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“I see it.”
Mrs. Finch blinked at her. She took in Samia’s emphatic nod and Jack’s shrug, then shook her head. “I don’t think that’s likely.”
“Unlikely things happen every day.”
“Not to me.” Mrs. Finch shook her head again. “I must go. It was…interesting to meet you.”
Mistress Elena bowed her head in acknowledgment.
“I will escort you home,” said Jack to Harriet’s mother.
She seemed glad to take his arm and move out of the camp. They walked in silence for a bit, Mrs. Finch thoughtful. Finally, she said, “How could she think I would be happy? Those times are gone.”
“What times?”
She waved his question aside. “Never mind.”
“Please. I would like to hear about when you were most happy.” Jack had actually found this a telling question as he was making new friends. People’s replies revealed a great deal.
“I shouldn’t say,” she answered.
“Why not? Is the answer scandalous?”
“No!” She tapped his arm with her free hand. “Of course not.”
“Well then?”
“It is just… I was happiest when I lived alone.”
“Indeed?” This surprised him. If he’d had to guess, he would have mentioned a time when her husband was alive.
“You think that very selfish.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Harriet was at school,” Mrs. Finch added hurriedly. “I knew she was all right, even though she had…difficulties there. She had good friends as well. She wrote to me about them. Sarah and Charlotte are two of the closest.”
Jack nodded encouragingly.
“I remained at our cottage in Tunbridge Wells. It is…was small but very cozy.”
“You weren’t lonely?”
She looked surprised he should ask. “I have… I had a wide acquaintance among ladies in the town who enjoyed fine needlework. There are a great many of those living there. People call the town stodgy, but I never found it so. I taught fancywork to a group of girls as well. We would gather every Wednesday.” She sounded wistful. “And I had a small room at the front of the house where I exhibited my embroidery. There’s no sense keeping it all in chests and wardrobes, you know.”
Jack wondered how much of the stuff there was.
“Especially when someone might need a lovely collar or wristbands. Even a fine tablecloth.”
“It was like a shop?” said Jack.
Mrs. Finch flushed bright red as if he’d accused her of obscenity. “Nothing like that!” she exclaimed. “It was simply a place where friends and acquaintances might find beautiful things.”
“They didn’t pay you for your work?” Jack was too surprised to be tactful.
“Of course not! They sometimes, if they cared to, offered the cost of the silks. Which can be quite dear. But they never… I never asked… There was no question of…”
“Of course,” interrupted Jack. “I understand perfectly now.”
