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

So far, they have not been exactly hospitable.’

‘“Friend” may be an exaggeration. I hardly know Sally’s husband. And he would not consider me a friend, more an acquaintance. He strongly disapproved of the idea and was quite cross with me when I made it clear I would be going through with it.’

The man, whatever his other shortcomings, showed some sense. ‘But you think he will help?’

‘Yes,’ she said.

Her certainty of assistance was naive. Sam wanted to disillusion her, but it felt unkind. Besides, right now, she was his only ally so it made little sense to antagonise her.

‘I will attempt to loosen the knots in case he does not come,’ he said.

‘Indeed, it is always wise to have an alternate plan.’

‘It might have been wiser for you to stay on shore,’ he muttered.

‘But fortunate for you I did not. And you’re welcome, by the way.’

‘Pardon?’

‘I saved your life,’ she said.

‘I—Yes, I suppose you did. Thank you. What happened exactly?’

‘You were drowning. I rescued you at some inconvenience to myself.’

‘Right.’ He vaguely remembered searing pain in his lungs, the choking taste of salt water and then a desperate fight for air. He felt a confused muddle of emotion: shock, gratitude, curiosity, intrigue and even admiration. ‘Er...thank you. You are unusual. I mean, you are very composed, given the situation.’

‘I suppose that has always been my role. My mother has a predilection for hysterics. Father was absent and tended towards grandiose gestures. Someone had to be sensible.’

He wanted to say that, given their situation, sense did not seem to be her greatest attribute but this again felt unkind. Besides, the woman had saved his life, no mean feat given the storm and weather.

‘Well, thank you for my life, I mean,’ he said, conscious that this statement seemed inadequate.

‘Truthfully, I am not as “composed” as I might seem. In fact, in retrospect, I rather wish I’d chosen not to do this.’ She sounded less airy and he felt an unexpected sympathy.

‘Why did you?’ he asked. ‘I mean, if you do not mind me asking?’

‘My father lost a lot of money, as you might know. My brother gambled. We are in some financial difficulties and my sister may have to marry an unpleasant person. I wanted to help. This seemed like the best solution.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. He heard her swallow and the rustle of cloth as though she had shrugged or shifted against the wall.

He felt a certain empathy. She must have been desperate.

‘So now you know my story. Why did you end up in—?’ she started to ask, but was silenced by the grating grind of rusty metal against rusty metal.

Sam stiffened. He felt his eyes widen as though this would help see in the heavy darkness. He tugged at the ropes, twisting his fingers against the rough hemp until the tips felt raw.

The door swung inwards, banging against the inner wall. Lamplight spilled into the dank confines. A figure of immense size filled the doorway, his uneven features visible within the light.

Chapter Two

‘Jem!’

Relief filled the woman’s voice.

‘Hush, woman. Do not be shouting from the rooftop,’ the man said, his words a harsh whisper, which seemed at odds given his size.

He moved forward, his shoulders so broad that he had to angle himself sideways to proceed through the door. Once inside he was unable to straighten, but stood, hunched, his head bowed by the ceiling.

‘Fool woman...do not you remember my last words to you? Pick up the merchandise, I said. Pick up the merchandise and chase straight back to shore. And here you are locked up in the brig.’

‘I did not choose to board. Your Captain would have shot me if I hadn’t complied.’

‘He wouldn’t have if you hadn’t collected strays.’

‘I could hardly let this gentleman drown.’

‘It would have been wiser.’

‘As you may know, wisdom does not run in my family,’ she said wryly, but with a bitter undertone.

‘Look,’ Sam said, ‘I hate to break up this reunion, but can you cut through these ropes?’

‘And who might you be?’

‘The aforementioned stray. Samuel Garrett.’

Breathing heavily, the man squatted beside Sam. He pulled out a knife, hacking through the ropes with a steady rasp of steel on hemp. The ropes sprang loose, falling to the ground.

‘Thank you.’ Sam flexed his wrists, then pulled himself upright. It hurt to stand. His muscles had cramped and the movement made his head thump so that the Spartan confines spun. For a second, he feared he would fall, but the room steadied, or rather steadied as much as the lurching vessel would permit.

The man, Jem, cut through the remaining ropes at Millie’s wrists so that she also stood, stretching gingerly.

‘Where are we going? Are we heading down the coast?’ she asked.

‘Across to France,’ Jem said.

‘What?’

‘France,’ Jem repeated as though they were hard of hearing. ‘Which reminds me—the Captain wants to see you once we’re clear of the coast. Oh, aye, and I have some water and bread outside if you’ve a thirst.’

The man exited, ducking into the passage, returning with water and bread. He passed the crusts, then poured the water into tin mugs. The water was brackish and the bread hard. Indeed, the ship’s movement combined with the putrid stench gave Sam little appetite. Besides, he’d eaten dinner. Dinner... For a moment, the memories felt closer, much as one might see something obliquely, from the corner of the eye.

He tried to focus on the confusing mix of images: candlesticks, crystal, silverware...the smell of rich food and heavy sauces. He remembered his sister, Frances. He had been worried about her. He hadn’t seen her for two years. In the afternoon she’d clung to her new baby, but had appeared happy with motherhood. At dinner, she’d seemed different, as if diminished, withdrawing into herself. His brother-in-law was there also, but he couldn’t remember him well. Indeed, Sam’s memories of dinner remained obscure, as though looking through a thick, blanketing fog.

And then nothing.

His mind was a hole, a blank slate. One moment he was at dinner and the next