Chapter 10 #2
Then she went to the shelf displaying popular novels.
She looked at Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, then picked up the first volume of a four-volume set that contained the novel Northanger Abbey.
She read with interest the opening pages, which contained a biographical notice of the author, honoring the life and death of a woman named Jane Austen while acknowledging her previous novels published anonymously, among them Pride and Prejudice, one of Anne’s favorites.
She turned to chapter one and began reading. No one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her infancy, would have supposed her born to be an heroine. . . .
The shop bell jingled behind her, and she glanced over and saw Ernest Finch enter the library, removing his hat. Her heart gave an illogical flutter.
Seeing her, he walked over and bowed. “Miss Loveday, how do you do?”
She curtsied. “Good day, Dr. Finch. I am well, thank you.”
“Not to ask the obvious, but it appears you have found a new book to read?”
She glanced down at the novel. “Oh. Well, I would love to read this one sometime, but today I am here to find something to read to Lady Celia in the evenings. I doubt she would appreciate a Gothic romance.”
“Are you certain? My sister and her daughter both loved Northanger Abbey and Persuasion, as well as the other novels by the same author. Maybe Lady Celia would too.”
“Maybe.”
“What else are you considering?” he asked.
Anne turned back to the shop counter and ran her finger along the listing once more. “Perhaps something more serious like View of the State of Europe during the Middle Ages or On the Principles of Political Economy and Taxation.”
“Good night!” He pulled a face. “If the goal is to lull her to sleep, I imagine either of those would be far more effective than chamomile tea or lavender water.” He softened the words with a grin.
She grinned back. “I suppose you are right. Perhaps a book of travels would be a safer choice. Like this one—History of a Six Weeks’ Tour through a Part of France, Switzerland, Germany, and Holland.”
“That does sound a little more interesting, I grant you.”
Not seeing Miss Brezill about, Anne rang the little bell on the counter. While she waited, she asked him, “And what have you come for?”
“Oh, em, I was just looking.”
Miss Brezill stepped out of the back room, retrieved the book Anne had chosen, filled out a receipt, and wrapped the volume in brown paper.
Looking up, she said, “Ah, Dr. Finch. The book you wanted came in, The History of the Fairchild Family; or, The Child’s Manual.”
“Oh. Excellent. Thank you.”
He did not meet Anne’s wide-eyed gaze.
Parcels in hand, the two left the library together. Anne wanted to ask about the child’s manual—and the child—even as she feared the answer.
She bit back the question, and he remained silent as well.
At the corner, he paused. “Well. This is where we part ways. Good day, Miss Loveday.”
“Good-bye.” As Anne walked away, suspicion nipped at her. How many secrets was this man hiding?
When she reached the gravel drive, she remembered Mr. Dalby handing him something the previous day and Dr. Finch throwing it into the bushes.
Curious, she walked along the churchyard wall, peering beneath the border of bushes as she went.
There on the ground, a glimmer of bottle green.
She bent and gingerly picked up the glass.
It was a small bottle of “waters” from a spa town.
A souvenir. The vessel was cracked and empty but she could still read the embossed lettering: Cheltenham Natural Mineral Water.
Who mentioned that place recently? Anne asked herself. In reply, Mr. Dalby’s voice—talking to Rosa—echoed in her mind, “I have not laid eyes on you in . . . what, a year? Cheltenham, I believe?”
How curious. Why would he give such a memento to Dr. Finch?
The next Sunday morning, Anne took Louie for an early morning walk, then returned to the house.
When she entered Lady Celia’s room, the woman was not in her bed.
Instead, Anne found her in the adjoining dressing room, seated at the dressing table while Rosa brushed out her silvery hair.
Rosa was already fully dressed, and her hair neatly arranged, and it was not yet eight o’clock.
“It’s good to see you up and about, Lady Celia.”
“I am feeling somewhat better, I own. The remedies you’ve concocted seem to be helping.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Anne looked at Rosa and said, “If you want to attend church today, I can stay back this time.”
“No need, Miss Anne, but thank you.”
“You may both go,” Lady Celia said. “No need to sit vigil as though I’m dead. I have a few letters to write, and Louie shall keep me company.”
“It’s all right, Lady Celia,” Rosa airily replied. “I had not planned nor wished to go. I will do some reading here, on my own.”
“Humph. Suit yourself.”
Anne helped Rosa settle the woman back onto her bed, covered her with a knitted lap blanket, and brought over the writing box she’d requested. In addition to its slanted writing surface, the portable mahogany desk held an inkpot, sealing wax, penknife, and quills.
Then Anne followed the lady’s maid into the adjoining dressing room.
In a lower voice, she asked, “Do you really not wish to go, or are you only being polite?”
“I am not being polite. I have not attended church in months.”
Surprise flared. “But you . . . used to?”
“Oh yes, I used to attend quite regularly.”
“Did something happen?”
Rosa shrugged. “Have you ever prayed and prayed for something and your prayers went unanswered?”
“Yes.” Oh yes.
“I prayed so faithfully, but he did not . . . It did not happen.”
Anne sympathized. “And you were . . . angry with God?”
“At first. Then I realized I had lost my right to expect God to hear my prayers, let alone answer them. After what I’ve done, I’d be foolish to expect anything but disappointed silence.”
“Rosa . . .” Anne stepped closer, heart aching for the girl. “We have all made mistakes. All sinned. But God is merciful and will forgive us if we ask.”
The younger woman slowly shook her head. “Not all sins are so easily forgiven or forgotten.”
“As far as the east is from the west,” Anne said, paraphrasing the psalm. “That’s how far He removes our transgressions from us.” She spoke the words in all sincerity, hoping her own mistakes were included in that number.
“I wish that were true.” Rosa straightened. “Now, off with you. You had better hurry and finish dressing for church.”
Anne laid a gentle hand on Rosa’s arm and returned to her own room.
As she put on her spencer and gloves, Anne found herself pondering the “unforgivable” thing Rosa had done. And she felt quite certain that whatever the details, Jude Dalby bore the lion’s share of the blame.
Sharing a pew and a prayer book with Miss Birt as before, Anne glanced around the nave to see if Dr. Finch was in attendance this week. No sign of him. Dr. Marsland was there, and Colonel Paine and Miss Fitzjohn sat in the family box near the front, once again representing Painswick Court.
Ernest Finch entered during the call to confession and repentance, and Dr. Marsland sent him a dark look and shook his head.
During the litany, the curate made a series of petitions, including “And we pray for the health of our sister, Lady Celia Fitzjohn. . . .” After each petition, the congregation responded, “We beseech thee to hear us, good Lord.” Anne was glad she had pushed aside old resentments and could sincerely add her voice to the others.
Later, when the service ended, Dr. Finch rose to quickly depart, but Joe Webb and his family stopped first him and then Anne to thank them again for their assistance. Mr. Palling greeted each of them as well, then lingered in the aisle to speak to Miss Fitzjohn.
At that point, Dr. Finch tried to slip out again, but an old man hailed him near the door and appeared to be asking him to look at some growth on his neck.
Anne bit back a grin, and perhaps thinking the gesture was directed his way, Dr. Marsland approached her with a warm smile of his own. “A pleasure to see you, Miss Loveday. How fares our patient this morning?”
“She is feeling somewhat better—and was sitting up writing letters when I left.”
“That is excellent news. I shall stop by later to see her myself.” He then turned to acknowledge Miss Birt, asking her to pass along his greetings to Miss Lotty, expressing his hope that she might be able to join them all at church one day soon.
Anne returned a few other greetings directed her way as she moved in Dr. Finch’s direction, finally catching up to him in the churchyard.
“Dr. Finch! I was glad to see you in the service today.”
“Oh, em, yes. I cannot always get away.”
“Do you and Dr. Marsland takes turns being available should an emergency arise?”
“Well, no, not exactly. Someone has to . . . Goodness, you are inquisitive. Are you so very worried about my spiritual condition?”
“Forgive me. I should not pry. I only meant to say that I was glad to see you. And that Miss Lotty wishes me to pass along an invitation to join us for dinner again, if you are free.”
“That is kind of her, but—”
“She is kind,” Anne said, “but she also sincerely wishes you to join us. And . . . so do I.” Embarrassed by the admission, she added quickly, “It will only be Miss Lotty, me, and Miss Birt, who enjoys filling our ears with all the latest village gossip.”
“Town gossip, Miss Loveday,” he corrected, a teasing light in his eye. “Painswick is a town and not a mere village. A point I have been corrected on more than once since my arrival.”
“You are quite right. I have too.”
“All the latest gossip, ey? Then perhaps I would be wise to come and defend myself.” His lips quirked in a rueful smile.
She chuckled. “From what I hear, most people here like you and think you are a good physician. I certainly do . . . think you are a good physician, I mean.”
“And I think you are a good . . . person. As well as kind, and clever, and lovely.”