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

He stepped into the room. ‘You do not have to go back to Manton.’

She jumped as though she had not been fully aware of him. She turned briefly to him and then back to the window pane, as if the grey world outside still drew her with a fatal fascination.

‘It looks so harmless from here,’ she said. ‘A silvery streak.’

For a moment he was uncertain of her meaning, but then realised that she referred to the sea which was, indeed, but a streak of shimmering grey from this vantage point.

She took her hand away from the pane, turning abruptly. ‘But I cannot stay here either. The sea is still too close. I can hear it, you know.’

He stood still, uncertain. She gripped the window sill so tightly it seemed as though he could feel the tension twisting through her, taut like a piano string wound too tight.

‘One doesn’t hear the sea from here. It is too far away,’ he said.

‘No.’ She shook her head, the movement almost violent. ‘I hear it and them—their voices.’

He felt that horrid feeling of being in quicksand and not knowing what to do or say. It reminded him of the hopeless shock he had experienced last night when she had raised the pistol to her husband’s head.

‘Frances,’ he said gently. ‘You do not need to stay here. Or ever go back to Manton Hall. We can go to London as soon as you would like. Your things can be packed and sent later.’

She turned back to the window. ‘I had the dream again today. I’d hoped that the dream would stop after last night, but still it came. I saw them. All the men and women and children. Do you think there were children? I hate to think that there might have been children, babies like Noah.’

He had been a fool. He had hoped last night for a miracle cure. He’d hoped that she’d re-emerge as the sister he had once known who had sent letters to school and stopped him from a downward spiral of drinking after Annie broke off the engagement.

But this frail, frightened woman was not that person. He felt lost, uncertain.

‘I keep thinking that I should have told someone. I made excuses. I told myself that I did not really know anything. You see, he did not always make sense and talked about it only while in his cups.’ She spoke in a monotonous tone, still staring at the silvery streak that was the sea.

‘Please, Frances, do not do this to yourself. No one will blame you. Likely they would not have believed you or acted without evidence.’

‘But I should have tried! I should have tried.’ She turned from the window, stepping towards him, her eyes wide, as though still haunted by her wild imaginings.

‘You did. You told Millie and you saved us all. You stopped them. Jason and his mother will not hurt anyone again because of you. You were the hero last night.’

‘I do not feel like a hero.’

‘That doesn’t change the fact that you are one.’

Gently, he stepped to her, placing his hand at her elbow and leading her away from the window to a chair by the hearth.

‘Come, sit down.’ He stirred it with the poker, more to do something useful than because there was a real need. The fire was already bright. He looked back. Frances sat, perched at the edge of the chair like a bird ready to take flight. He could still see the tension in her shoulders and clasped hands. He sat in the chair opposite. The house was quiet. Flora said that Mrs Lansdowne was resting while Millie and Lil had gone down to see Sally.

‘What about London?’ he asked. ‘You could take Noah. You wouldn’t have to go out or socialise if you did not want to do so. Aunt Tilly would love you to stay if you would prefer not to rent a house yourself. You have always said she was quite your favourite relative.’

Her expression eased a little at his words. ‘I like Aunt Tilly. I was doing quite well this morning—before the dream. I spoke to Lillian. She would like to come with me to London.’

He felt a flicker of relief. Surely it was positive that she was thinking towards the future. ‘That is wonderful,’ he said. ‘A great idea!’ His relief imbued his tone with an over-abundance of enthusiasm.

‘I’d hoped Millie would come as well.’

He tensed at the mention of her name and felt again that curious muddle of emotion the woman always invoked: a pulse of unwanted excitement, irritation, but above it all, relief.

His feelings for Millicent Lansdowne were a mush of contradiction, but he trusted her. There was a calm capability about her, a caring which was kind, but without melodrama. He knew without any doubt that Millie’s presence in London would be good for his sister.

‘I think that is an even better idea. They could both come.’

‘She won’t.’

‘Why?’

‘She wants Lil to go, but not her. Lil popped in just before my rest. Marta tried to scare her off, but she was quite impervious to any threat. Anyway, Lil said that she’d just spoken to her sister and Millie is determined to marry Mr Edmunds...’

Sam felt something akin to physical pain. It was as though he had been struck in his stomach. His hands tightened into fists.

‘He has made an official offer?’

‘He was expected to ask her today. I am uncertain if he did. I slept so much and I only arose now because Marta and Flora said I should. They are rather a powerful force in tandem.’ She gave a slight smile.

‘Where is Miss Lansdowne now?’

‘Down at the village. Flora said that Millie wants to talk to her friends herself before they hear through village gossip. You know, about last night.’

She would, he thought. Millie would not shy from that conversation. She would know it would be better for Sally and the Aimsworths to learn it from