandered to the window. There, she watched Patrick and Colin crossing the yard. With a touch of irony, she asked Talbot, “How is Master McFarland doing?”
Talbot’s lips tightened. “He works hard, Thora. And he is not his father—no more than Patrick is his.”
Thora gaped at Talbot, the wind knocked from her lungs. It was one thing for her to privately criticize her husband or doubt her son, but Talbot . . . ?
“But you think he is, don’t you?” she asked a little breathlessly. “You see Frank in Patrick and mistrust him because of it.”
His eyes downturned. “Thora, I had no intention of saying a word against anyone. I only want you to give Colin a chance.”
Heart heavy, Thora whispered, “‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.’”
“Then let’s hope for an exception to that rule. In both cases.”
Thora inhaled deeply—time to change the subject. “How is Nan?” she asked.
Talbot shrugged. “The same, mostly. I know she’d enjoy another visit from you. You caught us at our worst the last time you were there. Me in my work clothes and Nan in her nightcap. The house a mess. It’s only fair you should come again and let us improve your impression. Come after church. See us in our Sunday best. I shall give you a proper tour of the place. You and Jane are not the only ones planning for improvements, you know. And I shall, um, put a roast in the oven and muster up a little something for our dinner.”
Thora shook her head. “No.”
His brows lowered. “No?”
“Don’t go to so much bother. Roast a chicken. Beef is too dear. And I shall bring a few things to go with it. Mrs. Rooke still lets me use her kitchen, and I remember my way around it.”
“Thank you, Thora. We would enjoy that.”
“Is there anything special Nan likes? Or anything she isn’t supposed to eat?”
“The doctor has placed no restrictions on her diet, beyond avoiding anything stronger than a few sips of hot elder wine, which eases her cough. Sadie and I have tried everything from invalid meals to fare worthy of country miners, but little tempts her these days.”
Thora frowned in thought. “I see . . .”
“But then,” Talbot said, “she has never been offered one of your famous pork-and-veal pies.”
“That’s right. Nan mentioned you were partial to them.”
“Very true.” His eyes shone as he grinned at her, and Thora found herself grinning in reply. It was a foreign yet oddly pleasant sensation.
The next day, on her way down the corridor, Jane noticed Thora in the kitchen. “Has Mrs. Rooke recruited you again?”
Thora gestured toward the larder. “Fetch me the sugar loaf, will you?”
“Of course.” Jane crossed to the larder, startled to find Colin inside, perusing the shelves. He turned sharply at her entrance.
“Did you need something, Colin?” Jane asked.
A flush crept over the porter’s face. “Ah, well, I thought I might help Dotty with the inventory.”
From behind Jane came Thora’s acerbic voice. “How kind of you, considering Dotty is away visiting her sick aunt today.”
Colin’s blush deepened. “Beg your pardon, Mrs. Bell . . . and, er, Mrs. Bell. I’d better get back to the yard.” Stepping past Jane and Thora, he quickly exited.
Jane reached for the sugar loaf and handed it to Thora, who stood looking after Colin with narrowed eyes. “What did I tell you. You can’t trust a McFarland.”
“We don’t know that he was doing anything wrong, Thora.”
Thora huffed. “If you say so.”
Jane followed her back to the kitchen table and asked, “Are you ever going to tell me what you have against the McFarlands?”
Thora glanced at her in surprise. “Did John never tell you?”
“Not that I recall. Though Tuffy mentioned something about the roof angel. Did Liam McFarland give her that . . . unfortunate face?”
“Not exactly.” Thora kneaded a mound of dough, explaining as she worked. “She was struck by lightning many years ago. Liam McFarland assured us he could repair the injury, or at least make it less noticeable. He is a mason but had also done stone carving, so Frank agreed.
“But when the man arrived to do the job, he was completed fuddled by drink. He would not listen to reason but insisted on climbing up on the roof anyway, eager for his pay. He started in with hammer and chisel but slipped and fell. He flailed for a handhold, struck the angel’s face with his chisel, and ended up breaking her wing in the bargain.”
Thora whacked the dough for emphasis, and Jane thought of the piece of angel wing she had found among John’s things.
Thora continued, “He caught himself on the gutter, which slowed his fall. It was a miracle the fool wasn’t killed. He broke his arm, however. Frank agreed to pay Dr. Burton’s bill, and Liam’s lost wages during his recovery, but he was not satisfied. He kept coming back for more. Even after the doctor declared him fit, Liam would moan of how his arm ached whenever it rained, blaming that—and us—for his inability to work.” Irritation flashed in Thora’s eyes.
“He started frequenting our taproom and running up a bill, then refused to pay it, saying we owed him. Finally Frank had had enough and banned him from the premises. There were a few ugly scenes after that. But thankfully, the constable and our regulars took Frank’s side in the matter and finally Liam gave up coming here, though he swore revenge.”
Jane slowly shook her head. “It’s a wonder he even allowed Colin to work here.”
“Probably sent him here. A new way to get more from The Bell, or retaliate somehow.”
“I can’t see Colin doing that.”
“No? Then you are not looking closely enough.” Thora extended a flour encrusted hand. “Pass me the salt, if you please.”
Jane didn’t agree with Thora’s poor estimation of Colin’s character, but at least now she understood its origins.
Jane handed over the dish, then watched as Thora cut leaf shapes from salted pastry dough. Decorative pastry? It seemed rather frivolous from practical Thora.
Although she knew she ought to return to the office, Jane lingered, watching Thora shape dough and thinly slice veal with growing curiosity.
“Goodness. That looks too fine for our dining parlour.”
“It isn’t for ours.”
“No? Are we expecting some august guest I don’t know about?”
Without looking up from her work, Thora replied, “Meddling does not become you, Jane.”
Thora slid two meat pies into the oven, then paused, fanning herself with her apron. “It’s devilish hot in here.”
“Is it? Must be because you’re working so hard. Shall I open a window for you?”
“Thank you. Seems I am always hot these days. Just wait, Jane. It will happen to you one day as well. For the first time in my life I am eager for winter’s return.”
Thora grated sugar over cooled raspberry tarts, transferred them into a tin, then retrieved a covered basket from the scullery shelves.
Jane felt her brows rise. “Are you preparing a picnic, Thora?”
She placed the tin in the basket. “This is not a picnic.”
“It has every appearance of one.”
“I am simply packing a few things I hope will tempt Nan Talbot’s appetite.”
Jane eyed the rich food. It did not look like a bland, soft meal suited to an invalid, but thought it wiser not to say so. r />
Thora added, “I am going out to the farm to call on her after church tomorrow.”
“That is kind of you. Will Mr. Talbot be there too?”
“Of course. It is his home now as well, after all. Why do you ask?”
Jane shrugged. “No reason. It just seems like a great deal of food for an invalid.”
“I trust Talbot and his housekeeper will partake as well. Now. What am I missing . . .?” She wiped her hands and looked around the kitchen.
“Do they expect you, or are you calling unannounced?”
“Talbot asked me to call. To visit his sister-in-law and see the improvements on the farm. But one doesn’t like to visit empty-handed.”
“No risk of that. I half wish I were invited as well. It all looks delicious.”
The hint passed without comment.
Jane was not offended Thora did not invite her to join them. Instead she bit back a secretive smile.
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
As Thora brushed her hair on Sunday morning, she noticed something on her face. She rubbed a finger over the mark, but it did not yield. “Delightful,” she muttered acidly. A small brown spot now marred her temple. She huffed. What next? She should have heeded her mother’s advice and been more diligent about protecting her skin from the sun.
Someone knocked and Thora called, “Enter.”
Alwena poked her head into the room. The mousy maid delivered hot water in the mornings. But she had already done so, and Thora had not expected her to return.
“What is it, Alwena?”
“Um, I hope you don’t mind my asking, ma’am, but I was hoping you might help me with something.”
“Oh? What?”
“Well, you know how Cadi has become quite accomplished in dressing ladies’ hair? She has been teaching me. Mrs. Bell thinks I ought to practice, and then I could dress hair for lady guests when the need arises. I was thinking I could try my hand at dressing your hair—if you’d let me.”
“Very few ladies travel without their own maids, Alwena. Jane should know that. A foolish notion and a waste of time.”
The maid’s expression fell. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry to bother you.” She backed from the room.