The Voyage of Promise by Kay Marshall Strom

Author:Kay Marshall Strom
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Abingdon Press

22

Joseph Winslow wiped sweaty palms down the sides of his new coat and stepped awkwardly into the lavishly appointed entry hall of Larkspur Estate. Whistling in awe, he dropped a farthing into Rustin’s outstretched hand.

“Your hat, sir,” the butler said with disdain.

Joseph laughed and exchanged his hat for the farthing.

“ ’Ad me own London ’ouse once upon a time,” Joseph said to Sir Geoffrey Philips, in whose luxurious carriage he had arrived at Larkspur. “It were me lovely pride an’ joy. But it be gone now, all gone. Burned to a crisp, is wot.”

“How dreadful,” Sir Geoffrey replied. “I must remind you once again, kind sir, that Lord Reginald considers Larkspur Estate far more than simply a ‘London house.’ This land and home have been in the Witherham family for more than two hundred years.”

“Is you saying, then, that ’e be a proud man?” asked Joseph Winslow.

Sir Geoffrey did not indulge his temptation to smile. He was far too much a gentleman to cause embarrassment to another—even to such a one as this. Instead, he motioned for Winslow to follow Rustin to the parlor.

“ ’Oooo-eeeeee,” Joseph gasped when he saw the intricate details of the richly appointed room. Mahogany furniture, constructed and carved by Europe’s leading craftsmen… Walls covered in cut velvet… A lavishly hand-painted ceiling that included a sky of Prussian blue and trees of deep green, colors Joseph Winslow had sadly passed on for his own house because of their exorbitant cost. Joseph went directly to the inset bookshelves and ran his hand across the rows of leather-bound volumes, many embossed with gold leaf lettering.

“I fancies books me’self, I do,” he said. “Collected a ’ole library full fer me an’ me daughter to read.” He made a great show of looking at the titles and pondering over each one.

“Mister Winslow, I presume?” Lord Reginald said as he strutted into the parlor.

Joseph spun around.

“That I be… yes, sir… m’lord… I be Joseph Winslow,” he stammered. “Jist admirin’ yer books, is all.”

“You also enjoy the great pastime of reading, then?” responded Lord Reginald. “Tell me your favorite title, sir, and I shall be most pleased to make you a gift of it to mark the day of our meeting.”

“Well, I… that is, I…” Joseph squinted at the muddle of letters and wished for all the world that he really could read.

“Another time, perhaps,” Lord Reginald said. “Come, do sit.” He motioned Joseph toward the Queen Anne chair.

While the maid set up tea and served it to the men, Lord Reginald and Sir Geoffrey talked casually of city events, none of which interested Joseph Winslow in the least. As a matter of fact, the talk irritated him. Seated on the best of European furniture in a stately aristocratic mansion, dressed head to foot in a new set of clothes he didn’t have to pay for… How dare these men stir up his curiosity then speak drivel while his eagerness to know the reason for their interest fermented inside him?

From the time

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