“She’s at St. Matthew’s Bethanl Green Workhouse. If she leaves her work, the master will kick her out and she’d have nowhere to go.”

Dr. Bates turned back to his letter, his hand poised above it as though deciding whether to write any more.

“She’s a right nice girl,” Mercy said. “You’d like her, Doctor, if you met her.”

“If she’s anything like you, I have no doubt I would.”

Mercy warmed at the praise. But she trained her attention upon her hands in her lap.

“However, I think you know as well as I do that most sick people at the workhouses don’t get better.”

“Patience will get better,” Mercy insisted. “You’ll see.”

Dr. Bates put his pen to the paper. “I’ll do what I can, Mercy. You know I will.”

“Thank ye, sir. I’m in debt to you, that I am.”

“Now, Mercy, the only one you owe anything to is God. He’s already using you, and I know He still has much more for you to do.”

Mercy nodded but didn’t say anything. Whenever Dr. Bates talked about God, she didn’t know how to respond. He spoke as if God truly cared about her. Yet if God cared, she hadn’t felt it, hadn’t felt His nearness, hadn’t felt His directing her. If anything, she’d always felt as though her life hadn’t mattered.

Maybe it never would amount to much. But she had to try. It was the least she could do for Patience.

six

Joseph kissed his aunt’s cheek. “Good-bye, Aunt Pen.”

“Oh, Joseph.” Penelope Colville dabbed at the corner of first one eye, then the other with her lace handkerchief. “Must you really go? You’ve only just arrived.”

The coachman had already loaded the trunks and now stood by the door, ready to open it upon Joseph’s approach. Beyond the waiting coach and team spread Wiltshire’s lush yard with its manicured hedges interspersed with small ponds and gravel walkways.

In May, with the warmth of sunshine pouring over the estate, the scent of damp grass and soil hung heavily in the air, and the songs of warblers and sparrows rose throughout the garden. Joseph took a deep breath and could almost find beauty in his boyhood home.

Almost. But not enough to make him want to stay.

“I must be on my way to Dartmouth,” Joseph said. “I’d like to board the ship and make sure I have all my supplies at the ready before the passengers arrive.”

“Oh, my dear, dear boy,” Aunt Pen lamented again, her eyes glassy and her lips quivering. Joseph had seen enough dramatics from women to know when their tears were genuine and when they were manipulative. And he could tell that his aunt was truly sorry to see him go.