“I’ve just made luncheon, Mr. Evesham,” the older sister, Eliza, said. “We’d be pleased if you could join us.”
He did not wish to linger here, feeling as angry as he did. But Alice had a point about the horses.
“That’s very kind. If I could just put my team in your barn.”
Once the mares were seen to, he followed the girls inside the house. The cottage was clean, but small and close. There was a haze about the air, as though the smoke of the coal fire could not escape through the chimney, and instead lingered in the house. He was practical with his hands—a necessity of looking after the Meeting House in exchange for his board. He itched to go about offering to repair things, though he bit the impulse back, sensitive that he might embarrass the family if he implied their home was less than shipshape.
He could see from the spare selection of tattered and beaten furnishings, and the bare shelves that passed for a pantry—a sack of apples, a few onions, a bag of flour that appeared nearly empty—that money must be very scarce.
He felt a momentary pang that he had shamed Alice for her work, when her family clearly needed every pence that they could get. It must have seemed cruel and arrogant of him, especially when she’d seen his father’s ridiculous wealth.
Whatever bitterness was between them, she had been right. He must not lose sight of this when he set out to write his recommendations to the Lords.
“I’m going to go in and look on Mama,” Alice said.
“No, don’t,” Eliza said quickly. “She’s just fallen asleep and it’s so difficult for her to rest with her breathing. I’ll take you in to see her after lunch, and we’ll give her a bit of broth. She’ll be so happy to see you.”
Alice looked perturbed by this. “I’ll just go in quietly—”
Sally came over and took Alice’s hand and led her to a seat at the table. “Mama needs to rest. The physician said it’s very important.”
“And I made your favorite, Ally,” Eliza said. “Soup.” She winked at Alice, as if this were a joke.
“How I’ve missed your soup,” Alice groaned. “A rare, exotic delicacy.”
Sally glanced up at Henry. “Liza can make a soup out of anything,” she whispered, wrinkling her nose. “Carrot tops. Old shoes. Rocks.”
“Actually,” Eliza pronounced, ruffling Sally’s hair, “we’re dining like kings today. Mr. Hovis slaughtered his cow, and brought us a lovely side of beef.” She passed Henry a bowl of broth studded with chunks of meat.
Alice looked horrified. “Oh, Eliza, Mr. Evesham does not—”
But Henry caught her eye and subtly shook his head. “I’m ravenous, Miss Eliza. And this smells delicious. It just so happens that beef stew is my favorite. Second only to old shoe soup, of course,” he added, with a wink at Sally.
Alice looked at him gratefully and he smiled at her, trying to communicate with his eyes that she need not add him to her considerable list of worries. Whatever tension remained between them, he would not embarrass her family.
“Tell us of your life in town, Ally,” Sally said around a mouthful of bread.
“Chew before you speak, m’dear,” Alice corrected.
Sally giggled and made a show of chewing. After she’d swallowed, she repeated the question, assuming a broad version of an aristocratic accent. “Do tell us of your life in town, Miss Hull.”
Henry chuckled at her cheek but stopped when he noticed Alice glancing at him nervously, as if she was afraid that he would challenge any fact that she asserted. He leaned over toward her little sister. “Miss Hull is a cherished member of the household in which she’s employed. Mrs. Brearley tells me Alice is the finest housekeeper she has ever had.”
Her sisters both beamed at her with obvious pride.
“Mama talks of you to everyone who’ll listen,” Eliza said. “’My daughter, the London miss, sending us fine gifts from town.’ She took your cherry cordials into the market and gave them to everyone with a mouth. Even poor Mr. Dunn, who hasn’t any teeth to chew them with.”
Alice laughed, but was visibly shrinking under this praise. “I’m sorry I could only send cherries,” she said. “I missed you at Christmas.”
“Well, we missed you too, but William said you managed to have quite a bit of cheer at the markets in London. He told us all about the lights and the carolers. Said you gave him memories he’ll treasure all his life.”
The warmth with which Eliza said this made Henry wonder who this William was. Was Alice attached to this man? Mustn’t she be, for him to visit her in London and take her to a Christmas market?
Did he know about her true employment? Had he received her … favors?
(Envy. Utter, despicable envy. He’d need to pray for an entire day after this. A month.)
Alice just smiled wanly and shoved bread into her mouth, refusing to look at Henry.
“How are you acquainted with Alice’s mistress, Mr. Evesham?” Eliza asked. “We’re mighty curious about her. Mama says she’s a grand lady.”
Henry was not yet over the disorientation of imagining Alice being courted, or—(stop!)—and fumbled to form words.
Alice swallowed down her bread in a lump to beat him to it. “Mr. Evesham was a dear friend of Mrs. Brearley’s late husband, the sea captain.”
He found himself nodding along. “Yes. A fine man. A sea captain.”
“Are you a sailor?” Sally asked, looking thrilled at this possibility.
“I’m afraid nothing as exciting as that. I am a minister by training, and run a charity.” He did not mention his work for the Lords, lest it lead to other questions about the precise nature of his work, which might cause the family to worry that Alice was consorting with disreputable people.
“You’re a minister?” Eliza asked, looking oddly at Alice, who was inspecting her soup.
“I am.”
He had finished his soup, and he should be on his way. But he hesitated. He did not know why he wished to prolong his stay here, except he had a kind of ache around his heart, because the words Alice had said to him kept running through his head.
Enough to know that you’re a wonderful person.
He had never felt such a jarring mix of affection and yearning and pique for any human being in his entire lifetime as he felt for Alice Hull. Perhaps it was only the difficulty of the weather, the odd direction their journey had taken, the high emotions of their circumstances. But he felt the way he had as a man at university, when his head had been in turmoil as he felt himself moving inexorably toward a reckoning he could feel but not yet understand.
What that internal miasma had been, in retrospect, was the first stirrings of his salvation. His heart opening to God.
What was opening in him now?
“I’d be happy to say a prayer for your mother before I leave, if you would like,” he offered. He should have offered before. He’d been too caught up in his own anger to exercise compassion.
Eliza twisted her mouth, glancing sideways at Alice. “Oh, we can’t ask that of you.”
“’Twould be no trouble. It’s the least I could do after this delicious lunch.”
Eliza frowned. “Well you see, Mr. Evesham, Mama’s not in good graces with the Church. She stopped attending after Alice’s dispute with the vicar.”