A Lady at Willowgrove Hall (38 page)
She called up to the driver, “Will you wait here for just a moment?” She needed to buy herself time, just in case things did not go accordingly. But her voice was lost in the sounds of the city, and before she could stop him, the driver called the horses into motion.
She could feel people watching her. She lowered her eyes. She would not show fear. She lifted the hem of her skirt just enough to keep it from dragging through the muck, and when she crossed the road and approached the wooden door, she thought she would faint dead away.
She knocked on the solid wood door. At the noise, a dog started barking and voices could be heard from inside. At first, she thought no one was coming. She lifted her hand to knock again, and the door flew open.
A woman with an infant in her arms stared at her. “What do you want?”
Taken aback by the abrupt greeting, Cecily straightened her posture. “I am Cecily Faire. I am looking for Mrs. Dotten.”
“I’m her.”
Cecily cast a nervous glance over her shoulder at a man who was staring at her. “I-I’m looking for a room. I was told I might find one here.”
The woman stepped back from the door. “Ain’t got no rooms.” She went to push the door closed.
Cecily stepped forward, putting her hand on the door to stop it. “Please! Please wait.”
The woman opened the door again.
“I was sent here by Naomi Clarkson. She said she was your cousin, and if I told you that she sent me here, you would be able to help.”
The woman narrowed her eyes on Cecily as if looking at her for the first time. She raked her tired eyes over Cecily’s hair. Her pelisse. Her boots. “How do you know Naomi?”
Cecily adjusted the valise in her hands. “We were both employed at Willowgrove Hall. I needed to come to Manchester for personal reasons. Knowing I would need a place to stay, she gave me this address.”
The baby on the woman’s hip started to cry, and the woman started to sway. She narrowed her eyes on Cecily once more before taking a step back. “Come in, then. Best rooms are taken but there is one extra I keep for emergencies.”
Relief rushed through Cecily. “Oh, thank you.”
But she ignored Cecily’s gratitude. In fact, Cecily hurried to keep pace with the woman who was leading her up two flights of dark, narrow stairs to a small landing. Cecily lifted her glove to her nose to avoid the scent of waste and filth.
Mrs. Dotten took a key from the top of the door’s ledge, unlocked it, and pushed it open.
Stale air rushed at Cecily as the door swung open, and the day’s last light filtered through the narrow window. Dust and motes swirled in the air. Cecily wanted to turn and run. Never had she stayed in such a place. But she would not complain. Outside, thunder started to growl in the distance. At least here she would be dry.
“You can stay here, but only for a few days. Got a regular boarder coming back to town that’ll need this room. I’ll need your pay now.” She held out her dirty hand, and Cecily turned her back to the woman as she pulled money from her bodice and dropped the specified amount into the woman’s hand.
“Breakfast downstairs in the morning. I suggest you get there early. This lot tends to eat fast.”
And then the woman was gone.
Cecily stood for a moment, a little in shock, and stared at her surroundings. If Cecily stretched, she could almost touch opposite walls with her hands. She clutched her things close to her and looked at the bed. She wouldn’t be able to sleep on that. Instead, she put her bag on the ground and sank into a simple wooden chair at a plain table.
She looked around. No candle. No fire. No anything.
She resisted the urge to cry. She pulled the list from her bodice and read down the names of the establishments. She would begin her search tomorrow and seek other lodging. She patted the pouch in her bodice to make sure her remaining money was still there. She needed to save at least enough to return to Rosemere if her search was unsuccessful.
Regret over leaving Willowgrove in such haste shrouded her. Why had she reacted so brashly? If it hadn’t been for her own stubbornness, her own insecurities, things might be different. But they were not. She was so intent upon finding her sister and chasing her memories that she had not seen the people who cared for her when they were before her.
She turned to her valise and looked inside, seeking distraction. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she had eaten very little, and her head throbbed with the effect of the jostling carriage. As she sorted through the contents, her fingers brushed her book of Proverbs. She hesitated, thinking of Mrs. Trent and how she found comfort in Scripture at the end of the day.
In her darkest moments, Cecily had resisted praying or seeking God. She was not exactly sure why. Her persistent belief that God had abandoned her had ruled her emotions and actions. If she were honest, part of her blamed God for the series of events that had plagued her.
The memory of the people who had filled her days as of late rushed her, stealing her breath and strength. She had left on her own accord, yes, and it had been on the belief that she did not deserve to find happiness.
She lifted her book of Proverbs and opened the worn volume. Even though her aching soul cried out for relief and comfort, part of her resisted. Why, she was unsure. Perhaps it was fear that her past sins had been too great. Or fear that God simply would not answer.
She could barely make out the words in the fading light. At first she stared blankly at the pages for several moments, half fearing, half anticipating what she would find within. As she was about to close the book for the evening, a small verse that she had read for Mrs. Trent just a few days prior met her eyes:
“Yea, if thou criest
after knowledge, and liftest up thy voice for understanding; if thou
seekest her as silver and searchest for her as for hid treasures; then shalt
thou understand the fear of the L
ORD
, and find the knowledge of God.”
Cecily said the words aloud. “If thou criest after knowledge, if thou seekest her as silver. The knowledge of God.”
Was that not the very thing that she sought? To understand God’s plan? She nearly dropped the book. For that was the exact
opposite of what she had done. She had reacted on impulse. She had reacted to fear. Never once did she seek wisdom. And now, here she was, alone—and frightened.
It had been a long while since she sought God in any circumstance. Had she been wrong all this time? She turned back to the window and looked to the sky. She repeated the verse aloud. And then she repeated it again. Each time the words met her ears, they reached within her, touching a part of her that had long been closed. A glimmer of hope from somewhere within her began to flicker, warming her with its weak strength. She committed the words to memory, and with every repetition, the glimmer of hope burned brighter.
The dismal fear that had overwhelmed her when she first entered the dingy room was, amazingly, starting to subside. In the midst of so many uncertainties and regrets, a spark of optimism, although weak, was enough to keep her going.
She slept that night at the table, her head cradled in her arms. But as she drifted off to sleep, she repeated the words. Perhaps she was not as alone as she had thought.
Nathaniel departed for Manchester the next morning as soon as the sun’s first rays crept over the tree line. It was unlike him to leave so suddenly, and without a plan, but Miss Faire’s safety trumped any other concern.
He paused on his journey only to water and rest his horse, and by the time he arrived in Manchester, he was more energized than ever. He’d spent his time en route devising a plan to carry out upon his arrival. He was fairly certain she would be staying at the address that Clarkson had given him, but he wanted to do a little investigating and gauge how difficult it would be to find Leah as well.
He’d not had an opportunity to send word to McGovern about his arrival, but he knew that his old friend would open his home, and if not, he could always stay at an inn.
Before even stopping by the McGoverns’, Nathaniel—armed with the list that Mrs. Massey had provided—visited three modest dressmaker shops along his route. None of them had heard of a Leah Faire, or even anyone with the Christian name Leah.
By the time he arrived at the McGoverns’, the hour had grown late. Clouds blocked out any light from the moon, and the only flickering light shone from the candle lamps lining the brick streets and firelight spilling from the nearby windows. Exhaustion pulled at him, but his mind was alive. He would not be able to rest until he found her.
“Good evening, Charles,” Nathaniel said to the aged butler who opened the door.
“Why, Mr. Stanton! We were not expecting you.”
“I’m here on a matter of personal business. Is Mr. McGovern available?”
“I believe he may have retired for the night, but I will see. Please come in. I will have the boy come ’round for your horse.”
Nathaniel stepped inside and handed Charles his beaver hat. The night had grown damp, and he was grateful for the warmth inside his friend’s home. But even as he felt his shoulders ease ever so slightly in the comfort of the quiet dwelling, finding Miss Faire was utmost in his mind. He fought the urge to go to the address at that very moment. But the night was dark now. She had probably already retired.
“Stanton!” exclaimed McGovern as he descended the steps two at a time, his silver hair askew and his coat unfastened. “What in blazes are you doing here?”
“McGovern! Good to see you.” The men shook hands. “I am imposing, but I fear the circumstances require it.”
“Ah, bah. You could never impose, for how can one impose on a friend! Come, let’s go into my study. We’ll not be disrupted there.”
They settled before the fire in leather wingback chairs, and Mr. McGovern poured them each a glass of port. “So, tell me, is it business or pleasure that brings you to Manchester?” McGovern’s boisterous but pleasant tone put Nathaniel at ease.
“Well, I am not certain what category the reason for my visit falls in. I will share the story with you and allow you to be the judge on that matter.” Nathaniel proceeded to divulge the events of the past several weeks to McGovern: the flooding, Mrs. Trent’s passing . . . And yet, for the moment, he omitted the details concerning Miss Faire.
McGovern listened to each bit of information, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in marked concern. When Nathaniel was finished, McGovern stood, moved to the sideboard, and seemed to contemplate a painting of a fox chase. “It sounds to me as if you have a great deal on your mind. All you need to do is tell me how I may be of service, and I will happily comply.”
“I was hoping you would allow me to remain here, in your home, for a few days. I am here on a—uh, personal matter.”
McGovern cocked a bushy eyebrow. “Personal matter? Hmm. Sounds intriguing.”
Nathaniel forced his fingers through his hair. He could no longer delay the real reason for his visit. He was not one to speak of his feelings, per se, but for Miss Faire, he would. “Do you recall how I wrote to you of a woman named Miss Cecily Faire?”
McGovern pointed his pudgy index finger in the air with the recollection. “Oh yes, Mrs. Trent’s companion. The young lady we assembled a list of seamstresses for.”
“Yes, the very one. I have reason to believe that she is here in Manchester.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. She left abruptly after Mrs. Trent’s death. Alone.”
“Alone?” He jerked his head. “In Manchester? That will not do.”
McGovern took a long swig of the port, then put the glass down and folded his arms. “There wouldn’t be another reason why you are concerned about the young Miss Faire, would there?” A grin creased McGovern’s broad face as he smoothed his sideburns.
Nathaniel tried not to smile. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “Miss Faire is special to me, I’ll not deny. But beyond that, I could not rest for fear of her safety. Anything beyond that remains to be seen.”
“Well, I am at your service. Anything you need, Mrs. McGovern and I will supply you. Do you want a carriage?”
“No, I think I will go by horseback.”
“Do you want a guide? I can get one of the chaps at the bank to help you track down the addresses. These streets can be a maze.”
Nathaniel nodded. “That would be very helpful.”
“And it is settled. You shall stay here while in the city. I’d be offended if you stayed anywhere else. You are always a welcome guest in my home. Grab your things. We’ll have Charles get you settled.”
N
athaniel’s night at the McGoverns’ passed quickly. He was used to a small bed in his tiny room at Laurel Cottage, so sleeping in the guest room felt like staying in a castle. The canopied bed and gilded furnishings reminded him of what he would find within Willowgrove’s walls. But in truth, it was of little consequence the type of room he stayed in. What mattered most was finding Miss Faire. He ate a quick breakfast of ham and poached eggs, and as promised, his horse and guide were outside of the McGoverns’ home, ready to take Nathaniel to every address, including the ones that Mrs. Massey had provided. Energy flowed fast and strong through him, and the hustle on the streets only pushed him to be faster and more diligent. He reasoned that Miss Faire would not be at the address Clarkson had given him until night, for no doubt Miss Faire would be doing the exact same thing he was—searching for Leah Faire. He would visit as many shops as he could and then would call on Miss Faire once night started to fall.
