Chapter Seventeen
It was inevitable Abigail realized as she stomped up the stairs toward the front parlor, where her mother’s and Judith’s voices could be heard echoing through the house, that Robert would need to leave.
He could hardly stay. Part of her speculated that after the sight of all those smuggled goods so brazenly displayed, he might well never be seen in Lyme again.
His feelings on smuggling were abundantly clear, and a part of Abigail wished she could have followed him.
The last she had seen of him. Robert’s face had been tense and pinched. He made his polite excuses to both, before he vanished out of the rear door presumably to cut through their garden and back to the Dower.
It baffled Abigail that the house’s cook, a wise woman she regarded in much of the light of a grandmother, could be duped into accepting such bootlegged goods.
Perhaps the cook had been blackmailed into taking them in.
Abigail hardly speculated Maria managed and ordered free traders around—it was entirely foreign to her character, not to mention dangerous.
The idea of Miss Schillers doing something so hazardous beggared belief.
Maria had set about boiling water for the tea and cutting great squares of seeded bread for the family upstairs.
“How did this all come to be here?” Abigail tried again for the fifth time, and Maria just looked at her in confusion, until in frustration Abigail had given up and headed upstairs.
She had promised Robert she knew nothing of smuggling in the neighborhood.
Yet the fruits of it had been occurring or had just occurred in her very home.
Either he would think her a fool which was bad enough, or worse he would think her a liar.
Before she had met Robert, had kissed him, before the two of them had been…
intimate, Abigail would have been sure she would much rather be considered a liar than a fool, but now she could not bear the idea of Robert thinking poorly of her.
Once Abigail’s mother had been greeted and hopefully packed off to see the Hampton or Miss Guthrie and her other friends in Lyme Regis, Abigail would have the chance to talk to Judith and inform her of their servant’s folly.
Between Judith and herself an answer would be reached that might suffice.
Both her pride and her affection for Robert demanded this.
Abigail refused to consider precisely what affection meant in this case…
Some women might have wished for words of romance, or talk of matrimony, but Robert’s prior offer of helping her achieve her hopes of success in London, meant far more to her.
This offer reached into her heart and touched her there.
Being recognized as a true scholar to the scientific world was the thing that kept Abigail sane, it was what she had always dreamt of, in the same way that other girls might have sketched drawings of their wedding dresses.
Such fanciful hopes had been Abigail’s privilege and curse, as for the other more traditionally feminine sketches, Abigail knew she might plan for the moon, but it was pointless to hope for the stars as well.
It was much to Abigail’s surprise when she found herself in front of the doorway to the parlor.
Hesitantly Abigail pushed open the parlor door.
It had not changed physically since Abigail had been in the room two days ago.
Yet, with her mother’s presence, somehow it was different.
Somehow the furnishings seemed more formidable, the armchairs were less welcoming, and the hangings almost hostile—yet it was just her mother. A woman she knew all too well.
“There you are… my dearest.” Mrs. Fossey stretched out her hands toward Abigail, her round face smiling as she locked eyes with her daughter.
Those bright blue eyes accessed Abigail, who could detect no approval in them.
Her youngest daughter had at least donned a gown, so her mother could not be immediately critical.
Of all the people in the world Abigail could never hope to understand it was her mother.
A distinctly handsome woman in her mid-fifties, beautifully dressed in what Abigail considered the best fashions or at least a fair imitation of them.
Mrs. Fossey had a good curvaceous figure, elegantly dark hair that might have had some aiding from a bottle, as well as enviably beautiful eyes that only Sophia had inherited.
Mrs. Laura Fossey had married advantageously into the gentry due to her good looks and smart manners.
Frequently, Abigail had wondered over the years if she might be a changeling child as she had borne so little resemblance to her mother.
Nonetheless, she walked closer to the outstretched hand.
She took her mother’s fingers, the touch soft in comparison to Abigail’s rougher digits, she never forgot the hope that something might improve between the two of them.
Yet she had no idea quite how to go about softening things—besides simply following all of her mother’s wishes to the letter.
“Mother,” Abigail said, refusing to take a seat next to her mother, the one Mrs. Fossey was indicating that she should take.
There was too much pent-up energy within her to sink onto the settee.
Instead, she dropped her mother’s fingers and walked across to the window, glancing up and down the street.
It was a warm day, brighter and more optimistic than the last few, almost as if Lyme Regis approved of the smuggling and was glowing under the treasonous activity.
“You are returned home for good?” Abigail’s question cut into the gentle talk Judith had raised all around the party arranged by Mister Victor Suchet.
Mrs. Fossey’s eyes rounded and with mimicked surprise she looked at her youngest daughter. “Is that a note of excitement I detect?”
That was just like her mother, entirely able to spot what Abigail wished would have happened, and Mrs. Fossey knew that Abigail and even Judith had a greater freedom if she was away from home.
Mrs. Fossey feared Abigail’s constant beach searches, her fossil hunting and if her mother found out about the discovery hidden in the workshop, Mrs. Fossey would probably try and burn it building down.
When Abigail did not respond, Mrs. Fossey’s wide mouth broadened.
Then she looked back at Judith. “I certainly believe Sophia still needs my help in Bath. She is close to winning over Mr. Franklin, although there is Commodore Dinkel’s son, who might be a worthwhile catch, worth waiting for.
” Mrs. Fossey’s eyes brightened when the cook entered the room.
She showed her more warmth than to Abigail. “Hello there, Maria.”
“It is good to see you, madam,” Miss Schillers said. There was no guilt whatsoever as she put down a tray of food, grinning about the parlor. “How is Miss Sophia?”
“Exceedingly well.” There was such a note of pride in Mrs. Fossey’s voice, one which Abigail was not familiar with.
Only her father had spoken of Abigail in such a way, with true pleasure in their child’s achievement.
“She has received two offers so far, although neither were quite right. However, we are waiting to see whether Mr. Franklin or Mr. Dinkel will come up to scratch.”
“Do you think she will return here for the wedding? Once they are engaged,” the cook said. “It might take a little while, since we had such a pleasing occurrence of seeing Sophia.”
“Everything seems well here,” Mrs. Fossey said as she glanced around the parlor, the quiet space reflected the wider community. “There will need to be some improvements of course, when Sophia returns engaged. It would be nice to have the nuptials here.”
“Is it not wiser for her to return here as a married woman, Mother?” Judith said, a note of sharpness entering her voice. “If anything, removing to her husband’s abode might be more sensible, especially if she does marry into a naval family.”
“That would be ideal, but you know Sophia. Besides, engaged couples can be…”
“Is no one going to tell me about the goods downstairs?” Abigail’s question came out louder than she meant it to, and caused everyone to look over to her framed in the window.
Frustration was pooling within her, dreams tied in with Robert and everything they had shared.
Like a great deal of society, Abigail’s family’s obsession seemed absurd.
No one spoke about the important matters, and instead focused on the immaterial issues of engagements and parties.
Judith moved first, getting to her feet, pacing over to Abigail, and interlinking their fingers, the gesture soothing.
“Mother will be with us for a shorter time if she believes that our household is running smoothly.” There were volumes in Judith’s pale grey eyes, but Abigail didn’t know what any of it meant, she was no closer to knowing her sister’s mind than she was to understanding her mother’s motivation.
“Are there not things best kept to ourselves?”
For a moment, Abigail feared that her sister somehow knew about Robert.
There was a tiny smirk lingering in the corner of Judith’s mouth, and Abigail did not need to be attuned to realize if Mrs. Fossey discovered what had occurred between Robert and herself, Abigail would never be allowed out of her mother’s sight.
“What is that, dearest?” Mrs. Fossey asked. There was a gleam in her features, and she was eagle-eyed over the potential of gossip.
Swallowing down all of her questions, Abigail released her sister’s hand, and walked over to the sofa Mrs. Fossey sat on.
“I misspoke. I am happy to see you, and hear Sophia’s news.
I hope to hear of her wedding soon. I do believe Miss Guthrie and Mrs. Hampton would be thrilled to see your mother, and there are her unpleasant guests in town who would be shocked to hear how well a Fossey girl is doing. ”