“Where are you going, Audrey?” Frances asked as she followed her down the hallway.
“I’m going to market. And no, you can’t go,” Audrey said quickly.
“Why can’t I?”
“You know why, Lambkin. You’ve just gotten over a cold and it’s raining.”
“It stopped raining! Just now!” Frances said, pointing to the window in the front parlor where they both stood.
“Next time,” Audrey promised. Frances pushed out her little chin and screwed up her mouth in a pout. “No, Francie,” she said, using her nickname to soften the blow.
Frances seemed to ponder the situation and then told her sister, “You’ll be safe? Dress warmly and don’t be gone too long?”
Audrey tapped her little sister on the nose. “Of course. I only need to get a few things at the market and then I’ll be home. You won’t have time to miss me.”
Audrey leaned down and hugged the little girl tightly around the neck.
Audrey checked with their Cook to make sure she had an accurate list of what she needed before she pulled on her heavy coat, grabbed her umbrella, and was out the door. Normally, their kitchen maid or Cook did the shopping, but she had offered today. She had several letters to post, and more than anything, she wanted to be out of the house. She felt stifled in it and the pungent smell of vinegar. It had been prescribed for her father and massages to help fight the illness.
Audrey sighed with relief as she walked from their small house to the village shops. As her village was small, there were only a few buildings, including a blacksmith, a shoemaker, and a village shop. For anything grander, they had to travel a small distance to Swanley Village. She greeted several people in passing. She had lived in the same village her entire life and felt a sense of belonging. Her list tucked into her small bag she entered the village shop.
“Miss Wakefield,” the proprietor, Mr. Knapp, greeted her, and she smiled in return.
Mr. Knapp took pleasure in his little store and stocked calicos from India, tobacco from America, and a small assortment of spices, most of which she had never heard of.
“How fares your father, miss? Does the vicar still ail?” he asked her.
Audrey looked over the silk ribbons and combs. “He’s doing better. Dr. Thomson said so today.”
“Excellent news. Let me know if you need anything.”
Audrey moved around the store and placed the items she required into a basket. When she took them to the front, Mr. Knapp placed the items on her father’s account. A basket sat next to the register filled with a large mix of different carved animals. She saw a small little lamb and picked it up.
“A gentleman nearby carves those occasionally,” Mr. Knapp explained. “I didn’t see the point of selling them, but my wife talked me into it.”
“I’d like the lamb.”
He nodded and added it to their account, which was paid at the end of the month by her father. He wrapped the groceries into a plain brown paper and twine while she placed the lamb into her purse.
“Give my regards to your mother and father,” he said in parting.
“I will, Mr. Knapp,” Audrey said.
Audrey was heading back to the cottage when the rain suddenly picked up. She dashed into the blacksmith’s shop to avoid getting drenched. She didn’t want to walk in the rain even with her umbrella. There was no one about at first glance, and the fire was dead. She leaned against the wall, glanced to the side, and saw Dr. Thomson standing nearby.
“Dr. Thomson!” she greeted him. “I didn’t see you there.”
Enoch Thomson was standing inside the blacksmith shop, taking a short rest before he started the trip home. He didn’t fancy riding his horse in the rain and had hoped it would stop eventually. As he waited, another figured joined him suddenly, and he recognized her immediately as Audrey Wakefield. She was the eldest daughter of the vicar, the man he had been treating recently.
He had delivered Audrey into the world, and it had been his pleasure to watch her grow into womanhood. She was a lovely woman with dark blue eyes and light brown hair. She had an oval-shaped face, a slim figure, and always a kind word. She was also more intelligent than most of the people who lived in the village, which was why he had agreed with her father that she should attend Queen’s College when she had asked for his permission.
Her mother had thought it a waste of time and had been against it. Her reason, as Enoch recalled, was that Audrey needed to learn her embroidery better, which was atrocious, and that a husband had no need for an educated wife.
Augusta was a woman who valued the way things were and saw no need to teach her daughter Latin, but Ezra had delighted in doing so. One afternoon while Enoch was visiting at teatime, a ten-year-old Audrey had spouted the Latin phrase, “Condemnant quo non intellegunt,” and Enoch had almost spat out the brew. Augusta seemed incensed and demanded to know what the girl had said.
“They condemn that which they do not understand,” her husband had told her dryly while Enoch had the good sense to hide his smile.
Augusta had glared at the little girl, and Enoch had felt a pang of sympathy for her. Audrey should have been born to a squire or earl in a larger town, not doomed to spend her life in the small little village where nothing much ever happened.