“I rather like your brother,” Gillian said.
“This is shocking information,” Harold said, earning a laugh from his wife.
Gillian shook her head in amusement. “You two are the friendliest kidnappers I’ve ever known.”
“You’ve known quite a few, then?” Harold echoed her words of a few minutes earlier.
So she answered in kind. “I’m friends with the Jonquils. I’ve seen it all.”
The drive to Sarvol House did not take overly long. They teased and bantered throughout. Gillian wasn’t quite as quick as her companions, but she felt she held her own. And as they began their efforts in the drawing room upon arriving there, she discovered they made a rather good team.
Harold was game for any task given him; he moved heavy pieces and placed items on high shelves by climbing to them. He was the oddest vicar Gillian had ever come across, and she liked that. It was, somehow, fitting for this area and the endless enjoyment she was finding here.
She and Sarah spent some time debating the various possible arrangements for the furniture in the space. Lined up as it was, as if a person were passing from one room to the next during the walk across the room, it felt impersonal and unpolished. There was no doubt the arrangement had been forced on the space.
“If wewantedthis room to serve these many purposes, if it had been a choice rather than a requirement, how would we arrange it?” Gillian asked.
“For one thing,” Sarah said, “I would place the desk in the opposite corner, as there is already a bookcase there, which makes the desk seem more like it belongs.”
“And placed just right,” Gillian said, “Scott could gaze out the windows sometimes, giving himself something other than this room to look at.”
Harold added his thoughts. “There is a long console table in the entryway that, if moved in here, could serve as a sideboard. Grouping the dining table with that would make the table seem more like it belongs.”
It proved an excellent idea and a nearly perfect fit not far from where the table currently was. Only the slightest adjustment was needed. That left an area in the middle of the room for creating the feel of a gathering space. They had found two somewhat beaten-up side tables in the attics, along with tablecloths the correct size for covering them. They also brought down two crates of various trinkets and decorative items, which they took full advantage of.
In one of the crates, Gillian found a painting, one too small for hanging on any of the large, nearly bare walls but too large for the small end tables. Though she’d not seen it before and the two adults in the grouping were unknown to her, she knew the two children immediately: Scott and Sarah, likely when they were both under twelve.
“We must find a place of honor for this.” Gillian held the painting up so Sarah could see it.
She took it, holding it as carefully as one would a fragile treasure. In an amazed whisper, she said, “I haven’t seen this in years.”
Harold stood beside his wife and put an arm around her. “I was so certain your uncle destroyed everything that reminded him of your father.”
From the doorway, a tentative voice spoke. “We hid it from him.” Mrs. Tanner stood there, watching them all with uncertainty. “Once he began emptying the house, we did what we could to stow away those things we thought might matter to you and your brother. Tucked them away in a number of places. We’ve not found them all again yet.”
Sarah held the painting to her, arms around it like a hug. “You and your husband are a treasure. Thank you so much for doing this.”
“Your father was always kind to us. And your mum, though she was quiet and kept more to herself, was always thoughtful. You’re a fine family, you are. We were pleased to do what we could.”
Scott would not only be giving up his father’s home and a neighborhood filled with family, but he would also be losing a housekeeper and butler who cared enough about him to risk their former employer’s wrath in order to protect a keepsake of the parents Scott missed so much.
Standing in the much improved drawing room, having seen and experienced for herself how healing and welcoming and heartwarming a life at Sarvol House could be, Gillian vowed to herself that somehow—to use a favorite word of theirs—they would discover a way for Scott to return here as soon as possible after taking over Thimbleby.
Years was too much to ask of someone who had lost so much already.
Chapter Thirty-four
Scott knew he needed tosit down with Mr. and Mrs. Tanner to discuss what should be done before he removed to Thimbleby. He didn’t want to leave them in difficulty, but Gillian had assessed the situation accurately during their discussion in the gardens: he couldn’t return, at least not often. The house needed to be as simple to oversee as possible, despite its size and the goal of eventually returning it to its former glory.
There was a lot to do, yet he couldn’t focus his mind. His thoughts were on Gillian, as they so often were, but also on her father. Scott had made some peace with not having his mother in his life. Her silence still hurt, still pierced at the vulnerable parts of his heart, but he’d begun to believe, as Sarah did, that the absence of correspondence from her did not result from a lack of worthiness on his part.
But Gillian had confessed that she would continue to grieve her father’s absence and that not having him around would undermine her happiness. And so it was that Scott nipped off to the dower house at a time when he knew Gillian and Mater were visiting Lampton Park and requested a private interview with Mrs. Brownlow and Mr. Phelps. The day threatened to turn rainy at any moment, and a jaunt about the lawn did not seem wise with Mrs. Brownlow so recently recovered from such a drastic illness. They instead met in the small dining room and made certain all the doors and windows were closed tight.
As much as Scott wanted to give Gillian’s father a firm dressing down for having created this situation that was causing his daughter such pain, he knew it would only make things worse overall. She wanted to have her father in her life. And Scott wanted to be in her life as well. He needed to have a good relationship with her father.
“I asked you two to join me here because I have seen Gillian weep too many times over you.” He set his attention on Mr. Phelps. “A couple of months ago, at Houghton Manor, I rather firmly insisted that you stop being cruel to her. Had I realized at the time that she was your daughter, I probably would have punched you in the nose.”
“I was not being intentionally cruel,” Mr. Phelps said. “I was trying to protect her.”