Jewel of Gresham Green (33 page)

Finally, a hand moved aside the curtain behind the counter. Priscilla Perkins entered, not bothering to cover a yawn.

Loretta took the injured hat from its box. “You said you could block this.”

Miss Perkins shrugged. “I’ll give it a try.”

Stunned by the disinterest, Loretta noticed pillow markings upon one side of the shopkeeper’s face. “It’s an expensive hat. And I shall need it back within a day or two.”

“Don’t get your knickers in a knot. I said I’d try.”

“Never mind!” Loretta dropped the hat back into the box. Tears blurred her eyes, from the frustration of dealing with unrefined people. She hurried through the door, holding the box by the string, and collided with a man in a tweed suit. The box flew to the ground and the lid popped open.

“Pardon me,” he said, snatching the hat from the cobbled stones.

Mr. Gibbs!

He smiled down at her. “How lovely to see you, Mrs. Hollis. Or shall I say, ‘to bump into you’?”

“It’s good to see you, as well,” she said. “How is your uncle?”

“Physically . . . no better. But his spirits have improved, thanks to you.”

“To me?”

“For kindly allowing Jewel and Becky to visit. He’s become much less agitated, even when they’re not with him.”

They stood before the millinery shop window. He handed her the hat. “Did you just buy this? I’m afraid the fall has dented it.”

“That happened on the train,” she said, setting it into the box he picked up and held out. “I meant to have it blocked, but . . .”

Inches away, the door was flung open and Miss Perkins rushed out.

“I’m so sorry, miss! I didn’t understand what you meant. Please forgive my rudeness. I was feeling out of sorts.”

“That’s no excuse for what you—”

“No excuse at all. And I shall be happy to block your hat. At no charge.”

She snatched the box from Mr. Gibbs and tucked it under her arm. Too bewildered to respond, Loretta watched her extend her hand to him.

“I’m Priscilla Perkins,” she said with lashes fluttering like hummingbird wings. “You must be Mr. Gibbs. I’ve heard of you.”

“You have?” he said, sending Loretta a dry smile. “Then you know what an ogre I can be if my friends are not given proper service.”

“Yes, of course, I shall do my best. And I’ll give you a discount on a man’s hat, too.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” He took a backwards step to open the door. “And you’d best be at it if you’re going to repair that hat, yes?”

“Ah . . . yes.” Halfway through the door she turned. “Remember the men’s hats.”

“I shall think of nothing else.”

Loretta held in her laughter until they walked a few paces to Johnson’s Baked Goods. Not out of respect for Miss Perkins, but in case she was the vindictive sort who would damage her hat. Mr. Gibbs’ laugh was as rich as his voice.

“She wouldn’t last a day behind a counter on Regent Street,” he said.

“She’s the
owner
,” Loretta said.

“You jest!”

“I’m serious.”

He laughed again, sobered. “Don’t you wish you were there now?”

“In my fondest dreams.”

An older woman came out of the bakery, smiled, and said in passing, “Good day, Mrs. Hollis.”

Probably someone who saw her at Saint Jude’s with Philip yesterday, she thought.

“Are you heading homeward?” Mr. Gibbs asked. “I should be honored to escort you.”

She happened to glance through the bakery window. A white-aproned man was wiping the counter, and lifted his hand in greeting. The friendliness of villagers—Miss Perkins notwithstanding— was increasingly annoying. While they could stroll down most London streets and passersby would neither know nor care about her business, she was in Philip’s domain. Why, Aleda could pop out of one of the shops any minute!

What will he do? Divorce me?

She was not engaged in any immorality, simply enjoying the company of a friend with common interests. But she could not hand Philip ammunition to present to Father, should their marriage reach the bitter end it was racing toward.

“On second thought, why don’t you come for tea this afternoon?” he said with understanding tone. “We can tell more London stories.”

“Why don’t you come to the cottage instead?” She nodded toward the bakery. “And this time, I’ll provide the cake.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” He smiled, tipped his hat, and left.

On her way into the bakery, Loretta realized she had not mentioned a time. After two o’clock would be best, she thought. Becky would wake from her nap, and Jewel would take her with her to the manor house. She wondered if she should go back outside and try to wave him down.

But some instinct or intuition told her that he knew exactly when he should arrive. She smiled to herself. Just as she had when she’d slipped away to Limehouse for Chinese food, she was being daring without being naughty. Having an innocent adventure, in a place where few adventures existed.

“Mummy, when will we live in the big house again?” Becky asked after her nap, raising her arms for Jewel to slip her dress over her chemise.

“Probably never, mite.” Jewel began fastening buttons. “We only go there to visit Squire Bartley.”

“No, not that house. The big house where Mrs. Platt lived.”

“Never, Becky. Do you miss it?”

“Not the house. Just Ricky. He was nice.”

Jewel’s insides froze. “Who is Ricky?”

“Baby Ricky. Mrs. Platt let me give him the bottle sometimes. He pulled my hair, but he didn’t know any better.”

Relief eased through Jewel. She even remembered Becky speaking about the baby. For how long would Mr. Dunstan’s crimes make her view every male in her daughter’s young life through a cloud of suspicion?

They descended both staircases, and had just reached the kitchen when Mrs. Hollis charged around from the parlor. She had changed into a silvery-blue gown with scooped neckline. Her pearl choker wound elegantly around the base of her long neck.

“Ah, there you are. You’d best be setting out. The squire needs you.”

That was so, but some needs were more urgent than others. Jewel nudged Becky toward the parlor. “As soon as she goes to the water closet, ma’am.”

Mrs. Hollis glanced at the kitchen door and sighed. “Very well.”

Five minutes later, they were trooping up the path toward Bartley Lane, Becky struggling over the alphabet.

“
H-I-J
. . .” She looked up at Jewel.

“
K
. It makes this sound:
ca . . . ca . . . ca. . . .
”

“
K
.” Becky nodded. “
L-M-O-P
.”

“
L-M-N-O-P,”
Jewel said gently. “Remember the
N
.”

“What word starts with
N
?”

“Nose . . . nice . . .”

“Knees?” Becky asked.

“I’m afraid not, mite. There’s a
K
in front.”

“Why?”

“I haven’t the foggiest,” Jewel admitted.

They were on to
S-T-U
when they reached the gravel carriage drive. Mr. Gibbs advanced from the rose garden.

“Ah, there you are! Thank you for coming. And for goodness’ sakes, go through the front door. You’re visitors, not servants.”

“I poured my heart out,” Loretta said, “begging my mother to convince Father to allow me to come home. But then after all that business with Miss Perkins, I forgot to mail it.”

They sat in the garden, as would any respectable married woman entertaining a man who was not her husband. Crumbs from a fairly decent almond cake and empty teacups rested upon the garden table.

“Perhaps it was fate,” Mr. Gibbs said.

“Perhaps so. Anyway, I may not even mail it tomorrow. What good would it do? My father assumes his sheer resolve can force me to be happy again.”

Mr. Gibbs listened thoughtfully, hat propped upon a crossed knee and elbows propped upon chair arms. “Forgive me . . . but is that a bad thing? Wishing to make you happy?”

“It is when it stems from guilt.”

Because he was such an attentive listener, she found herself pouring out the story of Conrad and Irene.

Mr. Gibbs shook his head. “How sad. Having your heart broken in such a cruel way. There is no worse feeling.”

“You know?” she said.

His eyes filmed over. “Quite recently. It rips your heart out.”

The poor man. And yet, as sorry as she was for him, she was relieved that he understood her pain.

“Back to fate,” he said when he had composed himself. “It’s good that you did not mail the letter. If you decide for divorce, your parents will be more apt to understand and support you if you are able to prove you gave it a try.”

That was so. She had known it all along in her head, but her heart was willful.

“You’re fortunate to have your parents,” he said. “I would give anything in the world to have mine.”

Now Loretta’s eyes misted. As infuriating as her father could be, she could not imagine life without either parent. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hollis. The only thing I’m grateful for is that they did not live to see what a mess I made of things.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighed. “I had started up a little import business. It was going well, but you can’t up and leave it in the hands of managers and expect them to have the same visions. But no regrets! My uncle comes first.”

“I admire your loyalty.”

“My uncle has always been loyal to me.”

A thought sparked in Loretta’s mind. Would it be indelicate to voice it? She’d told him practically her whole life story. Why would he resent her delving into his?

“Please don’t take offense, but . . .”

“What is it, Mrs. Hollis?”

She hesitated.

“There is nothing you can say that will offend me,” he said. “We are kindred spirits. I believe fate had a hand in our meeting, as well.”

She smiled and thought what a difference having a friend made. But still delicately, she said, “You’re your uncle’s only heir . . . correct?”

“I would give it all up if it would buy him renewed health.”

“I’m afraid that’s not going to happen,” she said gently.

He ran a hand through his dark hair. “Yes, you’re right.”

“It would surely comfort him to know that he’ll leave you the means to restart your business.”

“The business is beyond repair. Even after mortgaging my family home. I may as well have burned the money in the fireplace.”

“Oh dear. But . . .”

“Yes?”

“At least your inheritance will pay off your mortgage?”

“And more. It’s just maintaining the monthly payments that—”

He stopped, gaped at her with a horrified look. “Mrs. Hollis, this is unforgivable.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’ve taken advantage of your kind sympathies in a most ungentlemanly way!” He took his hat from his knee and got to his feet. “I will trespass upon your company no longer. Good afternoon, dear lady.”

“Wait!” She rose, caught up with him at the gate, and put a hand upon his sleeve. “You said fate had a hand in our friendship. You’re going through a trying time, and so am I. May not friends bare their hearts to each other?”

“Oh, Mrs. Hollis,” he groaned. “But a man has his pride.”

“I led you into the discussion . . . remember? But if it humiliates you, we’ll speak no more of money.”

“Thank you. You are too good for this earth, Mrs. Hollis.”

“My husband would argue with you there,” she said dryly. “Will you call again tomorrow?”

He gave her an incredulous look. “You would wish me to?”

“Yes. You may even bring the cake.” She smiled. “Though I fear this friendship may be too fattening.”

He took up her hand and kissed it. “Then I shall bring strawberries.”

She wished tomorrow were already there, but a small worry nudged her mind. She bit her lip.

“What is it?”

Loretta hesitated. “My husband’s sister lives near Bartley Lane, and if she spots you entering the path . . .”

He smiled understanding. “Say no more. I played in these woods as a child, and there are bridle paths running behind the house that connect with this one farther along.”

“Not that we’re doing anything wrong,” she hastened to say, lest he assume she intended more than friendship. “But you understand . . .”

“I absolutely do.” He kissed her hand again and took his leave.

Her hand could still feel the faint pressure of his lips as she went upstairs to tear up the letter she had written to her mother. She had only entertained Mr. Gibbs’ sentiments over fate for politeness’ sake. But perhaps there was something to it after all.

As Jewel prepared supper that evening, Doctor Hollis returned to the cottage bearing a parcel about the size of two loaves of bread.

“I stopped off at Trumbles, and Mr. Sanders said it came in today’s mail. He was going to send out a notice in the morning for you to pick it up.”

“For me?” Jewel said.

Doctor Hollis grinned and set it upon the table. “Actually, for Becky.”

“Me?” Becky said from the foot of the staircase, immediately putting Tiger to the side. “But what is it?”

Even Mrs. Hollis came from the parlor. Doctor Hollis took a knife from the dresser and cut the string. “That’s for you to find out, don’t you think?”

She tore into the paper with such joy that Jewel did not have the heart to instruct her to save it for future use, as she would have in leaner days.

“Oh, happy, happy, happy!” her daughter cried at the dozen children’s picture books.

There was a brief letter inside.

Dear Mrs. Libby,

After my return to London, I realized my publisher, Macmillan’s,
also publishes children’s books. I pray you do not mind
my taking the liberty of asking them to send Becky an assortment. I hope you and Becky are well.

With highest regards,
Gabriel Patterson

“They’re from Mr. Patterson, mite,” Jewel said.

“Oh, I like Mr. Patterson!” Becky piped, picking up book after book.

Mrs. Hollis smiled. “He’ll never give up, will he?”

“Give up what?” Doctor Hollis asked.

“Well, trying to impress Aleda.”

“I don’t think that’s his reason,” Doctor Hollis said.

Whatever he meant, whatever the reason, the happiness in her daughter’s face prompted Jewel to write a note to Mr. Patterson that night, thanking him.