Chapter 85
The unexpected knock came sometime after midday, on an uneventful Tuesday afternoon.
Camille Dawson looked up from the floor where her young son, Oliver, was occupied with a collection of wooden toys, his small hands busy arranging them into some elaborate game only he seemed to understand.
The interruption was unexpected, to say the least. She hadn’t been expecting anyone that day. Not that she was much of a hostess; she hardly knew enough people for unexpected visits to be a regular occurrence.
There was only one person who visited her with any regularity.
She smoothed her hands over her skirts, leaving him to his game as she made her way towards the persistent knocking at the door.
When she opened the door, she found a man and woman standing upon the threshold.
She recognized them.
They were neighbours, though she knew them only by sight. She had passed them often enough in the street to place their faces, but they had never had cause to exchange more than the occasional greeting.
The woman smiled first.
"Good afternoon. Forgive us for calling upon you without notice. I am Mrs. Sutton, and this is my husband, Richard. We have been meaning to introduce ourselves properly."
Camille returned the smile, though surprise flickered through her. "Good afternoon."
"We brought something for you." Lydia Sutton lifted the wicker basket she carried. A linen cloth covered its contents, though the warm, buttery scent of freshly baked pastries wafted from it. "It seemed a shame that you have been here so long and we have never properly welcomed you."
Camille accepted the basket with both hands. "That is very kind of you."
"You look surprised." Richard noted and Camille wasn’t sure she appreciated the man’s keen observation.
"I suppose I am. I have not had many visitors since moving here."
"How odd," Lydia said lightly. "People in this neighbourhood are usually rather fond of knowing their neighbours."
There was nothing particularly strange about the remark, yet Camille detected a faint lilt in the woman’s voice. Perhaps she was merely curious and no one could fault her for that.
Camille smiled politely and stepped aside.
"Would you care to come in?"
The Suttons thanked her and entered.
The small sitting room was in no state to receive guests, so Camille led them instead toward the room where she and Oliver usually took their meals. A pair of wooden chairs stood beside the table, providing the only seating.
Oliver looked up curiously as they entered, his gaze lingering on the newcomers for a moment before he lost interest and returned to his toys.
Lydia claimed one of the chairs, with Richard taking the seat beside her. As she settled in, she once again let her gaze roam around discreetly, taking note of every detail.l
There were no men’s shoes tucked away anywhere, no long coat carelessly abandoned over the back of a chair, nor any other small indication that a man lived in the house. After years of living with her husband and raising four sons, Lydia had developed a keen eye for such things. She knew exactly what to look for.
Camille set the basket on the table and turned her attention back to her guests, only just missing the speculative glint in Lydia’s eyes.
Had she looked up a few seconds sooner, she might have noticed the way the other woman had been surveying the room, examining the house with the concentration of someone attempting to solve a particularly troublesome puzzle.
"Please forgive the intrusion," Lydia said again. "We really did mean only to welcome you."
"It’s no problem. You have been very generous," Camille replied warmly. "Would you like something to drink? I recently procured a special tea blend that would go wonderfully with your gift. I’m sure you’ll like it. It cost me a pretty penny."
"That will be lovely. Thank you." Richard said graciously.
The conversation might have come to a halt when Camille walked a few steps to the kitchen to make the tea, had Lydia not begun asking seemingly harmless questions.
She asked where Camille had lived before relocating to the neighborhood.
Camille continued their conversation from the kitchen, speaking louder than she usually did so her voice could be heard from a distance. In response to Lydia’s question, she named the poorer district where she lived for several years. Nettles Lane.
This house, though not grand or luxurious, was still a vast improvement from what she was used to.
Lydia gave a thoughtful hum. "I believe I know the area. It is rather farther down than this, isn’t it?"
"Yes. I lived there for years."
"With family?" She probed.
"Yes. With my husband and children."
The answer drew the guests up short. Richard shared a loaded look with his wife.
"Your husband and children?" Lydia repeated.
"Yes." Camille affirmed.
Lydia cleared her throat, shaking her head slightly when she noticed the question shining in her husband’s eyes. "I must confess, I have never seen you with a husband. I have wondered about it before, but wasn’t certain whether you were married, and didn’t wish to risk causing offense by asking."
Camille emerged from the kitchen carrying a tea service, her light laughter intended to put the woman at ease. She intentionally chose her finest porcelain set for the occasion, arranging the delicate cups and saucers with care.
"My husband did not come with us," Camille explained. "He has been unwell for some time and is receiving treatment. My eldest recently joined the Navy, so it is only Oliver and me here."
Lydia nodded sympathetically. "That must be difficult."
"It has been." Camille agreed, seeing no reason to lie.
After pouring each of them a cup, Camille sat back down and brought hers to her lips. Sometimes the safest answer was simply one that contained enough truth to satisfy curiosity.
"Then what brought you here?" Richard asked.
"A gentleman helped us. An acquaintance of my husband." Camille’s voice softened with genuine gratitude. "He heard of our circumstances and took pity on us. He is paying for my husband’s treatment and for this house. Without his assistance, I do not know what we would have done."