Page 12 of A Sea View Christmas (On Devonshire Shores)

EIGHT

Christmas is a-coming, the goose is getting fat. Please put a penny in the old man’s hat;

If you haven’t got a penny, a ha’penny will do, If you haven’t got a ha’penny then God bless you!

—Old English Christmas song

The following day, Viola, Claire, and Mira joined them at Sea View.

They all gathered in the dining room to assemble their St. Thomas Day gifts for the poor-house residents: brown paper parcels of Sarah’s baked treats tied with ribbon and sprigs of holly.

The knitted scarves, mittens, and stockings, and small pots of preserves.

Emily also planned to buy imported sweet oranges to add to their offerings as soon as she finished an editing project for the local publisher.

They had decided to include simple cards, so artistic Claire had brought over her art supplies to help with the project. While Claire drew the outlines of holly, ivy, and candles ringed in evergreens, Georgie, Effie, and Mira happily colored them in and folded the cards.

They made extra to take to ailing Mrs. Limbrick. They added a few additional items, including a quantity of wheat, which was quite expensive, to this final basket that they would deliver to the woman that very day.

Mr. Henshall assisted them throughout, carrying trays of baked goods from the workroom belowstairs, sorting supplies, and tying parcels. Without fanfare, he contributed coins for the enterprise as well.

Sarah was impressed. “Very generous, thank you.”

He shrugged off her praise. “’Tis only a trifle.”

“Not to them, it won’t be. And not to me.”

He held her gaze. “Then I am glad to do it.”

She became aware of her sisters watching them with eager expressions and turned away to busy herself elsewhere.

While the others finished the preparations for the poor house, Georgiana and Mamma set out to visit Mrs. Limbrick. Georgiana carried the basket, and Chips trotted along at her side.

The woman lived in The Retreat, a lodging house on Church Street in a less affluent part of Sidmouth with no view of the sea.

Inside the house, the smells of damp and cabbage met them. They found the door marked D at the end of the passageway and knocked.

The door opened more quickly than Georgiana would have expected. A young girl stood there, looking up at them in surprise. A familiar girl.

“Cora? What are you doing here?” Georgie asked. “Should you not be at school?”

“Stayed home today. My nan is feeling poorly.”

Georgie turned to introduce her companion. “This is my mother, Mrs. Summers. Mamma, this is Cora. Mrs. Limbrick’s granddaughter.”

“Ah, Cora! Georgiana speaks of you often and fondly.”

Cora gave her a shy smile, although worry still shadowed her eyes.

Georgie lifted the basket. “We’ve brought some things for your grandmother. But if she is not equal to visitors ...?”

“I dunno. I shall ask her.” The girl turned and dashed into the next room, leaving them standing in the dank passage.

They heard “Nan? Miss Georgie and her mum are here. Can they come in and see you? They’ve brought you something.”

“Yes, of course. Show them in, although I no doubt look a fright.”

Cora returned to them. “She says come in.”

As they stepped inside, Georgie closed the door behind them and took in the small parlour—not squalid but certainly humble. Chilly as well.

They followed Cora to the open door of the bedchamber, which held two narrow beds. An elderly woman lay in one, covered with several blankets.

They introduced themselves and made polite conversation, asking how long the two had been in Sidmouth and where they were from originally.

The woman replied, “Over a year now. Came from Longhope, in Gloucestershire.”

“Ah! We are from May Hill,” Mamma replied, expression brightening. “A small village three or four miles north of there.”

“Oh yes. I remember visiting the hill as a girl.”

Mamma said, “I went to school with a Miss Esther Limbrick. Any relation?”

A smile broke over the woman’s face. “You never! Esther was my daughter. And Cora’s mum. Sadly, we lost her and her husband several years back.”

“I am terribly sorry for your loss. Both of you.”

The woman nodded. “It’s been hard, I can’t deny. But at least Cora and I have each other.” She sent her granddaughter a fond look.

Cora came over and took her hand. “That’s right, Nan. We get on perfectly well, the two of us.”

Mamma studied Cora and said, “It has been many years, but seeing you ... yes. There is a marked resemblance to the young lady I remember.”

“I look like her?” Cora asked.

“Indeed you do.”

“I am glad.”

Mamma turned back to Mrs. Limbrick. “Cora is so young, while my youngest here is already seventeen. Hard to believe her mother and I were at school together.”

“You married quite young,” Georgie reminded her.

“True. And as I remember, Esther was determined not to marry for any inducement other than true love.”

Mrs. Limbrick nodded. “That was my Esther. She waited many years to find her Mr. Griffith, and how she loved him.”

Silence fell after that, and to fill it, Georgie gestured toward the items in the basket. “We’ve brought some bread rolls and preserves. Oh, and this is a jar of Mrs. Besley’s chicken soup, which always makes me feel better when I’m poorly. And some nice warm stockings and mittens too.”

“Thank you, my dear. Very kind.”

Cora accepted the basket on her behalf and carried it into the other room.

“Is there anything else you need?” Mamma asked. “Some tonic from the apothecary, perhaps? Or we could ask Dr. Clarke to call?”

“No need. I saw him shortly after we arrived. He recommended sea air and sea bathing. I did try them, to little effect.”

Georgie nodded. “He recommended the same to Mamma, and though she was reluctant, sea bathing helped her a great deal. Long walks too...” Taking in the woman’s pallor and frailty, she swallowed and amended, “Although, of course, it does not help everyone.”

They left a short while later, Georgie’s usually buoyant spirits dampened by the visit, her heart going out to the woman. Going out to them both.

“I wish there was more we could do for them,” Georgiana said.

“So do I, my dear. So do I. For now, let’s pray for Mrs. Limbrick, shall we?”

Georgiana nodded and took her hand. “Yes, let’s.”

Late that afternoon, Emily came into the library carrying a manuscript. “I have not yet bought oranges for the poor house.” She lifted the stack of pages in her hands. “I am still editing this for Mr. Wallis, so I can’t go myself. Would you mind? Russell’s has them three for a penny.”

Sarah rose with a sigh. “I suppose not. Though I wish you would have asked me earlier. It will be dark soon. Will one for each resident suffice?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Sarah donned a warm pelisse, bonnet, and gloves and set out, market basket over her arm.

She walked into the eastern town and through the marketplace until she reached their favorite fruiterer, the shop marked by a hanging-melon trade sign.

Lamplight illuminated the shop’s interior.

Its window displayed pyramids of imported oranges and lemons, fruit-basket gifts, and even a prized pineapple.

In front of the small shop sat baskets of apples and pears, which were no doubt taken inside when the weather turned too frosty.

Through the window, she recognized a familiar figure standing near the oranges. He looked up as if aware of her gaze, and a warm smile transformed his face.

She stepped inside, the shop bell jingling in her wake.

“ Mr. Henshall! I am surprised to find you here. I am not following you, I promise. Emily sent me here on an errand.”

“That’s odd. She asked me to do an errand for her as well.”

“To buy oranges?”

“Aye. In fact, she made a point of telling me the oranges in this shop were the best in town.”

“What a schemer!”

He chuckled. “Apparently your sister is in favor of a...” With a glance at the shopkeeper and the few milling customers, he broke off.

A ... what? Sarah wondered what he’d been about to say. A match between us?

He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Of you and I spending time together.”

Sarah felt her neck grow warm. “Perhaps, though I really do think she wants oranges for the poor house.”

“Not a complete ruse, then? I shall purchase them, if ye don’t mind. I said I would and am happy to do so.”

“Very well.”

A few minutes later, they exited the shop, a mound of oranges in Sarah’s basket, which he offered to carry for her.

Glancing up the street, she noticed a crowd standing outside one of the shops. “I wonder what is going on there?”

He followed her gaze. “Shall we walk over and see? I am not in a hurry, if you’re not.”

“I own I am curious.” Together they strolled up the street.

“Oh!” Sarah said as they drew nearer. “That’s the print shop. Emily mentioned a new window display for the holidays.”

They waited their turn to step close and look at the “illuminations” in the panes of the print-shop windows. The translucent colored prints had been varnished and lit from behind, causing the scenes to glow with light and life, drawing admirers and shoppers alike.

Sarah recognized the ruins of Tintern Abbey by moonlight, a London street scene, and another depicting fireworks in Green Park to celebrate the Treaty of Paris.

“This is Tintern Abbey.” She pointed to the image. “We stopped there during our journey north.”

He bent to look more closely. As he straightened, another caught his eye. “Ah. And here is the Palace of Holyroodhouse by night.”

Someone had painstakingly cut out dozens of tiny windows, and the light shone through them in a bright, realistic way.

“We visited the palace when we were in Edinburgh,” Sarah said.

“I wish I had been there with ye.”

“So do I.”

When he was silent, she glanced over and found him standing close, looking at her instead of the illuminations.

She swallowed. “Well. The palace looks lovely by lamplight.”

His focus remained on her. “So do you.”

Gratification warmed Sarah’s heart.

He offered her his free arm. “May I walk ye home, miss?”