Chapter 3
Anne’s first week in Painswick passed swiftly and pleasantly.
She spent time in Yew Cottage with Miss Lotty, sewing, chatting, and tending to the woman’s ankle—applying soothing poultices when it ached and then rewrapping it as her father had shown her.
She also enjoyed the excuse to visit the shop of Mr. Greaves: Chemist, Druggist, and Purveyor of Patent Medicines in New Street, a man she had always liked.
She purchased some herbal remedies from him, although she’d come prepared with her own medicine case—a prized gift from her father, along with the medical book he’d given her.
At first, she found it a little strange to see Lotty sitting still so much of the day.
When Anne thought of her mother’s somewhat-younger friend, she pictured her bustling about, arranging flowers for the church, taking meals to invalids, or going to one of the charity schools to help pupils with their reading.
Yet despite her limited ability to walk, Lotty’s hands were often busy knitting stockings for elderly neighbors and residents of the poorhouse.
Anne could sew yet had never learned to knit.
Lotty tried to teach her now, but Anne struggled to master the skill.
While they sat together over their needles, Anne asked, “Remind me—how did you and Mamma become friends?”
“Good question,” Lotty said, her eyes taking on a distant look.
“Deborah and I both grew up here and saw each other at church and whatnot. She was several years older, and I looked up to her. So elegant, I thought. So kind and well-spoken. If I’m honest, I was surprised she befriended me.
When she discovered I was fond of reading and gardening, sometimes both at the same time, she declared we were kindred spirits. ”
Anne chuckled. “Sounds like Mamma.” The needles clicked for a few moments while the women were silent, then Anne said, “Thank you. It’s good to hear about her. To talk of her.”
Lotty nodded. “For me as well. I miss her, but seeing you is very like seeing her again.”
“Is it?” Tears heated Anne’s eyes, and Lotty’s filled in response.
The older woman swallowed and then added with a wink, “Although she was a much better knitter.”
On Sunday, Anne attended the divine service at St. Mary’s with Miss Birt.
With a nostalgic pang, Anne glanced toward the pew her grandparents used to occupy, now filled with people she did not know.
How she missed them. After the service, she met the young curate, several neighbors, and a few old friends of her grandparents.
She then returned to share Sunday dinner and all the latest news with her housebound host.
On Monday, Anne tended the little garden behind the cottage and helped Dinah with the dusting and sweeping, determined not to be a burden.
“You are my guest, Anne,” Miss Lotty protested. “You are not here to work.”
“I don’t mind. I like to be useful.” Anne was glad to help, especially on an afternoon like this one, when Miss Newland had invited guests to tea—Painswick’s two physicians—so there was a lot to do.
“In that case,” Miss Lotty said, “would you be a dear and go to Parrats’ bakery for something to serve with tea? Pastries or muffins, or anything suitable they still have this late in the day. Dinah’s attempt at a seed cake has failed. And she still needs to tidy up before they arrive.”
So that was what Anne had smelled burning. “Of course. Happily.”
“There’s pin money in the tin there. Take what you need.”
“Never mind. I have it.” Her father had given her a small amount of spending money for the trip—a very small amount. But Anne wanted to contribute in some way while she was there.
She put on her bonnet and gloves and left Yew Cottage.
The many bells in the church tower began to peal, the ringers practicing a new sequence of “changes,” as they often did.
The cheerful sound followed Anne as she walked around the churchyard, bordered by streets on three sides and the grounds of Painswick Court on the fourth.
She passed the town hall, which housed the poorhouse, boys’ endowed school, and stock-house—its pair of iron stocks out front.
Reaching the bakery near the market in Friday Street, she paused at its bow window displaying breads, buns, and cakes.
Inside, the shop was warm and filled with the delicious smells of yeast bread, cinnamon, and nutmeg.
People lined up at the counter to be served by the aproned baker and his wife.
Leaving Parrat & Son a short while later, parcel of teacakes in hand, Anne bumped hard into someone’s shoulder—a very solid shoulder.
A man’s strong hand reached out to steady her, and in a deep voice he said, “Careful.”
He smelled of vanilla, with a hint of something else—something sharp and familiar.
Her gaze landed on the sack in his other hand. From it protruded a child’s stuffed toy rabbit.
She looked up from its button eyes into a pair of arresting brown ones. “I’m sorry. I . . .”
The face before her was handsome and faintly familiar—the face she had seen through the gap in the thicket—straight nose, fair side-whiskers, high cheekbones, and a strong jaw. A fringe of dark blond hair showed from beneath his beaver hat.
“Pray, excuse me,” he said with a slight bow. “I was not looking where I was going.”
Then looking up at her more closely, his eyes widened in surprise. “Oh.”
Was she familiar to him as well?
At the same moment, an older man and a young woman stepped from a nearby shop. Anne recognized him as the town crier, in his red greatcoat and tricorn hat, accompanied, she guessed, by his daughter. The town crier hailed the blond man. “Good day to ye, sir.”
“Ah, Mr. Parker. How are you?” The younger man surreptitiously shoved the toy deeper into the sack.
“Quite well now, thank ye.”
“Good, good.”
The young lady blushed and smiled, dimples blazing. “Thank you again for your call.”
“My pleasure.”
When the two had walked on, the blond man turned back to Anne and gave her a terse nod. “Again, my apologies, madam.”
He stepped around her and walked briskly away. She watched him go. At the corner he glanced back, and then his pace quickened anew as he disappeared from view.
Curiosity flickered at his reaction. Who was the man and what was he up to?
Anne returned to Yew Cottage in time to stow her outdoor things and help set the table before the first of their two guests arrived.
She recognized Dr. Marsland, a broad, dark-haired man with a confident bearing, from his visits to her grandparents during their final months.
He appeared to be in his mid-forties, near in age to Charlotte Newland.
He handed his hat to Dinah, who laid it on the hall table before scurrying back into the kitchen.
“Anne, do you remember my friend Dr. Richard Marsland?” Lotty asked. “Dr. Marsland, Miss Anne Loveday.”
“Can it be little Anne Loveday?” He regarded her in apparent wonder.
Lotty leaned close to him and said, “Told you she’d grown up.”
“Indeed she has. As I recall, your grandfather summoned me when you fell trying to walk across a sluice gate. Though that was many years ago now.”
“That’s right! I am surprised you remember, with all the patients you attend. Well, a pleasure to see you again.”
He looked past them into the parlour. “No sign of Finch?”
“Not yet,” Miss Lotty replied, unconcerned. “I’m sure he’ll be along any minute now.”
The doctor frowned. “That young man does not know how to make a good impression.”
“It’s all right, Richard, truly.” Miss Charlotte gave his arm a consoling pat. “Now, come and sit.”
Christian names and touching? Anne thought with surprise. Her hostess clearly admired this man. Anne had always thought Charlotte Newland remained single by choice. Had she been wrong? Perhaps her mother’s old friend would not be a spinster forever.
A knock sounded.
“There, you see?” Miss Lotty said. “That’s him now, no doubt.”
Dinah hurried past and answered the door again. A few moments later, a tall, blond man of about thirty entered, hat in hand.
“Dinah, his hat!” Lotty hissed.
“That’s all right,” the man replied easily, laying it next to Dr. Marsland’s. “I’ll just set it here, shall I?” His gaze landed on Anne, and his easy smile fell. “Oh . . .”
It was the same man again, without parcel or toy rabbit this time.
He turned to their hostess. “Am I late? Pray forgive me.”
“Not at all. You—”
“You are,” Dr. Marsland said flatly. “Really, Ernest, you must endeavor to be punctual. Unless of course, a patient emergency delayed your arrival?”
The younger man’s brown eyes shifted to Anne and away once more. “Em, no. Again, I do apologize.”
“Never mind. I am just glad you are here,” Lotty assured him, and then performed the introductions. “Anne, I’d like you to meet Painswick’s new physician, Dr. Ernest Finch. Dr. Finch, please meet my friend Miss Anne Loveday.”
For a moment he looked at her, lips parted as though to say something, perhaps to acknowledge their former encounters. Instead, he abruptly bowed. “Miss.”
Anne curtsied. “A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Finch.”
His Adam’s apple rose and fell beneath his cravat. He pivoted again to their hostess. “And how fares your ankle, Miss Newland?”
“Come, you must call me Miss Lotty. Most everyone does.”
“Very well. Miss Lotty, how is your ankle?”
Dr. Marsland sighed. “Ernest, genteel ladies don’t like to talk about certain . . . limbs in company. A simple ‘How are you feeling?’ or ‘Is the injury healing?’ will suffice.”
The younger man ducked his head in chagrin.
Anne couldn’t help herself. A chuckle escaped.
Dr. Marsland sent her a quizzical look, while the younger man glanced up at her, expression uncertain.
“I am sorry,” Anne said. “It’s just that, well, if I needed, say, a suspicious growth removed, I would not hesitate to specify which limb.”