“Indeed,” I muttered.
As we walked down the hill to the town and I watched Miss St. Claire carry that basket with a sunny smile on her face, it struck me how per-fectly suited she was for her station in life. I could see why Mrs. Delafield had chosen her for Henry. I could easily envision her as the mistress of Blackmoore. She had been trained for this position. She had prepared all her life to take her rightful place at Henry’s side. And the truth I could not deny was that she would make him proud. She would be proper and lovely and thoughtful and generous and absolutely predictable in every way. For all of these reasons, I heartily disliked her.
The street into Robin Hood’s Bay was steep and cobbled, following the path of a ravine to the sea. The red-roofed cottages tumbled down 175
J u l i a n n e D o n a l D s o n the slope, all angles and tenacious grasping to land that looked anxious to tumble into the sea as well. I could guess that a hard living was earned here by fishermen with hands that cracked and brown, weathered faces that looked like the wind itself had etched the lines in them the same way it pushed the waves and marked the sand. I admired these families, pitting their will to survive against the will of the sea to devour them and their houses and their town as well.
Miss St. Claire drew closer to me, her basket bumping against my side.
“Surely such a quaint village should not smell so strongly of fish,” she said, pressing a gloved hand to her nose and looking at the ground. The cobblestones were wet, and the smell of fish was very strong. But what did she expect from a fishing village?
“One would think these fishermen’s wives could keep their streets a little cleaner,” she said as she stepped around a woman hanging her wash on a line. I saw the dark look the woman cast Miss St. Claire, but the elfin queen did not seem to notice. “I believe I shall do something kind for them. Perhaps I shall teach them how to keep their streets and homes clean so it does not smell quite so bad here.”
She fanned at her face with one white-gloved hand. “Thank heavens it doesn’t smell like this at Blackmoore.”
Then, as if suddenly remembering her basket, she paused, drew out a bundle of food, and held it out to the woman hanging her wash.
The woman wiped her wet hands on her apron, her look still dark with suspicion as she took the bundle from Miss St. Claire.
“Here is some food, courtesy of Mr. Henry Delafield of Blackmoore.”
The woman bobbed a small curtsy and muttered a gruff thank you before thrusting the food at a child by her side. She went back to her washing, and Miss St. Claire turned her sunny smile on the street and the people in front of her.
“Did you see that, Miss Worthington?” Her smile stretched wide, her eyes shining with goodness. “Did you see her face? It is such a joy to help 176
others. The faces of the people I help are all the reward I will ever need. It is what motivates me in everything I do. And Henry will be so pleased to know I am already fulfilling my duty, won’t he, Sylvia?”
Sylvia mumbled something in reply. Judging by the look of exhaus-tion on her face, I thought she was probably just looking forward to finding somewhere to sit after her taxing walk from Blackmoore.
“Oh, is that a bakery? How quaint! I didn’t remember a bakery here before. Come, let’s get something to eat. Perhaps it will smell a little better inside.” Miss St. Claire picked her way across the cobblestones to the small, narrow stone building with the bread in its front window.
Sylvia followed her, and the two of them stopped twice for Miss St.
Claire to hand a bundle of food to a passing villager. I hung back and tried to talk myself into liking Miss St. Claire. She was the epitome of thoughtfulness and generosity, and yet everything she said and did ir-ritated me to no end.
“Come on! Mother said we have to hurry!” The child’s voice drew my attention to the two small girls walking past me. One looked to be about seven. Oliver’s age. She had a firm grip on the arm of a small girl, who was pulling back and crying. As the older sister tugged, the younger one slipped on the wet cobblestones and fell, hitting her head on the ground.
I swiftly crouched next to her. “Oh, dear. Let me help you.” I reached for the little girl, who couldn’t have been more than four. Her dirty cheeks were streaked with tears, her long brown hair falling in her eyes. Her lip quivered, and she looked at me with large brown eyes as I picked her up and set her back on her feet.
“Mary! What were you doing, falling down like that?” The older sister marched back to her side, but at my glance she fell back a pace. “I’m sorry, miss,” she said, dropping a clumsy little curtsy. “I hope my sister didn’t bother you.”
“No. Not a bit,” I said, smiling to reassure her before turning back to little Mary. “Now, let’s see if you’ve hurt yourself, shall we?”
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J u l i a n n e D o n a l D s o n She nodded, then held still as I ran my hand over her head, pausing when I felt the bump on the back.
“Oh, yes. That’s a bump. But no blood. I think you will be just fine.”
Tears still brimmed in her eyes, and her lower lip quivered in a most pathetically charming way. “Please, miss, can I have a sweet?”
“Mary!” The older girl tugged hard on Mary’s hair.
Mary cried out again.
“Oh, no, don’t do that,” I said, smoothing Mary’s hair. “She did nothing wrong, I promise. I don’t have any sweets with me right now, but I shall buy some and bring them to you. How does that sound?”
Mary hiccupped a sob. “Y-yes, please.”
I smiled at the older girl. “And what is your name?”
“Katherine, miss.”
My smile grew. “The same as my name. Well, Katherine, you are be-ing a dutiful little girl, I can see, trying to get your sister where your mother wants you to go. So I shall bring you some sweets as well.”
She smiled, and she had the same gap-toothed smile Oliver sported.
I suddenly missed him fiercely. I had to stop myself from pulling these two little girls into my arms and hugging them. Instead I stood and said, “How will I find you to give you the sweets?”
Katherine turned and pointed behind us. “That’s our house—the blue one.”
I told them I would return shortly, and as I turned to join Sylvia and Miss St. Claire in the bakery, I saw more than one of the villagers watch-ing me walk away.
“Where did you go?” Sylvia asked when I found her inside the bakery.
Miss St. Claire was daintily devouring a hot cross bun.
“Oh, I was just outside.” I pulled my reticule from my pocket and paid for four penny buns, two meat pies, two scones, and a handful of barley candy.
Sylvia looked at my purchase with wide eyes. “Did you not eat breakfast?”
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“No, not much.”
I took my purchases, looked once more at Miss St. Claire’s nibbling, and said, “I have an errand to run. I’ll meet you at Blackmoore later.”
“What? By yourself? You cannot—”
I turned back and looked at Sylvia, who had been my best friend but was not anymore. I wondered how long and wide this gap between us would stretch. And I felt sad that we had drifted this far apart.
“Are you worried for my safety or my reputation?” I asked.
She drew closer and whispered with narrowed eyes, “Your reputation, of course.”
I sighed. “It doesn’t matter, Sylvia. I’m leaving soon for India, anyway.
A walk home by myself will not make one bit of difference.”
L
It was easy to find the blue house. But once I knocked on the door, I wondered what I would say if the girls were not home. A young man opened the door and stared at me.
“Good day. Are Mary and Katherine home?”
He nodded, looking nervous. “What have they done?”
“Oh, nothing! I have . . . brought them something.”
The girls came running, expectant smiles lighting up their faces. I handed them the bundle from the bakery. “Be sure to share with your other siblings.”