The Dowry of Miss Lydia Clark Read Free

that he had brought Mrs. Ramsey and Mrs. Cobbe something .
    “Blackberry will be fine.”
    Leaving the bakery, he made his way over to Thatcher Lane and the vine-covered cottage with its gray stones brightened by blue morning glories. Mrs. Ramsey answered his knock with her usual welcoming smile. She was a plain woman with pockmarked cheeks, but according to local historians her late husband, who was considered one of the most handsome men in Gresham, had doted upon her their whole married life.
    “The dear woman!” she gushed, scooping out the loaf from the proffered basket. “Always so thoughtful of others. It’ll be just grand with our lunch.”
    Guilt swept through Andrew, but since he had not actually said who had baked the bread, he told himself that there was no deliberate deception. It was one thing to have to confess to his cook that he had not kept the basket in sight, but he did not care to allow the incident to become a topic of conversation over every garden gate. Not that Mrs. Ramsey was malicious, but gossip in a small village was almost impossible to stem.
    “Would you care to have a slice with some tea now, Vicar?” Mrs. Ramsey asked apologetically, as if she had mistaken his silence for disappointment that the treat was to be set aside for later.
    He thanked her but refused the offer. Even though he happened to like blackberry bread just as well as fig, he wanted no part of it.

     
    After Julia finished dressing, she took up her reticule, notebook, and a towel-wrapped loaf of fig bread for Elizabeth and went out front where Luke had hitched Rusty to the trap.
    “Handsome day for taking a drive, ain’t it?” the caretaker asked as he took her parcels so she could step up into the seat. He was a tall man of about thirty, with curly brown hair and a gap between his teeth that made words like handsome come out in a whistle. Many an unmarried woman in Gresham had set her cap for him, including Wanetta, but aside from an infatuation with Fiona three years ago, he seemed content in his bachelorhood.
    “It is a fine day at that, Luke,” Julia replied, taking up the reins.
    She bade him farewell after he handed her things over, and just a flick of the reins was all Rusty, the blue roan, needed to be set in motion. Julia had asked Andrew to teach her how to drive on a whim one day and found that she enjoyed it very much—especially on mornings like this one, for spring air bathed her cheeks as the trap carried her along. At the end of the vicarage lane she reined Rusty to the west for twenty yards or so, to where a half-timbered, two-story cottage sat at the corner of Church and Bartley Lanes. The cottage had once belonged to Captain and Mrs. Powell, until the former schoolmaster transferred to Shrewsbury for his position with Her Majesty’s Inspectors.
    Hilda Casper, employed as Elizabeth and Jonathan’s housemaid, welcomed Julia into the parlor. She seemed even younger than her eighteen years, with a boyishly thin figure and transparent lashes and brows. For three years she had milked cows on a dairy farm before deciding housework was more to her liking. “Good morning, Mrs. Phelps,” the girl said. “Mrs. Raleigh is still upstairs. I’ll let her know you’re here.”
    “Please tell her not to hurry,” Julia said. “I’ll just put this loaf in the kitchen.” As Hilda went to the stairs, Julia crossed the parlor and walked through the dining room toward the kitchen. The cottage was narrow but well built and cozy. Combining Jonathan’s wages with what Elizabeth earned for organizing and copying Mr. Ellis’s and Mr. Pitney’s archeological notes, they were able to afford a cook and housemaid and still put some savings aside for the future. Jonathan was determined not to have to ask his family back in Kensington for financial assistance. Still, in his eagerness to provide Elizabeth with as good a life as possible, he had gratefully accepted their offer to purchase the cottage and furniture as