Chapter Twelve
“S weet Lord—is this it? Does Mrs. Smith live here ?”
Andrew glanced at Etty standing beside him, a basket hooked over one arm. “This is her home ,” he said.
“But it’s so small!”
“It’s no smaller than the others we’ve visited.”
“I know, but I can’t imagine anyone surviving with so little space.”
“It may not be as grand as the townhouses you grew up in, Mrs. Ward, but I assure you it’s better than most. And I daresay your servants in London survived with less. A four-room cottage for a family of four is to be preferred to a tiny room in an attic shared with six or seven other housemaids.”
Almost as soon as he’d uttered the words, his conscience pricked at him. She flinched, and raw shame flickered in her expression. He had no right to condemn her for having been brought up in luxury. Her cottage might be palatial compared to Loveday Smith’s tiny dwelling, but it must be considerably smaller than what she’d been used to in London.
He reached for her hand. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to cast judgment.”
“Did you not?”
She raised her hand and rapped on the door. Light, hurried footsteps approached and the door opened to reveal Loveday Smith’s eldest child. The girl stepped back, her mouth forming an O . Her sloe-black eyes widened as she stared at Andrew’s companion.
“Oh!” She let out a cry, then glanced over her shoulder. “Oh! I-I…”
Andrew approached the girl. “Florence, child, we’re here to call on your mother.”
“Y-you…” The girl’s voice trailed away as she glanced up at Andrew’s companion, a flicker of fear in her eyes. She looked as if she’d turn and flee inside if Etty approached her, but Etty made no move.
“That’s a pretty name, Florence,” she said. “It means ‘blossoming,’ doesn’t it? Is your mama fond of flowers, perhaps?”
“I-I…” The child shook her head.
“Florence, this is Mrs. Ward,” Andrew said. “She especially wanted to meet your mother.”
“Oh.” The child hesitated, then dipped into a curtsey. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. C-come in.”
Andrew stepped inside, and the stench of damp assaulted his senses.
“Ma’s restin’, vicar,” the girl said.
“Is she in her chamber?” Andrew asked.
The girl nodded. “I’ll take ye—and the lady.”
She led them up a narrow staircase that creaked with each step, to a tiny, uneven-floored chamber where the stench of damp mingled with the acrid odor of stale sweat. To her credit, Andrew’s companion made no sign she’d noticed as she entered the chamber, where Loveday sat reclined in a rocking chair, eyes closed, a blanket on her knees, her baby sleeping in a nearby cot.
Florence approached her mother and gave the rocking chair a gentle push. “Ma.”
Loveday stirred and frowned, a low groan reverberating in her throat.
“Ma!” Florence said, tugging at her mother’s hand. “Vicar’s here.”
Loveday let out a cry, and her eyes snapped open. She withdrew her hand, and Andrew caught sight of a dark mark on her wrist before she tugged her sleeve over it. He glanced at Etty, who was staring at Loveday’s hand, frowning.
Loveday teetered to her feet, letting the blanket fall to the floor. “Vicar! Oh, sweet Lord, what must you think of me not receiving you. I…”
She stumbled forward, losing her balance. Before Andrew could react, Etty dropped her basket, rushed toward Loveday, and caught her in her arms.
“There!” she said. “I have you, Mrs. Smith. You mustn’t get up on our account when you’re unwell.”
“Oh—no!” Loveday shook her head. “Ma’am, no, you mustn’t—” She broke off with a sob, moisture shining in her eyes.
“Here, let me sit you back down,” Etty said. “What must you think of us, intruding when you’re taking your rest?” She helped Loveday into the chair, then crouched at her feet, gathering the blanket before placing it over her knees.
“You must be wanting tea,” Loveday said. “Florrie, love, see to it, would you?”
“What about the baby, Ma? You said I was to—”
“Never mind that, Florrie. We have guests.”
“This is Mrs. Ward,” Andrew said, gesturing toward Etty. “She very much wanted to meet you today.”
“Oh.” Distress and shame lined Loveday’s features. “Oh, ma’am. I-if I’d known you were comin’, I’d have…”
“There’s no need to do anything, Mrs. Smith,” Etty said, glancing about the chamber. “We’re not in need of tea.”
Andrew flinched inwardly. What must she think of the place? Would she deign to spend an afternoon here, or would she turn her pretty nose up at the filth and restrict herself to the charitable efforts Lady Fulford favored, such as tossing a coin or two at the needy without sullying her hands?
He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she turned and met his gaze. The compassion in her eyes stirred his heart.
We’re guests here, he mouthed.
Etty glanced from Loveday to Andrew, and understanding flickered in her gaze. She drew up a chair beside Loveday, sat, and pulled a package out of the basket.
“I trust it’s not too much of an imposition, Mrs. Smith,” she said. “I’ve been looking forward to spending an afternoon with you. Do you like fruitcake?”
Loveday eyed the package. “I-I had some once,” she said. “Leftovers, from one of Lady Fulford’s garden parties.” She winced, and Andrew’s heart ached at the fear in her eyes.
“Well, this one’s for you,” Etty said.
“Oh no, ma’am—I couldn’t possibly take it.”
“It’s only fair that I bring you a gift if I’m a guest in your home, Mrs. Smith, particularly if you’ve invited us for tea. Frances baked it.”
“Frannie Gadd?” Loveday asked.
“Yes—all by herself!” Etty laughed. “I’m hopeless in the kitchen, I’m afraid. I do my best, but I know when to concede defeat in the presence of a more accomplished cook. Frances sends you her best wishes, Mrs. Smith.”
“Oh, ma’am!” Loveday cried. “I’m quite overcome—I don’t know what to say…”
“There’s nothing to say,” Etty said, placing a light hand on her arm. A flicker of pain crossed Loveday’s expression. “May I look at your hand, Mrs. Smith?”
Loveday glanced at Andrew and shook her head.
“Mr. Staines,” Etty said, “might you perhaps assist Florence with the tea? I know how men dislike listening to ladies prattling on, and I’d like to get to know Mrs. Smith better, if you’d be so kind?”
Andrew glanced at Etty, at the compassion in her eyes and the tender way she cradled Loveday’s hand in hers.
Loveday was, perhaps, in safer hands today than she had ever been. He nodded, then ushered Florence out of the chamber.
*
By the time Andrew returned, the sun was well past its zenith. He should have been back at the vicarage hours ago—that sermon wasn’t going to write itself. He would have already been home had Etty not insisted on prolonging each of their visits today. She’d taken the plight of his flock to her heart—young Matthew and Kitty Dodd, who’d struggled to make ends meet ever since Matthew’s accident at Whittington Farm, and old Mrs. Penfold, who was determined to retain her home and her independence, but who suffered with the pains in her hands and feet. Mrs. Penfold was known in Sandcombe for her irascibility, but Etty had ignored her short-tempered jibes, rewarded her frowns with smiles, and even joined ranks with the old widow in her lamentations about the inequalities of the world and the faults of men—including Andrew himself, after which Mrs. Penfold regaled Etty with tales of her late husband’s mishaps.
And now, laughter could be heard in Loveday Smith’s house. Holding the tea tray in his hands, he followed Florence inside to find Loveday sitting upright in her chair, her eyes sparkling with mirth, and Etty standing in the center of the room, holding the baby in her arms.
“Florrie, love, would you see to Anna?” Loveday asked. “It’s time for your walk.”
“There’s no need to remove the child on my account, Mrs. Smith,” Etty said, then she cooed to the baby. “You’re such a sweet girl, aren’t you?”
“I always take Anna for a walk in the afternoon, ma’am,” Florence said, holding out her arms. “She likes to see the sea.”
“Then perhaps you can all join me for a picnic by the sea,” Etty said, handing the baby to the girl. “I’m taking Frances, and I’m sure she’d like the company. She speaks of you often, Mrs. Smith.”
“A picnic?” Loveday’s eyes shone with delight. Then she shook her head. “I can’t possibly. My Ralph wouldn’t permit it.”
“I fail to see why not—the fresh air would be good for you, and there’s much to be said about the benefits of sea bathing.”
“I…” Loveday began, then flinched as a door opened and slammed shut downstairs. The baby in Florence’s arms began to wail. “Florrie, love, take Anna outside, there’s a good girl.”
The child nodded and exited the chamber. Shortly after, voices echoed from downstairs—Florence’s tone pleading, placating, alongside another, deeper voice, its surly tones thickening the air.
Loveday gripped the arms of her chair and struggled to her feet. Andrew set the tray on a table and took her arm, but she pulled free.
“Vicar, you should go,” she said.
Then the heavy tread of footsteps drew near and the door opened to reveal a thick-set man with thinning brown hair and close-set, pale-brown eyes. He glanced about the chamber, giving Andrew a cursory nod before settling his gaze on Etty, a flare of lust in his eyes.
Andrew wrinkled his nose at the stench of stale sweat.
“Husband!” Loveday cried.
Ralph turned his attention to his wife. “What’s goin’ on?”
“The vicar’s come to visit, Ralph,” Loveday said. “Isn’t that kind of him?”
“Busybody more like, pokin’ his nose where it’s not wanted.” He gestured toward Etty. “Who the bleedin’ hell’s this , then?”
Etty approached the man. “Mr. Smith, I’m—”
“I didn’t ask you , woman,” he sneered. “I asked my wife.”
“I’m your wife’s guest,” Etty said, her voice sharpening. “I have every right—”
“Get out!” he snarled. “I’ll have none of that nonsense in my house! We don’t need some fancy woman pokin’ her sharp little nose in our business, thinkin’ she’s better than us merely because she sits on her arse all day drinkin’ tea.”
“Mr. Smith, there’s no need—”
“Vicar, control your woman before I do it for you. I’ll not have fancy women puttin’ ideas into my wife’s head.”
“Ralph, the vicar only came to see the baby,” Loveday said.
“The girl’s taken the brat outside, so there’s no reason for the vicar or his tart to stay, is there?”
Etty stepped toward Ralph. “How dare you refer to your daughters in such a manner? Is this how you treat your wife, also?”
“Mrs. Ward, please!” Loveday cried. “Ralph, forgive me. Mrs. Ward didn’t mean to say such things—did you, ma’am?”
“I most certainly did ,” Etty said.
“Why you…” Ralph raised his fists and took a step toward Etty, but she stood firm, defiance in her eyes.
“Go on, Mr. Smith,” she said. “Do your worst—unless, of course, you prefer to beat women behind closed doors with no witnesses present.”
“Mrs. Ward, no, ma’am, please!” Loveday said. “I told you, it was my fault—I slipped on the stairs. Ralph, I told her, honest I did. Mrs. Ward, I think you should go—it’s best if you do.”
“Not before I have your husband’s assurance that he’ll not lay a finger on you.”
“He won’t, will you, Ralph?” Loveday said. “You’re due at the Sailor, aren’t you? And I’ll have a nice bit of stew waiting for you when you get home tonight. Your favorite.”
“I think we ought to go, Mrs. Ward,” Andrew said.
Etty turned her gaze on him, anger in her eyes. “You what ?”
“We can visit Mrs. Smith tomorrow.” He turned toward Loveday’s husband. “And we can check on your wife’s wrist—make sure she’s had no more accidents.”
Ralph shrugged. “It matters not to me,” he said, retreating. “I’ve got work to do. Someone’s got to now Loveday’s landed me with another mouth to feed.”
“That’s no way to talk about your—” Etty began, but Andrew stopped her.
“Mrs. Ward, we should let Mr. Smith get to work, then we can go. Come, sir, I’ll show you out.”
“I know the way to my own front door,” Ralph growled.
“Nevertheless, I insist.” Andrew gestured to the chamber door. “After you.”
Ralph stared at Loveday for a moment, then turned and exited the chamber, muttering.
“Mrs. Smith…” Etty began.
“Please go, ma’am,” Loveday said quietly. “And I’m sorry I’ll not be able to come to your picnic.”
“But—”
“That’s enough, Mrs. Ward,” Andrew said, taking her arm. “It’s time we left. A vicar must never outstay his welcome.”
Ralph let out a snort as he descended the stairs. “If that were true, the vicar would keep himself to his bleedin’ self. Woman, make sure my supper’s on the table when I return!”
Loveday followed them out of the chamber, clinging to the doorframe. “Yes, husband, just how you like it.”
Without a backward glance, Ralph reached the foot of the stairs, plucked his cap from a hook on the wall, and rammed it onto his head before opening the front door and exiting.
“Close the door after you, vicar,” he sneered before he turned his back and set off toward the inn.
Andrew ushered Etty outside, bade Loveday farewell, then closed the door. Before she could protest, he took Etty’s arm and steered her onto the path in the opposite direction.
“Vile man!” she cried.
“Hush—he’ll hear you,” Andrew said.
She withdrew her arm, and he caught a blur of movement before pain exploded in his face as she delivered a stinging slap to his cheek.
“No—I meant you !”