Read The Dowry of Miss Lydia Clark for Free Online

husband was suffering another dark mood. Knowing Ambrose’s gallant nature, Julia was certain that he had urged her to attend today’s meeting anyway.
    “Well, Mrs. Phelps, you managed to show yourself after all!” Mrs. Bartley, a commanding gray-haired presence, rose from a chair, her voice carrying over the hum of conversation. Three years ago Julia would have wilted at the woman’s tone, but now she knew well the warm heart inside that forbidding exterior. She simply walked over to plant a kiss upon her former lodger’s wrinkled cheek.
    “And I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Bartley. Have I missed anything important?”
    “Nothing earth shattering, I suppose,” she replied in a voice considerably warmer. She sent a worried glance past Julia’s shoulder. “I trust Mrs. Raleigh is well? Several ladies noticed your trap at her cottage.”
    But of course they would , Julia thought, for there were few secrets in Gresham. With truthful evasiveness she replied, “Elizabeth was feeling a little out of sorts, so I urged her to stay home and rest.”
    “I pray it’s nothing serious. And you gave her very astute advice. It’s always best to stay in when there is the possibility one may be carrying something contagious.”
    “My thoughts exactly.”
    Mrs. Bartley took her arm. “And so now why don’t you go ahead and have some tea and cake so our meeting can begin?”
    Having had two cups at the vicarage as well as a hearty breakfast, Julia declined politely, opting to call the meeting to order as soon as the others had served themselves. She crossed the room, exchanging greetings along the way, and took a place near the marble fireplace in which a low fire snapped in the grate to break the morning chill. When everyone’s attention was directed her way, she expressed appreciation to Mrs. Bartley for hostessing the meeting and led the group in prayer.
    The Women’s Charity Society’s main concern was raising money to help provide food and other necessities for Gresham’s poor. But Saint Jude’s centuries-old pulpit had needed replacing for years, and just because it hadn’t actually crumbled apart when given a good pounding during a heated sermon, the diocese was dragging its collective feet in replacing it. Mrs. Derby, the cobbler’s wife, was first to raise her hand when Julia asked for suggestions.
    “We could sew quilts and sell them.” That idea was swiftly and tactfully put to rest because of the time such a project would require—not to mention that several of the members, Julia included, had never sewn a stitch beyond needlepoint.
    The most impractical suggestion came from Mrs. Bartley, yet it drew spirited applause—muffled by gloves. “We drag the pulpit out to the green and make a bonfire.”
    “Mrs. Bartley,” Julia was compelled to respond while constraining a smile, “how would that help the matter?”
    A coy smile curved under the elderly woman’s hawkish nose. “The diocese would have no choice but to give us a new one, now would they? They couldn’t very well expect Vicar Phelps to prop his prayer book and Bible on the floor.”
    Again there was applause, with Mrs. Bartley soaking it up like the sponge cakes soaked up chocolate sauce. “Aye, but they jolly well might if we burnt our own pulpit,” Mrs. Sykes argued, as if she believed Mrs. Bartley actually intended to carry out her plan.
    It was timid Mrs. Durwin who started everyone down the path toward a solution. “Why not sell sandwiches and lemonade on May Day?”
    “That’s a fine idea!” Mrs. Sway, wife of the greengrocer, enthused. “We could ask the vicar to announce it in church. But would that raise enough money?”
    “Why not have a pantomime too?” Mrs. Johnson suggested. “We could charge admission.”
    “But May Day is less than a month away. Would we have time to arrange it?”
    Mrs. Bartley got to her feet again. “Instead of a pantomime…”
    She looked across at Fiona, who stared back at her with growing