vicar nodded. ‘She might well be, and you are correct to remind me it is Eva’s welfare, rather than the townspeople’s prejudices, with which we should concern ourselves. I am willing to try, if you are. After you’ve dug your flowers, would you like to accompany me to the Gull’s Roost? Eva’s sister Laurie works there. We could ask her about Eva attending the school while I offer you a mug of cider as my thanks for agreeing to help with the children. And you should still have time to complete your commissions for Miss Foxe.’
Honoria smiled. ‘That sounds delightful.’
And so it was, after digging up several prime specimens of primroses and having the vicar’s housekeeper wrap them in newsprint for the transit back to Foxeden, Honoria found herself walking with the vicar into the tap room of the Gull’s Roost.
With its low-timbered roof, wide hearth, kegs of ale by the bar and the luscious scent of roasting meat emanating from the kitchen, the inn reminded her of those she’d visited in the villages near Stanegate Court.
Mr Kessel hurried over to greet them, calling for the barmaid to bring a mug of ale for the vicar and a glass of cider for the lady. After a few minutes’ chat, Father Gryffd asked if the innkeeper might spare Laurie Steavens for a moment, as he wished to speak with her.
Mr Kessel stiffened. ‘If you’re wanting to chastise her, I promise you, I got nothing to do—’
‘No, not at all!’ the vicar interrupted. ‘I hope you think better of me than to believe I would take you to task for another’s failings.’
The innkeeper’s face reddened. ‘Aye, you’re right. My apologies, Father. I’ll get the wife to fetch Laurie for you. Sadie,’ he called to the barmaid, ‘see that you keep their mugs filled.’
With a bow, the innkeeper went off to the kitchen. A few minutes later, wiping her reddened hands on an apron, a girl entered the tap room. Slender but lushly curved, with blonde hair and a matching set of bright blue eyes, there was a sweetness about her face that reminded Honoria of her little sister.
After looking Laurie up and down with a disdainful sniff, the barmaid walked out.
‘You wanted to see me, Father Gryffd?’ the girl asked, her face guarded.
‘Yes, Laurie. I wanted to ask about Eva.’
Then Laurie’s eyes widened in concern. ‘Nothing done happened to her, did it?’
‘No, she’s fine,’ Father Gryffd assured her. ‘At least, she was when I saw her after church yesterday.’
Laurie sighed with relief. ‘Thank goodness. Ever since the Lizzie D went down, I’ve worried about her every minute. Last week some of the village boys chased her, throwing stones.’ After glancing over her shoulder, she added in a lowered voice, ‘Johnnie Kessel urged ’em to it, the varmint.’
As Honoria’s dislike for the innkeeper’s son deepened, the vicar shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Laurie. I’ll speak to him.’
The girl tossed her head. ‘You do that, vicar, though it won’t do no good. Thinks he knows better ’n everybody. And won’t let nothing or no one get in his way, neither. So, what did you want to say about Evie?’
‘I’m opening a school for the village girls and wanted your sister to attend—after the others have gone, perhaps, so she wouldn’t be subjected to any unpleasantness. Would your mama agree? And do you think Eva would be, ah, receptive to learning?’
Laurie’s face lit. ‘Evie would love it! She’s so much smarter than anybody hereabouts could credit! Ma would be thrilled to have her go—’ she broke off suddenly, the smile fading ‘—but sorry, Father, we just can’t afford it. I barely earn enough here to keep food on the table and the…other—’ the girl lifted her chin, a defiant look on her face ‘—it don’t pay regular.’
‘There won’t be any charge, Laurie.’
The girl stared at them. ‘You’d let her come…for nuthin’?’ she asked incredulously. ‘Why, when Maimie Crawford went to school in St Just, her da complained every time he stopped for a brew about how it cost the trees to keep her there!’
‘Fortunately, since Sennlack has so few of them, it won’t cost the trees here,’ Father Gryffd answered, smiling. ‘With Miss Foxe’s help, I think I can manage without paying a teacher.’
Laurie gestured toward Honoria. ‘What does she know about my sister’s…trouble?’
‘I met Eva at church yesterday,’ Honoria replied.
Laurie gave her a speculative look. ‘And you’re still willing to teach her? Why?’
‘She seemed very bright to me,’ Honoria replied. ‘Deserving of the same chance to learn as the other girls.’ She smiled. ‘And she gave me flowers.’
Laurie subjected her to a hard scrutiny. Honoria returned her stare without flinching.
Finally, Eva’s sister nodded. ‘Don’t see how you could—a rich, manor-born lady like you—but maybe you do understand. Thank you, then. You, too, Father.’
The vicar nodded. ‘We’re all here to help each other, Laurie. There’s a place in God’s heart for everyone.’
The girl swallowed hard. ‘God and I ain’t exactly been on speaking terms of late, Father, but if you’re willing to do this for Evie, I might have to rethink that.’
The vicar smiled. ‘I hope you will. And you’ll speak to your mother about Eva coming to school?’
‘Aye, I will. Best be getting back to work now, though.’
With another nod, the girl disappeared up the stairs. Turning to Honoria, the vicar said, ‘I ought to stop and check on Mr Kessel’s ailing mother. Will you be all right waiting here, Miss Foxe, until I return?’
‘You needn’t feel you must escort me back to the vicarage,’ Honoria assured him. ‘Sennlack is small enough that I’ll have no difficulty finding my way back to retrieve my horse after I complete Aunt Foxe’s errands.’
After proposing that they discuss the school again after services the next Sunday, Father Gryffd thanked her for her help and walked out. Watching him go, Honoria reflected with amusement that, though the vicar had thanked her, it was really he who was doing her the kindness.
Satisfaction filled her at the thought that, while she was marooned here unscrambling her future, she might use such modest talents as she possessed to help other girls—especially Eva. Something about the little girl touched her heart, even beyond the fact that they had both been cast out of the societies into which they’d been born by circumstances over which neither had had any control.
She was surprised how cheering the idea of being useful was. She didn’t think herself a particularly selfish person, but for all her life up to this point, she’d filled a role—daughter, sister, gentlewoman in the country, member of Society in London. She’d always been busy with a variety of activities—but never, that she could recall, with any tasks she would describe as being truly useful to anyone.
Since her ability to choose which role she would play in future had recently been
