Read Online Devil’s Cove (Tortured Souls) by R.C. Matthews - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: R.C. Matthews
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His lips curved in a grin.
“There are multiple ghosts,” she whispered. “Cook among them.”
Chapter Seven
Devlin scanned the kitchen, scouring the room for signs of Abigail’s long-lost brother, though he had no idea what those might be. What would his cook say if she knew her brother lingered in her midst while she bustled about, taking care of her duties?
Cook stopped in her tracks upon their arrival, while Maribeth looked up from her plate of eggs and bacon. The child’s eyes alighted with interest, and she hopped off the stool to race around the counter. She barreled into Devlin, threw her arms around his waist, and almost knocked Grace off-kilter while forcing the air out of his lungs.
“Poppet.” He grunted, hugging her to him and ruffling her mop of golden curls. The little ragamuffin was too impetuous for her own good. “It’s good to see you, too. But you must take care. You almost sent our guest to her knees. Now come, meet Miss Grace.”
Maribeth clapped her hands. “You’re going to exorcise our ghosts. I can’t wait to see how you accomplish it, though a part of me wishes you wouldn’t. They’re great fun. Perhaps we may keep one or two?” She stared at Grace for a long moment and then blurted, “I say, what is wrong with your eyes?”
“Watch your manners, you little termagant,” the cook admonished as she strode toward them. She snapped a towel against the girl’s bottom. “She’s eleven. You must forgive her. Pleased to meet you, Miss Grace. I’m Cook, or you may call me Abigail. We don’t hold to formalities around here.”
“Thank you, Abigail. The scones you sent to my room last night were delicious.” Grace held her hands clasped in front of her. “But you needn’t apologize for … Poppet?”
“Maribeth,” Devlin corrected.
“Yes, well, Maribeth has the right of it,” Grace said, facing the child. “I’m blind, so what you see are prosthetic eyes. They’re made of glass. Would you care to look closer? Maybe then they’ll not seem so scary.”
Grace was kind not to take immediate offense to the child’s behavior. Maribeth nodded, and a foreign ache constricted around Devlin’s heart. She must also learn to adapt to their guest, but he would offer guidance.
“You must speak your wishes, Poppet,” he said.
Her mouth formed a little
O
, and she grabbed Grace’s hand. “Yes, I should like a closer look, but not because I’m scared. Devlin is missing a finger and wears a fierce scowl most times; still I don’t quake in my boots. Besides, you’re much too beautiful to scare me.”
Devlin hid his smile behind his hand as Grace bent on one knee. Maribeth, scared? The notion was ridiculous. Her courage rivaled his most seasoned crewmembers, and it appeared she possessed a sweet tongue as well. The “beautiful” remark would mend any hurt feelings Grace might’ve felt at Maribeth’s original observation.
Grace allowed the child to inspect her glass eyes for a minute and then stood. “Well, what do you think?”
Maribeth reflected on her question for a long moment. “Were your eyes brown?” she asked, regarding Grace closely. “I mean, your real ones?”
Grace shook her head. “Oh, no, they were as blue as a cloudless sky.”
“Then why didn’t you buy blue eyes?” Maribeth scratched her head. “I’d like to see you as God made you.”
Devlin turned a stern eye to her. “That’s enough, Poppet.” The tone in his voice brooked no argument. “Now you’re being rude.”
Grace grabbed hold of Devlin’s arm, and he stared at her hand in astonishment. Her meaning was clear. Back off.
“Blue eyes are expensive. They must be custom-made. I’m afraid the brothers of the priory couldn’t afford that luxury. But it’s fine. The added cost would be a shameful waste of money since they are only for show, don’t you think?”
Maribeth seemed inclined to disagree, but she held her tongue when Devlin tossed another stern look her way.
Ah,
“There are multiple ghosts,” she whispered. “Cook among them.”
Chapter Seven
Devlin scanned the kitchen, scouring the room for signs of Abigail’s long-lost brother, though he had no idea what those might be. What would his cook say if she knew her brother lingered in her midst while she bustled about, taking care of her duties?
Cook stopped in her tracks upon their arrival, while Maribeth looked up from her plate of eggs and bacon. The child’s eyes alighted with interest, and she hopped off the stool to race around the counter. She barreled into Devlin, threw her arms around his waist, and almost knocked Grace off-kilter while forcing the air out of his lungs.
“Poppet.” He grunted, hugging her to him and ruffling her mop of golden curls. The little ragamuffin was too impetuous for her own good. “It’s good to see you, too. But you must take care. You almost sent our guest to her knees. Now come, meet Miss Grace.”
Maribeth clapped her hands. “You’re going to exorcise our ghosts. I can’t wait to see how you accomplish it, though a part of me wishes you wouldn’t. They’re great fun. Perhaps we may keep one or two?” She stared at Grace for a long moment and then blurted, “I say, what is wrong with your eyes?”
“Watch your manners, you little termagant,” the cook admonished as she strode toward them. She snapped a towel against the girl’s bottom. “She’s eleven. You must forgive her. Pleased to meet you, Miss Grace. I’m Cook, or you may call me Abigail. We don’t hold to formalities around here.”
“Thank you, Abigail. The scones you sent to my room last night were delicious.” Grace held her hands clasped in front of her. “But you needn’t apologize for … Poppet?”
“Maribeth,” Devlin corrected.
“Yes, well, Maribeth has the right of it,” Grace said, facing the child. “I’m blind, so what you see are prosthetic eyes. They’re made of glass. Would you care to look closer? Maybe then they’ll not seem so scary.”
Grace was kind not to take immediate offense to the child’s behavior. Maribeth nodded, and a foreign ache constricted around Devlin’s heart. She must also learn to adapt to their guest, but he would offer guidance.
“You must speak your wishes, Poppet,” he said.
Her mouth formed a little
O
, and she grabbed Grace’s hand. “Yes, I should like a closer look, but not because I’m scared. Devlin is missing a finger and wears a fierce scowl most times; still I don’t quake in my boots. Besides, you’re much too beautiful to scare me.”
Devlin hid his smile behind his hand as Grace bent on one knee. Maribeth, scared? The notion was ridiculous. Her courage rivaled his most seasoned crewmembers, and it appeared she possessed a sweet tongue as well. The “beautiful” remark would mend any hurt feelings Grace might’ve felt at Maribeth’s original observation.
Grace allowed the child to inspect her glass eyes for a minute and then stood. “Well, what do you think?”
Maribeth reflected on her question for a long moment. “Were your eyes brown?” she asked, regarding Grace closely. “I mean, your real ones?”
Grace shook her head. “Oh, no, they were as blue as a cloudless sky.”
“Then why didn’t you buy blue eyes?” Maribeth scratched her head. “I’d like to see you as God made you.”
Devlin turned a stern eye to her. “That’s enough, Poppet.” The tone in his voice brooked no argument. “Now you’re being rude.”
Grace grabbed hold of Devlin’s arm, and he stared at her hand in astonishment. Her meaning was clear. Back off.
“Blue eyes are expensive. They must be custom-made. I’m afraid the brothers of the priory couldn’t afford that luxury. But it’s fine. The added cost would be a shameful waste of money since they are only for show, don’t you think?”
Maribeth seemed inclined to disagree, but she held her tongue when Devlin tossed another stern look her way.
Ah,
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