“What does your family use it for?”
“Nothing in particular. Storage. It’s mostly empty—the chapel has some pew-boxes and a decrepit old organ my sister likes to pretend she can play.”
Her eyes remained fixed on it. “It’s beautiful.”
It was, and yet the sight of it filled him with unpleasant memories of his father chasing him and his friends out of it when they’d gathered there to worship, accusing Henry of holding a conventicle that would get them all arrested. He looked away.
As they neared the house, the grand front door burst open and his sister, Josephine, came running out of it in only her gown. She waved her arms and beamed as she dashed down the steps past a waiting footman.
“You’re here!” she cried, as he slowed the curricle to a stop. “Oh, Henry, I thought you would never arrive. I’ve been watching at the window for hours, worried the snow would keep you.”
He hopped to the ground and pulled her into a long, tight hug. Despite their difference in age he and Josephine had been close as children. They still exchanged letters, but since the last time he’d seen her she’d transformed from a girl into a polished young woman. It made him sad that he had missed it.
“Where’s your coat, goose?” he asked. “You’ll catch your death.”
From over his sister’s shoulder he noticed Alice wince at the word death, and he immediately reproached himself for speaking so insensitively of mortality when its specter haunted those she loved.
Josephine released him and turned to look at Alice. “Why, you didn’t tell us you were bringing a lady home,” she whispered. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone and eloped. Father will have a fit.”
The idea of being married to Alice Hull brought a flush to his cheeks that he could feel despite the bracing air and the flecks of snow that tumbled off his eyebrows.
“No,” he whispered back. “This is Mrs. Hull,” he said in a louder, warmer voice. “She’s a member of my church. Her mother lives nearby and is ailing. I hoped to take her home on my way here. But the weather has not cooperated.”
Alice bowed her head and accepted Henry’s hand to be helped down.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Hull,” Josephine said, flashing a big, bright smile at Alice, who smiled back. He noticed Alice held herself erect and demure, without a trace of the impish cast to her features she had displayed in cursing at the size of his father’s house.
Foreskin of Christ was not a swear he’d heard uttered in even the worst kind of brothel, and Alice Hull was only coarse when she wanted to be.
Which meant she’d said that just to provoke him.
Why?
I’m teasing, she’d said. Did that mean that she liked him? Considered him a friend? Or did she do it because she still mistrusted him?
Why did the answer seem so important?
(Because you—)
Josephine grabbed his arm. “Come inside! The cook made you rum pudding and I’ve been salivating over it all day.”
He refrained from noting that he did not allow himself rum or pudding.
Instead, his stomach knotted with his nerves, he followed his sister up the stairs into his father’s house.
Chapter 10
Alice could feel the tension radiating from Henry as they walked inside the house. He was nervous and trying not to show it. It was a state she knew well from observing new members at Charlotte Street, but not one she had expected from, a grown man, walking into his family’s home. It made her a little sad, how uncertain he seemed to be here. She hoped, for his sake, that his visit would be a warm one.
She tried to keep a subdued expression on her face as servants took their coats, for she did not wish to embarrass Henry by marveling too openly at the extraordinary splendor of the house.
But it was difficult, because the place was like a monument to luxury. The carpets were brilliant and plush beneath her feet. The elaborately carved woodwork gleamed under hundreds of wax candles set in enormous, sparkling chandeliers and delicate, etched sconces. Every surface was bedecked in crystal vases and intricately painted bowls and fanciful glass ornaments. She wanted to run off and explore, to count the rooms and examine the gilt-framed portraits and run her fingers along the tapestry-paneled walls and sniff the hothouse flowers and weigh the delicate china ornaments in her palm.
“My dear, my dear,” a tall, red-haired woman cried, rushing into the room to greet them. She grabbed Henry and clutched him to her bosom with obvious relish. “Oh, my boy, how very happy I am to have you home at last!”
“I’m happy to be here, Mama,” Henry said. The smile of pure gratitude on his face nearly broke Alice’s heart.
He’d clearly gotten his build and hair from his mother’s side, for Mrs. Evesham was nearly as tall and broad as her son. She squeezed him for so long that, after a moment, he seemed to shrink a bit with embarrassment at the outpouring of maternal affection. It was a gesture she recognized from having made it many times herself.
Don’t do that, she wanted to tell him. Be grateful for her love for you. For her health.
Henry’s eyes scanned the vast and empty hall. “Where are the others?” he asked.
Mrs. Evesham straightened, and the joy seemed to leave the room like a candle being snuffed. “Your father and Jonathan are in the study having brandy.”
“Of course,” Josephine added, with a look that indicated this was their usual practice, and one she found trying.
Henry’s stomach growled loudly, causing his mother to laugh. “Ah, still my hungry Henry,” she said affectionately.
Henry winced, clearly not fond of this pet name.
Mrs. Evesham did not seem to notice. “Fear not, supper will be in an hour. In the meantime, I’m sure you’ll want to freshen up. Henry, your room is just as you left it. And Josephine, would you show Mrs. Hull to the bedchamber next to yours? I’ll think she’ll be more comfortable there, instead of alone in the guest wing.”
“Thank you,” Alice said. “I’m so grateful to you for your hospitality.” She did not add that she doubted there was a single room in such a house in which she would not be comfortable, right down to the scullery closet.
Josephine smiled warmly at Alice, gesturing for her to follow her up the grand staircase.
“You’ll want to dress for supper,” she said kindly, taking in Alice’s drab gown. “Father’s quite formal about his table.”
Bollocks. All she had beside her service dresses was her dark receiving gown, more apt for a funeral than a rich man’s formal banquet. She didn’t mind looking odd for her own sake, but she wanted to be as good as her word in not causing trouble for Henry.
She wished she’d had time to ask him questions. How would a proper Methodist widow dress? How would she behave? Who would she have been married to? Would he have been handsome? Would Mrs. Hull have been his queen?
“Oh, I’m in mourning, you see, and—”
Josephine nodded. “Of course. If you haven’t packed for company, perhaps you’d like to borrow something of mine? I’m a little taller than you”—this was an understatement, for Josephine shared her brother’s height—“but my maid could pin up the hem in a few minutes.”