Caught in a Cornish Scandal by Eleanor Webster (top novels of all time .txt) 📗

fixed Sam with a glare ‘...Miss Lansdowne is one of ours and I do not want no gossip flying about.’

‘Mr Dobbs, I owe Miss Lansdowne my life.’

‘Hmph,’ Dobbs said, as though finding this statement dubious.

Millie shifted forward, pulling her tattered clothes more closely about her as she slid across the seat towards the door. She glanced at Sam. His dark hair fell across his forehead and his eyes were shadowed with fatigue and worry. He was a young man and yet he looked oddly old and she knew a desire to run her fingertips across his hair and push the heavy locks back.

Swallowing, she pulled her gaze away. ‘Be careful.’

‘You, too.’

Chapter Seven

The final moments walking up the familiar path home seemed odd, painful, exhausting. How many times had she walked this same path? How many times had she walked from the village and heard the rustling branches and, in the distance, the waves crashing? And there was that wonderful mix of smells that seemed the essence of home: fresh mint from the kitchen garden, peat and that essential ocean scent of salt and fish and seaweed.

And here she was again, but she was not remotely the same person. Indeed, it was oddly disconcerting that the brick house, overgrown rockery and untended lawn should be so unchanged. How could everything be the same while her world had been tossed and shaken like a baby’s rattle?

Afternoon was drawing to a close and the light dimming. She stepped on the paving stones, now overgrown with weeds. She went to the conservatory, which jutted from the solid brick façade like an afterthought of glass. She touched the door handle and it twisted easily.

She was home.

With an exhalation of relief, she slipped into the damp, earthy air, which even in this season was heavy with fragrance. They always called it her mother’s conservatory although really her mother had spent little time in it. Flora and Lil were responsible for the plants that still occupied almost every ledge.

Much of the furniture in the rest of the house had been stripped and sold, but no one had wanted either the plants or the shabby rattan chairs so the conservatory looked as it always had. The tiles felt smooth to her feet. The long lacey fronds of an overgrown fern tickled her arms as she passed through, entering the main body of the house.

As always, the hall felt cold, dry and lifeless after the conservatory’s air. Millie had no clear plan and her stealthy entry was motivated by the instinct of an injured animal seeking its lair. She wanted only to find her bedroom and rest.

Of course, this was not sensible. One doesn’t disappear for days without disturbing one’s family and within seconds of her entry into the hall, the parlour door was flung open.

Her mother appeared immediately, a lamp held high, the beams flickering on her face, haggard and creased with worry.

‘Millie, oh, thank goodness. I thought you were dead. Indeed, I did not know what to do. Sometimes, I think this family is cursed, although Flora tells me this is not possible.’

Her words summoned Lil, who flew down the stairs, several paper curlers falling from her hair like leaves in autumn. She engulfed Millie in a tight, orange-blossom-scented hug.

‘Mils, I am so thankful. So very thankful,’ she said, her tones interrupted by hiccupped sobs. ‘I was—so—so worried. Flora was ever so strong and said how you had a good head on your shoulders and would be back right as rain. Except I remembered how awful it was when Tom died and I feared the worse. Good heavens, you smell!’

This last sentence was uttered with a hiccupped sob, which morphed into a hysterical giggle.

Just then Flora came from the kitchen, bustling forward while simultaneous drying her hands with her apron. As always, Flora brought with her that calm competency and the innate feeling that everything would be well which had always made her the backbone of the Lansdowne family.

‘There you are, miss. We were that worried. Now, Mrs Lansdowne, you get some rest. A little lie down and then I’ll bring up a light supper for you in your room. I will prepare Miss Millicent a bath. That’ll have you feeling better in no time. And I have some soup heating in the kitchen that will go down a treat.’

‘I am sorry you were worried. I am quite unharmed,’ Millie said.

‘But whatever made you take your boat out on such a dreadful night?’ her mother asked, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief. ‘It was not sensible and you are usually sensible.’

‘I know and I am sorry. I never expected the...the weather to get bad. I thought I might catch fish for supper.’

‘Truly, miss, you did not need to go to such extremes,’ Flora said in her firm, bracing tones. ‘Now, up you get and into the bath.’

‘I am sorry I caused you all so much worry.’ Millie rubbed a hand across her eyes, conscious of the tears welling up and trickling down her cheeks.

Her mother stepped forward. ‘There, there. Fortunately, I had the forethought to tell Mr Edmunds that you were dangerous ill, which has likely only served to increase your value to him. One always values that which one might lose.’

‘Um... Thank you... I think,’ Millie said.

‘Excellent forethought, Mrs Lansdowne. But time enough for that in the morning. Right now, Miss Millicent is dead on her feet. She will be much more coherent after a bath, supper and a goodnight’s sleep and that you may tie to. Up you go and I will bring hot water.’

Flora said these last words to Millie and it took every last ounce of remaining energy to follow these directions. Indeed, her every step felt weighted and each movement Herculean in nature.

Like everything about her home, her bedchamber also seemed unchanged to a disconcerting degree. Her bed and night table were still as they had been throughout her childhood and the room was warm and pleasantly lit by the amber