Read Online Burning Bright (Brambridge Novel 2) by Pearl Darling - Free Book Online Page B

in the firelight. Agatha pushed her hand down the side of the armchair by the fire and pulled out a small letter with a familiar seal. She received them regularly, once every two months, but Harriet had never seen her write back.
    “I agree. He robs everyone when he buys their lace.” Harriet pursed her lips as she thought about her procrastination outside the shop. “And despite his enormous profits, the Stanton estates don’t seem to be doing well under his hand.”
    “Well, you could do well with Bill Standish,” said her aunt pensively. “Those nice strong shoulders, well, all I will say is that sometimes you need a strong man to get by.”
    Harriet gazed at her aunt, nonplussed. Agatha was incorrigible. Harriet didn’t want Bill. He was like a brother to her. She wanted a hero on a large horse to sweep her off her feet. Someone a bit like—
    No. Shaking her head to clear the unwanted vision, she turned her attention back to her papers. That sort of hero only happened in books.
    “You know your father was just the same.”
    Harriet jumped in surprise. Agatha surveyed her over the open letter. “He was only happy when he was outside, immersed in the elements with his painting. He never was one for the confines of indoors.”
    Harriet bowed her head again. She hadn’t realized that the strain of the teaching was beginning to show. But then, who needed a young girl from the shires who enjoyed pretending to be other people? There was no future in that.
    Lifting her head, she looked around the comfortable sitting room. The wall was covered in beautiful miniature oil paintings. It appeared there hadn’t been a future in painting for her father either. When her parents had been killed all that remained of their small belongings were numerous paintings, a few ragdolls, and the hessian sewing pouch.
    Agatha had given Harriet the sewing pouch on her eighteenth birthday. The needle had not dulled, and the knife and scissors had remained sharp. Agatha had seen to that. A length of embroidery hidden inside had remained as pristine as the day her mother had stitched it, the saucepan shape of the five-star motif intricately woven across the slightly yellowing material.
    Harriet blinked. The memories of her parents had faded away. Sometimes she thought she could remember her mother telling her endless stories, but the words didn’t come to her. All she had left to hold onto was the embroidery and the paintings. She gazed at the nearest painting, her eyes focusing on the bottom right hand corner. “Why have they all got PB marked on them?” she asked absently.
    “It’s your father’s initials. He needed to mark them because the paintings were destined for an exhibition. I’ve always particularly liked the one of the church in Ottery St Mary.” Agatha stood to look at the painting more closely.
    Harriet clutched at her papers and stared unseeingly at the topmost page. Her favorite picture was the one of Longman’s Cove during a storm, although she liked all of them. They detailed every part of the Devon coast all the way to the beach at Seaton. She watched as her aunt moved across to the painting of Longman’s Cove. It reminded her of the day of the spring storm, patching Tommy up in front of the fire. What had Bill said before she had started stitching Tommy’s shoulder? The Frogs would do anything for British wares?
    Harriet crumpled her papers in frustration, blowing an unruly lock of hair out of her face. There was no way a Frenchwoman would ever deign to buy fashionable clothes like Mrs. Madely’s putrid green dress, but the lace on the other hand—
    “Are you feeling all right?” Agatha asked with a concerned frown.
    “Yes,” Harriet mumbled. She felt lightheaded again. What she had in mind was not for the fainthearted.
    A knock resounded at the door.
    Agatha groaned. “Please tell me it’s not Bill with another injured man.”
    Harriet unfurled the crumpled papers and pushed them into her waiting bag