Chapter Three #2
Judith paused and looked back over her shoulder.
“No.” For the first time, she looked genuinely interested in Abigail.
Slowly, she placed the ledgers down on the great wooden table that occupied the kitchen and studied most carefully.
“You must think because I was frustrated with Mother’s letter… Did he say anything untoward—”
“No.” She had spoken too quickly, because Judith’s eyebrows raised in surprise. Abigail hated how well her eldest sister could read her, and how poorly she was able to match Judith’s ability.
“If he tries to touch you, or have you touch him—” Judith said.
“I wouldn’t,” Abigail said.
“You don’t know that. You’ve only just met him,” Judith said. “It is better to begin with a low opinion and then be pleasantly surprised by an outcome than to go in expecting the best and be disappointed.”
“You would never say as much to Sophia.”
“No,” Judith snapped, “And look how well that has gone for her. Optimism is a fool’s narrative, and no one would ever take you for a fool.”
“Neither of us.” It was nice, a pleasing refrain to think that they two shared a similarity, beyond their dark hair and stubborn dispositions.
“I suppose that is why we shall make such excellent spinsters.”
“Or companions for Mother in her dotage.”
Judith laughed at this. “I rather thought it was you and I who would be companions for each other. We might take the liberty of sending Mother to live with Sophia and whoever she weds, or perhaps Mrs. Fossey might prefer to go to London with our Aunt Charlotte. Either way, when this place is sold up, I thought perhaps we could take a smaller lodgings somewhere—”
“You mean to sell our home?” Judith’s ease made Abigail ask her angry question. Milton seemed annoyed by her raised voice and hurried into the corner of the room to find his cushion.
“Why of course,” Judith said. “What good would a family home do for us? Besides, there are debts that must be paid, and Sophia’s dowry must come from somewhere. Not to mention a means of supporting—”
“There will be nothing left of him,” Abigail said.
“I miss our father too,” Judith said slowly. She moved forward and took hold of Abigail’s hand, interlinking their fingers. “But he is still with us, in our memories. And in our hearts. Besides, there is also the handsome plaque at St Michael’s to remember him by.”
It is not the same, Abigail wanted to cry. None of it was. Staring at her sister, she found what she wished to say pointless. Instead, Abigail dropped Judith’s hand and walked over to the oven, warming herself against the cooling surface.
“I don’t wish to ever leave here. I love Lyme Regis.
” Another lie—she had often dreamt and hoped for adventures, as she had told Mr. O’Sullivan.
But she liked the idea of this place staying still, of her home remaining a constant.
The idea of a wild exploration overseas, where she might be able to see amazing discoveries from across the known world flashed brightly before her eyes.
It would be wondrous to see those things, but to know that her house remained behind, familiar and comforting. Her home.
“I am not sure if we can afford to—” Judith said.
“Please,” Abigail cut her off. “If Mr. O’Sullivan can—if I manage to make five pounds then—” From Judith’s pained expression, Abigail realized it would need to be a great deal more.
“Ten pounds then.” It was a princely sum, but surely if Mr. O’Sullivan stayed long enough, if they between them found enough fossils and curios it might be possible.
Or better yet, they might find something worthy of submission to the Geological Society in London.
“Perhaps.” Judith’s eyes flickered back to the ledgers. “I will do my best.”
Abigail forced herself to reach for her sister’s arm and to give it a squeeze of thanks. She did not always find it easy to bestow affection as her sisters did, but she knew that it meant something to her family.
“Thank you.”
Judith nodded, heading toward a chair. “If Mother was here, she would say you should make sure to wear something pretty. And a suitable hat. Wear something of Sophia’s. She will hardly miss it,” Judith said without turning around as she set about making a simple dinner for them.
It was Miss Schillers’s night away visiting her elderly cousin, so without their cook, the two of them were fending for themselves.
It was normally a hearty meal of buttered bread with a good Cornish cheese and some sweet pickle, that would never have been consumed with their mother present.
Yet since Mother was away, Abigail could admit she rather liked these meals.
Abigail hadn’t pictured forcing herself into one of the frilled and floral gowns from Sophia’s secondhand collection, from various shades of rose and peach.
Then again, she recalled all too well that Mr. O’Sullivan’s initial impression of her had been that of a man.
It might have only been for half a minute, but it was enough.
So, perhaps a touch of femininity might be in order.
An image of Sophia’s obvious beauty danced before Abigail’s eyes.
For the first time in a long while, she felt the stirrings of envy.
Such emotions she thought she was long done with.
But it occurred to her then, if she had been born as lovely as her older sister, then surely a man like Mr. O’Sullivan would never have been confused over her sex.
He would have been struck instead by her beauty, swayed by her grace, dumbfounded by her loveliness…
Then again, Sophia would rather have been felled by a beast than caught rooting around in the muck looking for fossils.
“I doubt I will find anything that is right, or I will make it too dirty.”
Judith finished buttering the bread, cut several slices of thick rich yellow cheese and then added all of this onto a plate, and placed the offering before her sister.
“If the dresses have been left upstairs in her wardrobe, then they will be deemed out of fashion, and so you might as well use them. Besides, you will look very pretty in her white and purple dress, I would say. Certainly, a darn sight better than me trying to wear such a pale color.”
For a moment the image played before Abigail’s mind, of her dressed up in her sister’s borrowed finery, walking down the cobbled beach toward a dazzled looking Mr. O’Sullivan.
How he would smile at her, with a great deal of admiration as he took in her new ensemble.
How he might—no, he would be charmed by her.
The idea gave her a tiny fraction of hope, where none had existed before.
“Perhaps I will have a look,” she said, unable to shake the idea of Mr. O’Sullivan’s smile being directed toward her in the same way all men gazed upon Sophia.