Chapter 14
Blythe kissed Elijah on the cheek. “Do you have everything?”
“Yes, Mama,” Elijah grumbled.
“Write once you arrive.”
“You know I will not, Mama—not straight away, at least. I will have far too much to do. This year I am a prefect.”
“Be kind to the younger boys.”
Elijah grinned. “I will boss them around as I was bossed around. It builds character.”
Blythe shook her head. “Take care on your journey.”
“I plan to read the books Doctor Sharpe has given me.”
“That was very kind of him.”
“Medicine is fascinating, and I think I shall study it at university.”
Blythe swallowed. “If that is what you wish, you will have my support.” Her insides quaked with dread at the prospect of telling Mrs Simmonds. “You have plenty of time to ensure that is what you want to do.” She pecked him on the cheek again.
“Mama!”
The back of her throat burned, but she held back her tears, if only to avoid embarrassing her son further. “You have become a fine young man, Elijah. I am very proud of you.”
“Thank you, Mama.” He smiled, and it was as though his father stood before her. “I shall try to write more frequently, and it will not be long until Christmas. Will you still be here then?”
“Yes. I think I shall remain.”
“Good. You are much happier here than in York, and it makes me happy to see you so.”
Blythe offered her young man a watery smile. “How perceptive you are.”
“I am not a child anymore, and I promise to take care of you.”
Her chest swelled with pride. Gone was the little boy who once scrambled under the covers and snuggled up to her while she read him a bedtime story. She sighed when he clambered into the travelling coach.
Violet waved until the vehicle had turned into the road towards York before running to the barn to collect eggs.
Seeing her son off to school never got any easier. At least he was happy, and he seemed to enjoy his studies.
She needed to walk off her agitation. Not only after saying goodbye to Elijah, but she still could not get Gabriel’s words out of her head, or the sensation of his lips upon hers.
In the kitchen, Mama bustled about as usual.
Blythe said, “I am going for a walk.”
Mama frowned. “Have you finished your jobs for the morning?”
“Yes.” Blythe refrained from rolling her eyes.
“Just be back to take out the elevenses.”
“Of course.” She collected a bonnet and shawl from the pile beside the door and headed into Midthorpe.
Brambles spread their long tendrils throughout the hedgerows. Their fat black berries glistened in the morning sunshine, ripe for picking. She would bring Violet to pick some and show her how to preserve them.
Mrs Simmonds and Mr Drake would not be pleased, but staying in Midthorpe was the right thing to do. The country air was better for her daughter, and she did not want Violet to become another lazy socialite.
She passed the silent tavern and darted around the corner onto the main street. Two grey-haired ladies approached. “Good morning, Mrs Simmonds.” They chimed in unison.
“Good morning.” Blythe almost stumbled in shock.
Further along the street, another lady with a small child nodded in greeting. She nodded back. What was going on?
She crossed the road and entered the haberdashery.
Mrs Scatchard stood at the counter and smiled.
“Good… morning,” Blythe said.
“Good morning, Mrs Simmonds.” Mrs Scatchard approached. “We were very sorry to hear about the demise of the young man with smallpox. We are most grateful to you for nursing him.”
“Thank you, but—”
“I have a granddaughter of a similar age to your daughter. Would you like to drink tea with us tomorrow evening?”
“That is very kind, Mrs Scatchard, but I am afraid I have duties on the farm which cannot be neglected, especially at harvest time.”
“Perhaps after Michaelmas, then?”
“I would be delighted. Thank you.”
The lady left.
Blythe turned to find Bess Dawkins with both her palms flat on the countertop. “It appears someone has worked their way into everyone’s good graces once more.”
Blythe stiffened.
“Getting asked to drink tea with the local gentry. What a privilege.”
“I cannot be the only one.”
Bess scoffed. “Mrs Scatchard is very selective regarding whose company she keeps.”
Blythe changed the subject. “I have come to check on the linen I ordered.”
“It is due tomorrow. There’s no need for you to come back. I’ll send my boy out to Silverdale as soon as it arrives.”
Blythe blinked, then delved into her purse. “I shall—”
“No need.” Bess held up her hand. “Mrs Scatchard is not the only one grateful to you for nursing James Farrer.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “It was nothing. Anyone would have—”
“No, they would not. Many others would have left him to suffer and die alone.”
What could one say to that?
“Your mam says you’ll return to York soon.”
Blast Mama, her assumptions and her loose tongue. “I have yet to decide my future.”
Bess’s lips twitched. “I’ll be sure to tell her that the next time she’s puffing you up to my mam.”
Blythe placed a shilling on the counter. “For your boy. Good day.”
In the street, Blythe inhaled and stared at the shop ahead.
You can do this. Her insides squirmed with discomfort.
If she wanted to become a healer, she must swallow her shame.
She could not change what she had done. She could only change her future.
Gabriel thought his mother would allow her a second chance.
But not all were as willing to forgive as he.
An apology was the first step. If Mrs Sharpe refused to accept it, and Blythe would not blame her, then she would have no choice but to return to York and find an apprenticeship there.
The prospect of unwelcome interference from the Simmonds family turned her stomach.
But she would not succumb; she would be strong and find her own path.
She paused before the bowed shop window. Mrs Sharpe was one of the few people whose good opinion she cared about, yet Blythe had abandoned her and hurt her son. A mother’s love was not to be trifled with, as she now understood. She would be lucky to leave with her head on her shoulders.
Have courage, Blythe. She entered the shop.
The baker’s wife placed her purchase in her basket. “Good morning, Mrs Simmonds.”
“Good morning, Mrs Foster.”
“Please pass on our compliments to your father for the fine wheat this year.”
“Thank you, I shall.”
Goodness, it seemed everyone was willing to speak to her now. If only it had not taken the death of a boy to make it so.
Once the door closed behind Mrs Foster, Blythe forced her gaze to meet that of the matriarch behind the counter. She swallowed back the lump in her throat and said, “Good morning, Mrs Sharpe.”
“Good morning.” Mrs Sharpe’s tone matched her name. “How can I help you,… Mrs Simmonds?”
“Blythe… please.”
The woman harrumphed.
“Thank you for the delicious marmalade. You did not need—”
“Omit the pleasantries. Say what you have come to say.”
Blythe dropped her chin to her chest before forcing herself to meet her former mentor’s gaze. “I apologise for abandoning your teaching.”
Mrs Sharpe stared with the same determined brown eyes she shared with Gabriel.
The ticking of the long-case clock grated on her ears.
Breaking the incessant quiet, Mrs Sharpe said, “I must ask, why did you leave?”
She twiddled with the strings of her reticule. Like a na?ve fool, she had believed she could avoid an interrogation.
“You succumbed to your mother’s wishes, didn’t you?”
Blythe’s insides withered. It was the truth, but not the whole truth. “Yes.”
“Your mother always had grand ideas when it came to you. As soon as you were born, she crowed about how you were destined for a life of luxury.” Mrs Sharpe adopted a mocking, high-pitched tone.
“Why else would the Lord have made her such a beautiful child, if not to use it to her advantage?” The woman grimaced.
“Your mother always thought she was better than the rest of us, being the old squire’s granddaughter. ”
Everyone knew her mother well. But she was still her mother, and Blythe would not speak ill of her before others or allow them to do so either. “My mother wanted only the best for me.”
“That may be true, but I never believed you capable of such fickleness. You were a young woman who knew her own mind. You, like me, saw this as your calling. You were a quick learner, keen to know everything and you absorbed it all like a sponge.” Mrs Sharpe leaned into the counter.
“I gave you the hardest tasks, and you set to them with enthusiasm. By the time you were sixteen, you’d already helped me with the birth of several babies, and you were good at it.
You’re a natural at caring for others in the face of death, and death is hard on our heels in this profession. ”
“As I am well aware.” Her failure to save James Farrer still stung.
“Then why did you give it up? Something tells me there’s more to this sorry tale.”
“As you said, Mrs Sharpe, I allowed my head to be turned by a different life.”
Her eyes narrowed. The woman was too astute, just like her son. She could not do this. They would not let it rest, and if they learned the truth… “Forgive me. I apologise for my disrespectful actions, and I offer my best wishes for you and your family.”
Blythe headed for the door. She would have to return to York.
“Wait!”
Blythe turned on her heel.
Mrs Sharpe walked around the counter. “Is there nothing else you wish to ask?”
“I only wanted to apologise for breaking our agreement.” If her apology had been accepted, then perhaps she could have begun to re-build bridges with her former teacher.
“Do you not want to resume your apprenticeship?”
“Yes, but I understand why you do not want to train me, so I must find another teacher.” Blythe raised her chin. “I will continue my training because a healer is not just what I am, but who I am. I feel it to the marrow of my bones, and nothing and no one will stop me again.”
“You put together some fine words these days. But how do I know you mean them? How do I know that you won’t allow your mother to influence you again?”
Blythe swallowed. “Questioning my motives is understandable. I have broken your trust. I was a coward, and I allowed my mother to turn my head from what I knew was right. I should have trusted my instincts.” Her vision blurred, but she blinked back the tears.
“I should have trusted Gabriel and what we had. Instead, I betrayed you both, and I endured the consequences of that betrayal.” Blythe held her mentor’s gaze.
“But I am no longer a weak-minded girl. I am a grown woman and a mother. I want my children to see that I am more than an insipid wife and socialite. I will do this, whether you teach me or not.”
The soft ticking of the clock marked the infernal passage of time.
Finally, Mrs Sharpe said, “Very well, I shall resume your training.”
Blythe’s knees almost gave way.
“Close your mouth, dear. I thought you had adopted the manners of a lady these days.”
Blythe snapped her jaw shut.
“I have one condition.” Mrs Sharpe’s perceptive gaze bored into her.
Oh, no!
“You must tell Gabriel the truth about why you jilted him.”
A lump formed in her throat. “Please… do not ask that of me.”
“He deserves the truth.”
This had been a waste of time. She should have known she would not be allowed to let the past rest. What else had you expected? She cleared her throat and said, “Thank you for speaking with me, but I am afraid I cannot meet your conditions.”
Blythe fled. She should never have returned. How na?ve and foolish she had been to believe she could make a life here after all that had happened. If she did not tell Gabriel the truth, his mother would not train her. If she told him the truth, she would hurt them all beyond redemption.