Free The Widow of Larkspur Inn by Lawana Blackwell Page A

lunch.”
    “Firewood too,” said the gardener, doffing a billycock cap.
    Julia could see part of a small gardening wagon behind him, heaped with split logs.
    “The nights and mornin’s still got a nip in ’em. And if ye don’t mind me lookin’ out back for a ladder, I’ll see to opening those shutters.” A gap between his front teeth caused “shutters” to come out with a faint whistle.
    Dora, a young woman in apron and lace cap, simply gave a quick bob. Julia put a hand up to her cheek and tried to imagine Reverend Douglass, her former rector at Mayfair, condescending to helping someone with housework. Or even herself doing the same just weeks ago.
    “Why, I don’t know what to say,” she finally told them.
    “‘Come in’ will do very nicely,” the vicar said, smiling.
    As it turned out, Vicar Wilson was very familiar with the layout of the Larkspur , having been a close friend of Ethan Banning, its previous owner. The vicar was kind enough to take up a lantern and offer a tour.
    “That would be wonderful,” Julia told him, and even the children managed some enthusiasm this time. They left from the hall again, along the corridor that Julia and Fiona had started to explore. This passage had rooms only on the south side—the first was a small library, then a storage room. Three bedrooms were next.
    “These are the family quarters,” the vicar explained.
    “Downstairs?” Philip asked.
    The old gentleman smiled. “In the coaching inn business, the proprietor has to keep a sharp eye on the goings-on of the establishment.”
    There were six bedchambers upstairs that would hopefully lodge people instead of spiders one day, a linen room, storage room, water closet and bath, and a sitting room. In the attic were also six bedchambers—smaller because of the slope of the house—but surprisingly well insulated and each with a fireplace and garret window. Julia opened one door and gasped at finding another water closet. She had expected those on the two other floors that Jensen had mentioned, but even her house in London hadn’t provided such an amenity in the servants’ quarters.
    “Ethan Banning was a thoughtful man,” the reverend said with an amused little smile. “When the water closets were added, he decided that the servants should have one as well.”
    “It makes sense to me.” Julia smiled back at him.
    Hours later, when the foursome were on their way back to the vicarage with a promise to return the next day, Julia put aside her dusting cloth long enough to wander down the family corridor with an appreciative eye. At Julia’s insistence, Fiona was assigned to the housekeeper’s quarters, which would hopefully be cleaned by tomorrow evening.
    “Just until we’ve time to ready the maids’ rooms in the loft,” Fiona had finally relented. “You’ll need this chamber when you can hire on a housekeeper.”
    Julia had smiled at Fiona’s statement, made totally without guile, and hoped the time would indeed come when she could afford to pay a housekeeper’s wages—and she already had a certain young Irishwoman in mind for the position.
    She ran her fingertips lightly along the inside cobwalls of the family corridor. They felt slightly damp from the scrubbing she and Dora had given them earlier. The vicar’s maid had had to teach her how to use a broom on cobwebs, and then how to clean one section of the wall at a time before moving on. Such a deceptively simple-looking chore had caused Julia’s back to ache and arms to feel leaden, but she was so determined not to draw attention to her lack of skills that she’d pushed herself on. And learned something with the effort. How startling it was to discover the sense of satisfaction that could be experienced while wringing out a cloth in a bucket of warm sudsy water!
    So much had been accomplished today. Even the vicar, hindered as he was by rheumatism, and Philip by his sprained finger, did what they could to sweep away some of the neglect of