Page 33 of An Uncommon Earl

The air was damp, and morning dew glistened on the village green’s shrubs and grass. Jane watched through the carriage window as the driver pulled up in front of the forsythia arch. Across the road, two housewives stood chatting outside the greengrocer’s shop. Another woman exited the butcher’s shop and stopped to exchange a few words before all three continued on down the road toward the bakery. The women eyed the Hadfords’ carriage curiously as they passed, but Jane waited until they had all disappeared before moving to the door.

As though he had been waiting for that very signal, Albert appeared from his position beside the driver and opened the door. He helped Jane out and handed her the cane Alice passed him.

“Thank you, Albert,” Jane said. “I believe Alice and I can manage from here.”

If he was surprised, he did not show it. “Very good, miss,” he said. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

She nodded her thanks, and with Alice carrying the basket beside her, she crossed the road and made for the navy-blue door adjacent to the butcher’s shop. This was the door through which Asher had disappeared the last time she’d been in the village, and she hoped it would lead to the Stanleys’ living quarters.

“Shall I knock, miss?” Alice asked.

The navy-blue paint was peeling, exposing a paler blue beneath. The brass knocker was tarnished, but it made a resounding clatter when Alice hit it against the door. Jane glanced at the window of the butcher shop. There were a few customers visible. If she were fortunate, Mr. Stanley and his son would be kept too busy to check on who was calling at the house.

Footsteps sounded from within, and moments later, the door opened to reveal Asher, his hair tousled and his shirt untucked.

“Good morning, Asher,” Jane said. “Do you remember me?”

He nodded solemnly but made no move to do anything else.

“I have come to see Mrs. Stanley,” Jane tried again. “Is she available?”

Asher glanced at the steep staircase behind him. “She’s upstaiws. With the baby.”

This might be more difficult than Jane had anticipated. “Would you mind telling her that we are here?” she asked. She pointed to the basket Alice held. “We brought some buns for you.”

“For me?” Asher appeared mystified. “Why?”

“Because I thought you might like them.”

With wonder in his big, brown eyes, his gaze settled on the basket. “Maybe,” he said. “I’ve never had a bun befowe.”

“Who is it, Asher?” A woman’s voice called down to them from the top of the stairs.

“A lady,” Asher said. “And another lady.”

Hurried footsteps sounded on the staircase, and seconds later, Mrs. Stanley appeared, the baby on her hip. “Forgive me, miss.” She bobbed a curtsy. “If I’d known you was here, I’d have come right away.”

“It’s of no consequence at all,” Jane said. “Asher was very polite. And it is I who should be apologizing anyway, for calling on you so early in the day.” She smiled in an effort to alleviate the woman’s obvious anxiety. “My name is Jane Hadford. My family recently moved into Charwell Park.”

“I had heard someone had taken up residence.” Mrs. Stanley shifted her feet nervously. “Do you . . . do you wish to come upstairs? We . . . live above the shop.”

Mrs. Stanley’s hair fell in a thin plait across one shoulder, but several strands had come loose, and Jane guessed that she’d not brushed it since arising from her bed. Admittedly, she was dressed in a serviceable skirt and blouse, rather than a nightgown, but that did not signify that she was ready for visitors.

“You are very kind,” Jane said, “but I have no desire to trouble you.” She pointed at the basket, and Alice offered it to Mrs. Stanley. “I hope you do not mind, but I was standing behind you when you left church yesterday and I could not help but overhear the vicar mention the child you lost recently. As we are new to the neighborhood, I wished to offer my condolences, albeit a bit late.”

Mrs. Stanley’s grip on the baby tightened. “That’s very good of you, Miss Hadford. But not necessary. Elijah . . . he was a ward of the Foundling Hospital, you understand, not my own.”

“And yet he was still a child for whom you cared a great deal,” Jane said.

Sadness filled Mrs. Stanley’s gray eyes. Sadness and something else. Jane struggled to identify the buried emotion.

“I will miss him,” Mrs. Stanley said.

“The lady said I might like a bun.” Asher’s eyes had not yet left the basket.

Jane hoped Mrs. Stanley would welcome the boy’s interruption, particularly since their exchange had been proving difficult for her. But instead of exhibiting relief, the woman now seemed even more anxious.

“They are one of our cook’s specialties,” Jane said. “I’ve not known anyone who has tried her spiced buns and not loved them.”