Jewel In the North Page 16

  “You may take your lunch now, Miss Ferguson.” She looked across at Mr Hemming. The customer he had been serving had left and they were alone in the shop. “I don’t think there are many people about today.”

  Nor any day over the last month, Edith thought, but she kept it to herself. She only hoped the Wiltshires could ride out the terrible drought that had descended on the land. “Thank you, Mr Hemming. I shall go back to my cottage.”

  Hemming glanced towards the window. “It’s become quite dull out there. I don’t like the look of it. If the wind comes up you are to take the afternoon off and stay home.”

  Malachi Hemming was her senior but she didn’t like taking instruction from him — especially now that she was to be in charge of the new shop virtually alone. She thought herself on an equal employment footing with Mr Hemming, but she hid her chagrin.

  “Mr Wiltshire will expect me to be here. There is still much to be done if we are to open the new shop before Christmas.”

  “If that turns into a dust storm out there, no-one will be afoot this afternoon, not even Mr Wiltshire, and we have time to shift the stock. Christmas is still nearly two months away.”

  Edith cast a nervous glance at the window. The sky did look brown. There had been a bad dust storm only a few weeks earlier at the end of October. She had found it quite terrifying and the aftermath had been horrendous, with everything needing to be cleaned. “Very well,” she said. “I will be watchful of the weather.”

  She took her umbrella and her bag and walked through to the remodelled room that was to be a waiting area for Mr Henry’s office. Where once there had been a window there was now a door into the new adjoining shop. The door was closed and two wooden chairs and a painting on the wall were the only furnishings in what had once been the Wiltshires’ sitting room. Mr Henry’s office door was open, his desk tidy, but there was no sign of him.

  She continued on through the back of the premises, which had also undergone some remodelling to join the new shop. Much had changed since Charles had given her a tour of the original shop, which he said had been both a home and business place for his parents when they first came to Hawker. Now the Wiltshires lived in the biggest and most beautiful home in town. Edith liked to imagine herself living there instead of the little cottage next door. One day she was sure it would be so but for now she watched and listened and learned as much as she could about the town, the people and especially the Wiltshires. If she was to become Mrs Charles Wiltshire one day she had to be prepared.

  Outside the men who had been sawing and hammering at the new verandah roof had downed tools and were gone. She put her umbrella up but the wind tugged it and threatened to blow it inside out. There was already so much dust in the air the November sun was no threat to her complexion, so she folded the umbrella again and, putting her head down, she hurried towards her little cottage. By the time she reached it the wind was blowing so hard she struggled to shut the door. She looked down in dismay at the brown dirt that had accompanied her inside. Mr Hemming had been right. It was to be another of those awful storms. She placed her umbrella and bag inside her bedroom and moved from room to room, checking all the windows and doors were secure. When that was done she went to her little kitchen, stirred the fire to life and set the kettle to boil. Outside the wind buffeted the walls, rattled the roof and moaned at the gaps around the windows.

  Edith shivered even though the day wasn’t cold. The sound was what frightened her. It was an evil noise and it brought with it the terrible brown dirt that seeped into every nook and crevice. She watched the window fretfully until the kettle boiled and then, thankful for something to direct her gaze away from the glass, she poured the boiling water into the teapot.

  “Edith!”

  She jumped at the call from beyond the back door and then again as someone thumped on the wood.

  “Edith, are you there?”

  It was Flora Nixon’s voice. Edith frowned. Flora was the one person in the Wiltshire household she hadn’t been able to charm. Sometimes Edith took her meals with Flora in the big house if she had helped with serving guests. She could rarely get much conversation from the older woman, who was very good at keeping her own counsel.

  Edith slid the bolt and opened the door carefully, bracing herself behind it to stop the force of the wind whipping it backwards and slamming it into the room.

  “You must come, quickly.”

  Edith bridled at the command.

  “Mrs Wiltshire is sick. I must sit with her while Mr Wiltshire goes for the doctor and we need someone to look after Laura.”

  Edith peered past Flora at the dust and rubbish flying through the air.

  “Quickly.” Flora had already turned away.

  Edith edged out the door. It took all her strength to shut it and when she turned she was appalled to see the day was so dirty Flora was already lost from her sight. Edith put her head down and hurried along the path that led from her back door to the Wiltshires’. She knew at least inside their solid stone home, the sounds of the storm would be softer. The wind whipped her hair from her bun. She was pleased to reach the shelter of the roof that spanned the large U-shaped courtyard at the back of the house. Today the wind rattled the tin and swirled dirt around the courtyard.

  Flora was waiting to close the door behind her as she walked into the calm of the large kitchen. Edith blinked. The dust made her eyes water and she brushed the grit from her cheeks.

  “Help yourself to some food.” Flora waved her hand towards the big table, where a tart and some bread and cheese sat beside a freshly baked cake. “I will go and fetch Laura. You will have to think of some way to keep her with you.” Flora’s face hardened. “She cannot be with her mother. It only upsets them both.”

  “What’s wrong with Mrs Wiltshire?” Edith dared to ask. Charles’s mother had not been in good health when Edith had first come to Hawker and in the last month Mrs Wiltshire had not visited the shop or left the house at all from what Edith gathered. She hadn’t seen her mistress in that time.

  “Her chest is bad.” Flora said. “This weather makes it so much worse. She struggles to breathe … and it puts strain on her heart.”

  Tears brimmed in the normally steel-faced Flora’s eyes before she turned away and walked briskly up the passage.

  The tart looked good. Edith cut herself a slice and took a mouthful. The pastry was perfect and the vegetables were soft but not overcooked.

  “Here’s Miss Ferguson.” Mr Wiltshire came into the room carrying a squirming Laura in his arms.

  “Hello, Laura.” Edith smiled but the little girl buried her face in her father’s chest. Edith kept the smile on her face to hide her annoyance. The child was spoiled and rarely did anything she was asked. Edith was happy to do most jobs the Wiltshires requested of her but looking after Laura was not something she enjoyed.

  “You must stay with Miss Ferguson.” Henry’s voice was sharp.

  “Not Edie, want Mama,” the little girl cried.

  “Mama is resting.” He forced Laura into Edith’s arms. “You must stay here.”

  Edith hung on to the struggling child.

  Henry gave them a worried look then strode away, shutting the door that led to the passage and the front of the house. Edith heard his footsteps recede and then the squeal of the wind and the thud of the front door closing.

  Laura’s knee caught her in the stomach.

  “Stop it,” Edith snapped and placed the child firmly on a chair.

  Laura tried to wriggle away but Edith held her firmly to the seat.

  “You must stop this nonsense, Laura. Your mother is very sick. You will only make her feel much worse.”

  “Mama.” Tears flowed down Laura’s cheeks.

  “Your mother doesn’t want you.” Edith stood back and glared at the child. “Stop those tears. Everyone is too busy to fuss over you. You will stay here with me.”

  The little girl looked at her through big round eyes, her thumb in her mouth, then quick
as a flash she slid from the chair and ran around the table. Edith moved to block the passage door but the child went to the bedroom that opened from the kitchen.

  Edith crossed to the partly open door. There was nowhere Laura could go from there. It was probably best just to leave her alone. Easier for Edith at least. She paused: perhaps she should check. She pushed the door carefully. It swung open to reveal a room darkened by deep brown curtains drawn across the window. The light from the kitchen gleamed off the polished rosewood head and base of the large single bed. It was neatly made with a plain tan cover draped all the way to the floor. Edith raised an eyebrow at the sight of one small foot poking out from beneath it.

  To the right of the door was a set of hooks with a coat, a jacket and a hat and beyond that a small gentleman’s wardrobe in rosewood to match the bed. This was Charles’s room. Edith stepped inside. Over the bed hung a painting of horses against a lush English-looking landscape. A large chest of drawers took up another corner and beside it on a stand sat a wash jug and bowl. Edith looked over her shoulder and listened. The only sound was the distant roar of the wind.

  She went to the drawers and picked up one of the leather-bound books lined up along the top. “The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.” She read the title softly and ran her fingers over the stiff cover. Edith had learned to read but she had never owned her own book. She looked greedily at the other titles then flipped open the pages of the tome she held in her hands and breathed deeply. The paper had a luxurious smell. It was also stiff. Inside the front cover there was an inscription to Charles from his parents, dated two Christmases prior. She looked at the pristine pages and doubted Charles had read the book.

  There was a scuffle behind her. She replaced the book and returned to the door. Laura could stay under the bed for all she cared but someone might come in and discover Edith’s dereliction of her duty.

  She looked around the kitchen for inspiration and her gaze lighted on the cake on the table. Mrs Nixon may be standoffish to Edith but she could cook and her cakes were always so light and delicious.

  Edith turned back to the bedroom. “I’m so hungry,” she announced. “I think I shall have some of Flora’s cake.” She left the door wide open and crossed to the table where she cut a slice of the honey-coloured sponge covered in jam and cream. It did indeed look delicious. “Oh.” She groaned as loudly as she could. “It’s so good. I shall have it all for myself.”

  Instantly there was a scuffle from the bedroom and Laura appeared at the door, her hands tucked behind her back. The ribbon that had been holding back her curls had come undone and hung in a long pink tangle to her shoulder. “You can’t eat it all,” the little miss declared.

  Edith pretended to be surprised to see her. “Good heavens, I thought you had gone.”

  Laura crossed the room and stood on the other side of the table. “I like cake please, Edie.” She spoke so sweetly Edith was almost fooled into thinking she was a well-behaved child.

  “Very well.” Edith picked up the knife again. “But you must wait here with me until your father returns for you.”

  A small frown crossed Laura’s face as she looked from the cake back to Edith. She lifted a book out from behind her back and placed it on the table. “And a story.”

  Edith reached across to pick it up. The book was so well read the cover felt soft in her hands. A story was something she could manage and enjoy at least. She flipped open the book to the title page. She gasped, snapped the book shut and glared at Laura. “Where did you get this?”

  The little girl had a mouthful of cake and appeared to have forgotten the book already. Edith gripped the well-thumbed book tightly, the title, The Romance of Lust, still dancing before her eyes. She flipped the book open and felt her heart quicken as she read.

  “Chars.”

  Warmth spread across Edith’s chest, up her neck and over her cheeks. She looked at the child. “This book is your brother’s?”

  Laura nodded emphatically. “Read me a story.”

  “Where did you get this?”

  Laura shrugged and the ribbon flopped over her shoulder.

  “Was it under the bed?”

  “Yes.” The little girl smiled. “Story please,” she said sweetly.

  Edith stood and sucked her lips tightly over her teeth. There was no doubt what Charles spent his time reading. The little bit she had read had set off a strange tingle in the pit of her stomach. It seemed bizarre that the young man in the book who was describing a sexual act was also named Charles.

  “Story, Edie.”

  Edith put her hand to her chest and looked at Laura still happily eating the cake. “I’ll find a story,” she said.

  She glanced towards the back door and then to the internal passage door. Both remained firmly shut and no footsteps could be heard. She went back to the bedroom, slid the book under the bed and searched for something more suitable. Among the others on the chest of drawers she found a copy of Fairy Tales told for Children. She gave one more glance around the darkened room, pulled the door shut behind her and took the fairy tales with her to sit beside Laura. She began to read and tried not to think about the book that was Charles Wiltshire’s choice of reading matter.

  Once she was a few pages into the story Laura climbed onto her lap. Outside the storm raged, the wind so thick with dirt it eventually began to seep into the air around them. The little girl grew heavier and heavier and her head flopped back against Edith’s shoulder. Edith closed the book and placed it on the table. The child was asleep in her arms. What was she to do with her now? While she had been reading she had heard the sound of doors closing, footsteps and murmured voices from beyond the hall door. No doubt the doctor had arrived. She didn’t want to take the child that way. She was familiar with the dining and the sitting rooms but she had no idea in which of the two large bedrooms that led off the main hall Laura slept.

  She decided to lay the little girl on her brother’s bed. Laura rolled into a ball as Edith placed her on the cover. She looked so small in the middle of the large masculine bed. Edith stood over her a moment. Once more the house was quiet inside and the wind continued its relentless wailing and buffeting outside.

  From beyond the kitchen she heard a thud and a wail that was suddenly cut short. Edith glanced at the sleeping child then, pulling the door behind her, she crossed to the door leading to the passage and carefully opened it a crack. She put her hand to her mouth at the sight before her. Mrs Nixon had her arms wrapped around Mr Henry, who appeared to be sobbing. It could easily be that the housekeeper was offering some kind comfort to her master but Edith saw more than that. Mr Henry’s arms were wrapped tightly around Flora, his face was buried in her shoulder and breast and she held him equally tightly. Flora kissed his cheek as someone did a lover, not an employer.

  Edith drew back in shock, gently pulled the door closed and released the handle with great care so as not to make a noise. She was astounded by what she had witnessed. Poor Mrs Wiltshire lay sick on her bed and her husband and housekeeper were behaving like paramours just outside her door.

  She had just returned to her chair and composed herself when the passage door opened and Mr Henry entered the kitchen, dishevelled but alone. His cheeks were flushed and damp. He looked at Edith as if he didn’t know who she was then walked around the table.

  “Where is Laura?”

  “She fell asleep so I laid her on Mr Charles’s bed. I hope that was the right thing to do.”

  Henry looked from the bedroom door to Edith. “Sleeping, yes, that’s best.”

  He sat down. “Charles isn’t here?”

  “No, Mr Henry.” She frowned. “You surely remember he is away overnight with the grocery cart.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  Suddenly he clutched his head in his hands and let out a moan. Edith got to her feet, fearing some illness had come over him.

  “Are you well, Mr Henry? Perhaps you have caught your wife’s complaint.” She flinched as his elbow
s hit the table.

  “Dear God,” he moaned.

  Edith hovered opposite him, not sure what to make of everything she’d seen in the last little while. She looked fearfully at the kitchen window. The dust outside was still too thick to see very much. It was much nicer in the Wiltshires’ solid kitchen than in her cottage but she was concerned about her employer’s strange behaviour. “Should I go now, Mr Henry?”

  “Go, stay. It doesn’t matter.” He looked up at her through red-rimmed eyes. “My wife is dead.”

  Edith gasped and clutched at her collar.

  “She’s been struggling for a while now. Her heart couldn’t cope, the doctor said.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Edith pressed her fingers to her lips to hold in her own wail. Mrs Wiltshire had been kind to her.

  “Not as sorry as I.” Mr Henry groaned again and gave her such a wild look Edith feared for his sanity.

  Flora Nixon came into the room on quiet feet. She put a firm hand on Mr Henry’s shoulder. “You must be brave, Mr Wiltshire.” She spoke to Henry but her gaze locked with Edith’s. “Your wife was very ill. The doctor said there was nothing more you could have done. I will make some tea.”

  “Shall I do it?” Edith found her voice.

  “No, thank you, Miss Ferguson. It was good of you to look after Laura.” Flora looked around.

  “She’s asleep on Mr Charles’s bed.”

  “Very well. Thank you again. The doctor has kindly offered to call on Mr Hemming and inform him of the sad news.”

  Edith saw Flora flinch as if she were hurt, then the older woman pulled back her shoulders and went on. “I am sure Malachi will find Mr Charles when the weather improves. You can return home now. I will see to the family.”