Page 15 of A Sea View Christmas (On Devonshire Shores)

Sarah smiled in reply and finished her tea.

Then she glanced at the clock in the corner and was startled to see the time.

The errand had taken longer than she’d realized.

She set down her cup and said, “And now I really must return home. Mrs. Besley is unwell, and I need to assist her in the kitchen.”

She rose, and he followed suit.

“Might I lend a hand? I would be happy to help.”

“And I would be happy to accept, thank you.”

On her way home from the school, Georgiana walked down Fore Street, past several shops, still having no idea what she might buy for her mother and sisters for Christmas, and still having no money to buy anything even had she an idea.

She thought she glimpsed Sarah and Mr. Henshall walking down a side street together but they were too far away to hail.

She looked ahead, and her steps faltered. There stood Colin Hutton talking with Miss Marriott outside a millinery shop.

For a moment, Georgiana considered cutting through an alley to avoid them, but she trudged on, continuing along her intended path home.

At the sound of her footfalls, Miss Marriott turned. Colin, meanwhile, seemed oblivious to anyone but the elegant Eliza.

“Good day, Georgiana.” The young woman’s gaze fell to her hems. “You have been ... enjoying the outdoors again, I see.”

“I’ve just come from the school,” Georgie replied. “Played ball with the children there, as I often do.” She gave her skirt a few downward tugs, trying to hide her muddied petticoat.

“I’m surprised they played today. Mr. Hutton was just telling me about the poor orphan girl there.”

“I think the game cheered us all. Even Cora.”

Eliza went on as though Georgiana had not spoken. “I admit her loss reminds me of my own dear Mamma, gone these many years.”

“I am sorry,” Colin said. “And I quite understand.”

After a few moments’ silence, Eliza regarded Georgiana once more. “How good you are. How ... playful. Though I suppose you are still practically a child yourself.”

“I am not a child, Miss Marriott.”

Colin said, “Though you are indeed a sportive girl, Miss Georgiana. I have often said so.”

“I admire your freedom,” added Miss Marriott. “My stepmother would never approve of me running wildly about like that. I fear she would call me a hoyden.”

Eliza nodded toward the shop window. “She is in there now, selecting a new white fichu or tippet for my Christmas gift. I shall pretend to be surprised, of course.”

She turned back. “And you, Miss Georgiana. Have you settled on gifts yet for your mother and sisters?”

“Not yet.”

“I have decided to follow the lead of Mr. Hutton here and purchase cologne for my father and perfume for my stepmother.”

“How nice.”

“And how will you celebrate the holidays?” Colin asked Eliza.

“Oh, just a quiet observance with my father and stepmother. Church, a good dinner, and a few gifts.”

He smiled. “That does sound ... pleasant, although quiet indeed. We have all been invited to Sea View. There’s to be an evening party on Christmas Eve and a party on Twelfth Night as well.

You ought to join us. Your family would not mind, would they, Miss Georgiana?

I know it’s not my place to extend an invitation, but they have made me feel like almost one of the family. ”

“I could not,” Eliza demurred. “I would not wish to intrude.”

“Your feelings do you credit. Leave it with me. I will talk to Mrs. Summers and fix it up. Temple Cottage, you said? If you will allow me, I shall pay a call soon.”

“Very well. Now I had better rejoin my stepmother. Good day, Mr. Hutton. Georgiana.” She turned and entered the shop.

When the door closed behind her, Colin sent Georgiana a sidelong glance. “I hope you don’t think that was terribly presumptuous of me. But your lovely friend looks like she could use some enjoyment in her life.”

It was on the tip of Georgiana’s tongue to retort that Miss Marriott was not her friend, but she resisted. That would be petty of her, quite unlike herself, and not completely true. What was wrong with her?

When Georgiana returned home, she went looking for her mother and found her belowstairs with their cook. Mrs. Besley was sitting in a chair, soaking her gouty foot in a tub of warm Epsom-salt water while Mamma sagged against the worktable, displaying none of her usual excellent posture.

Georgie told them what she’d learned about Cora.

Mamma turned to Mrs. Besley to explain who Cora was, and the woman nodded and said, “Oh yes, I’ve heard Miss Georgie speak of her. And I sent chicken soup for the girl’s grandmother, remember? God rest her.”

Mamma turned back to Georgie. “How very sad, my dear. And how kind of you to take an interest.”

“I wish there was more we could do.”

Mrs. Besley clucked her tongue in sympathy. “Has she no other family?”

“Apparently not.”

“Where is she now?” Mamma asked. “I do hate the thought of a girl like her, so recently bereaved, spending Christmas on her own.”

“Mr. Ward said the governors will have to decide whether to send her to the Exeter orphanage. Otherwise, Mr. Jenkins has offered her a situation as scullery maid.”

Mamma frowned and straightened. “A scullery maid! Esther Limbrick’s daughter? I think not.”

Mrs. Besley said, “I don’t like to speak ill of anyone, missus, and the vicar and his wife seem kindly enough, but their cook?” She adamantly shook her head. “I’d not send a sweet little girl into Beulah Browland’s kitchen for worlds.”

“Good heavens. As bad as that? We can do better for the girl, I hope.” Mamma turned back to Georgie. “When are the governors meeting?”

“I’m not certain,” she replied. “But I will find out tomorrow.”

“Be sure you do,” Mamma said sharply.

Georgiana reared her head back in surprise. It wasn’t like her mother to be snappish.

Noticing her reaction, Mamma said more gently, “Sorry, my dear. It’s only that I am anxious for her.”

“I understand.”

Sarah came in, followed by Mr. Henshall.

She looked from Georgie to their mother and said, “Ah, good. Reinforcements. You will both help us prepare dinner, I trust?”

After dinner that evening, Sarah overheard Effie and Georgiana talking—arguing, really—and crossed the hall to the parlour to see what was wrong.

Effie stomped out past her and started up the stairs.

“What is it, Effie? What’s happened?”

“Georgie thinks she’s too good for me now. Too grown-up.”

That did not sound like her little sister. “I am sure that is not so....”

But the girl continued her march up the stairs.

Sarah went into the parlour and found Georgie slumped in a chair near the fire, a tangle of needlework on her lap. Needlework! And with Mamma not present to insist?

“What is it? Effie is upset, and you don’t look much happier.”

Georgie sighed. “I did not mean to anger her or injure her feelings. She wants to put on another play, like we did when she was last here, maybe recruit Mr. Gwilt to help us again.”

“That sounds ... diverting. You enjoyed it the last time, I recall.”

“I did. But perhaps it’s time I outgrew childish things like playacting.”

Sarah watched her usually cheerful, carefree sister in concern. “Has someone said something to make you think that? Made fun of you, or teased you unkindly? I believe you saw Colin Hutton earlier today. Did he ...?”

“No. Though I passed him and Eliza Marriott chatting on the street and ... She said nothing wrong either. In fact, she was perfectly polite. Perfectly ladylike and elegant. And there I stood with my petticoat six inches deep in mud after playing with the schoolchildren—as though I were a child myself.”

“Ah. I see.” Understanding dawned. “She is several years older than you are,” Sarah gently reminded her. “You needn’t compare yourself to her.”

“I know. She is nearer to Colin’s age than I am. And how he admires her.” Georgie shook her head.

“Do you think ... Well, do you think it’s possible you’ve unintentionally made Effie feel a little like Miss Marriott made you feel?”

Georgie gaped up at her, realization widening her eyes. “Oh no, I’ll wager I did! Never meant to, though.”

“I know you are growing up, but you are never too old to do something you love.”

Even as Sarah said the words, the irony struck her. Apparently her sister noticed as well.

“What about you?” Georgie looked at her thoughtfully. “You never do childish things or indulge in pastimes you enjoyed in girlhood. Or are you telling me you were born hardworking and practical?”

Had she been? Or had she felt duty bound to become that way?

“Sometimes I think I was,” Sarah replied. “But you’re right. I don’t take time to enjoy things I used to as much as I ought. Except needlework. I’ve always enjoyed that.”

Georgie rose and handed Sarah her tangled thread and fabric. “Then you may have mine, and good riddance. And I shall go and apologize to Effie and ask what sort of play she wants to perform.”

Sarah patted her arm. “Well done, my dear.”

As her sister walked away, the irony lingered. Perhaps it was time Sarah began taking her own advice.