Page 9 of A Sea View Christmas (On Devonshire Shores)
SIX
Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew,
She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven.
—Memorial, Sidmouth Church
After the following week’s divine service, Sarah stayed to talk with the ladies of the Poor’s Friend Society, discussing agenda items for the next day’s committee meeting.
The monthly meetings were attended by the committee secretary, treasurer, and superintendents—all men—as well as the local magistrates and other leading gentlemen of the parish.
Several of them contributed their ideas and resources toward the charity’s efforts, but it was the women who did the majority of the work, and they liked to be prepared.
When the other ladies left, Sarah paused to collect petals that had fallen from an arrangement of chrysanthemums and winter viburnum before the pulpit, and then picked up a dropped glove to place in the lost property box.
The Reverend William Jenkins nodded to her on his way to the vestry. “Ah, Miss Summers. What would we do without you?”
When he had gone, Sarah looked around the nave once again to see if there was anything else that needed tidying. An unexpected wave of weariness washed over her, and finding herself alone, she sat heavily in one of the pews.
After a few minutes of staring at nothing, her gaze was drawn to the many monuments in the church, there to commemorate the virtues of the dead, or to extend admonitions to the living.
The inscriptions lamented the losses of daughters, sons, wives, and husbands.
Many of them had come to the seaside hoping for a cure but instead died there.
Remembering her promise to Henrietta Liston, Sarah searched until she found her brother’s memorial. The square marble slab read
Near this place lie the remains of
Nathaniel Marchant , Esq.
...He died in the 49 th year of his age , and his disconsolate widow ,
after receiving uninterrupted proofs of his affection for 18 years ,
caused this stone to be erected to his memory.
How lovely. How sad , Sarah thought. What would it be like to be so deeply loved and cherished by one’s spouse? His poor wife! His poor sister too.
She looked next at a sarcophagus near the Communion table that held the remains of Maria Elizabeth Bucknall, who came to Sidmouth for the benefit of her health, and
...after a long illness , borne with pious resignation ... departed this life ,
to the inexpressible grief of her family , aged 25 .
So much loss. How uncertain and brief life could be, Sarah realized.
At the thought, her mind, as it often did, traveled back to Callum Henshall, who had been heartsick over his inability to save his wife.
When he first came to Sea View as a guest and began leaving the house by stealth early in the mornings, she suspected him of something nefarious: meeting with smugglers or a clandestine rendezvous with a woman.
One morning, she had trailed after him through thick fog, following his flapping greatcoat and the flash of fair hair beneath his black hat.
How surprised she’d been when he’d slipped through the churchyard gate.
There, she’d spied him standing before a grave, bare head bowed, hands clasped over his hat brim.
She had turned and crept away, not wishing to interrupt his private grief, feeling guilty and embarrassed over her baseless suspicions.
Some time later, she had gone to see the grave alone and realized he’d been standing at his wife’s headstone, topped by a Celtic cross.
Eventually, he had told her about his wife’s deep depression of spirits, made worse by her first marriage to a cruel man.
Mr. Henshall had married Katrin, a young widow with a daughter, sure he could make her happy.
When he failed, he had brought her to Devonshire, hoping the south coast—renowned for physical health benefits—would be good for her mind and spirit as well.
Instead she had died. And while it was possible she had fallen from the cliff into the sea, he believed she had probably taken her own life.
Since then, he had done his best to be a caring stepfather to Katrin’s daughter, Effie.
During their stay at Sea View, Effie had often been tetchy, as any adolescent could be.
Despite that, Sarah had liked the girl and wondered how she was doing now.
Was she fifteen yet? Georgie had befriended her, even though Effie was a few years younger, and the two had corresponded since the Henshalls’ stay at Sea View.
Yet in recent months Effie’s letters had trickled off.
Apparently she had lost interest in them as her father had.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself , Sarah inwardly chastised.
She should hope for Effie’s sake that Mr. Henshall would marry a kind, affectionate woman who would love Effie and treat her as her own daughter.
Mr. Henshall had confided that Effie’s real mother had been unable to care for her.
When Katrin looked at her, she saw her cruel husband and could not fully love her.
He’d said he hoped Effie did not realize this, but Sarah guessed the poor girl had been all too aware.
With thoughts of the two heavy on her heart, Sarah exited the church by the south porch only to find the outside air thick with mist, which transported her once again to the foggy day she had followed Callum Henshall there to the churchyard.
Now as Sarah started down the path, her gaze naturally drifted to that familiar Celtic cross beside the bendy elm tree.
She stopped midstride, shoes scuffing the path. A man stood before the grave, fair head bowed, hat in his hands. Her pulse accelerated. Surely it was a trick of the fog....
The man looked up.
Her feet moved of their own volition. She was determined to get closer, to make sure.
Her heart thumped in recognition. “M-Mr. Henshall. I ... am sorry to intrude, but—”
His fair eyebrows rose. “Miss Summers. Not at all. I am happy to see ye. I planned to stop by Sea View next but thought I ought to pay my respects first.”
Sarah swallowed, her throat suddenly tight, and murmured, “Of course.”
He was well dressed in buff trousers, light waistcoat, dark blue coat, and simply tied cravat. With his hat in his hands, his coppery blond hair fell over his brow, ruffled by the breeze. Fatigue shadowed his eyes; he was likely tired after the long journey. Even so he looked remarkably handsome.
Was she staring?
She very much feared she was.
With effort, she shifted her gaze and walked over to stand beside him.
For a moment, she stood silently, solemnly regarding the headstone and its epitaph.
Katrin McKay Henshall
Beloved Wife and Mother
Forever in Our Hearts
According to the engraved dates, she had been gone over four years now, a year longer than Peter, her former betrothed, who had died of yellow fever during a journey to the West Indies.
After a few quiet moments, he said, “Ye canna imagine how sorry we were to return home and learn we had missed ye.”
Oh, Sarah could well imagine it. “We were quite disappointed as well. I did receive your letter of explanation but have yet to reply. Now I suppose I need not. Thank you for writing; I was sorry to hear Effie’s grandfather fell ill.”
“He seems quite recovered now.”
“Good.”
He nodded, and an awkward silence followed.
She looked around the churchyard. “Did Effie not come with you?”
“To Sidmouth, aye. Still not keen to visit her mam’s grave, however. I left her quite happily eating cake in the York Hotel.”
“The York Hotel?”
“Aye. We didna wish to presume....”
“There they are!” Georgie called from the gate, striding into the churchyard and all but dragging Effie by the hand behind her. Noticing the graves, Effie pulled away and hung back.
In the year and a half since they had last seen Effie, she had grown markedly taller.
Even so, the two-year difference in the girls’ ages had become even more evident.
Seeing them side by side, Sarah saw with new eyes how much Georgiana had grown up.
She looked like a young woman next to slender, coltish Effie, whose ginger hair hung loose around her narrow, freckled face, ears protruding through the fine strands.
By comparison, Georgie had womanly curves, thick brown hair pinned back, blue eyes like Sarah’s, and a pretty face with high cheekbones.
Now Georgie beamed. “Look who I found at the York Hotel!”
Moving toward the girl, Sarah gave her a gentle smile and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Effie. How good to see you again.”
“And you, Miss Sarah.”
“You’ve grown! You’re nearly as tall as I am.”
The girl looked down self-consciously. “Aye. Had to have new clothes made.”
Georgie said, “Effie says they are planning to stay at the hotel, but I said, ‘Don’t be silly; you must stay with us.’ Right? They must, mustn’t they?”
“Um, well, yes. That is, I would like that very much.”
“Would ye?” Mr. Henshall asked softly.
Sarah glanced at him, and her breath hitched. “I would.”
For a weighty moment, his sea-green eyes held hers. Then he released a long breath. “I’m glad. I shall inform the hotel of our change of plans, collect our bags, and be there shortly.”
Sarah smiled, her mood brighter than it had been in weeks. “Excellent.”
Georgie insisted on returning to the hotel to help with their baggage, so Sarah walked ahead to Sea View alone, heart light. Surely he would not travel all this way were he really courting another woman. Might his coming here mean ...?