Read Online Ember Island by Kimberley Freeman - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kimberley Freeman
Tags: Historical
Ads: Link
longer . . . need you . . . my Tilly. My good girl.” Breath. Huff. Huff. “My good girl.”
With sudden weight, his hand fell and lay on the covers, still and silent.
•
Tilly stood at the dock, her small trunk between her feet, her large trunk already loaded onto the steamer. She had come directly from Grandpa’s funeral. Pamela would have allowed her to presume one or two nights’ grace, perhaps, but Tilly was aching to go. She didn’t care to see Grandpa’s house in Godfrey’ and Pamela’s possession. No doubt they were already tearing down the drapes, moving the furniture, maybe even uprooting her garden beds to put in Godfrey’s long-imagined tennis court.
No letters had come. Nearly six weeks after her wedding, no letters had come. She had an address, a ticket across the sea, and a slowly eroding hope in her heart. Travelers bustled about her. A purser rang a bell up and down the dock, calling for the various classes to board. The air smelled of metallic water and coal. Amongst the confusion of sights, sounds, and smells, she tried to find a place of stillness and peace in her heart. Soon the uncertainty would be over. She would find her husband, or she would find that he had never been hers at all. Either way, the journey had begun.
SIX
Lumière sur la Mer
T he hackney coach rolled up the hill from farmlands and through the wood that bordered Jasper’s estate. Tilly’s chest drew tighter and tighter, the closer they drew to Lumière sur la Mer. Jasper had to be there. He had to. Or else . . . there was no alternative. He had to be there. They emerged from the wood, rocking and rattling, onto a smooth dirt road. Ahead, she could see the roof of the house. Her husband’s house.
Her house. Lumière sur la Mer. The light on the sea.
She breathed deeply, remembered the cigar box of money in her smaller trunk, and took a little comfort from it. Whatever happened, she would survive. She hoped to find Jasper, alive and well and with a completely reasonable explanation for the lack of correspondence. If he was ill or had . . . she steeled herself . . . simply not bothered to write, she could recover from that, too. But if he was dead or missing, then she feared for herself. Her heart, so recently damaged by the death of her beloved grandfather, could not bear another burden that great. Widowed whilestill a virgin: that would surely make her the unluckiest woman in the world.
The carriage slowed and stopped. She gathered her courage. The footman came to open her door.
“Please,” she said. “Would you wait? I am . . . I am not sure if my husband is home and I have no key of my own.” If he wasn’t here, she had already planned to go to the local constabulary to ask them to help her, and imagined she would spend her nights boarding somewhere.
The footman nodded, and she stepped out of the coach and into the wild wind, down the little stair, and stood for a moment looking up at the façade of Lumière sur la Mer. It looked familiar from the card. Three storys, conservatory to the south, orchard to the north. But it was also unfamiliar. Those tangled gardens. The peeling blue paint on the door. The curtains all drawn as if ashamed of something.
“Madame?” the footman said.
“Yes, I will go now. Wait for me. Don’t unload the trunks . . . yet . . .”
One foot in front of the other, pulse speeding. Her eyes went left and right, noticing the overgrown grass between the poplars, the weeds growing in the urns where flowers should have been. It didn’t look as if anybody had lived here for a long time. Her heart caught in her throat. Now she expected the worst, the very very worst.
At the front door she paused for a breath, then raised her hand and knocked hard. Released the knocker and stood back, anxiously checking over her shoulder that the carriage hadn’t abandoned her here on the wrong side of the wood. A long silence, unbroken except for the wind and
With sudden weight, his hand fell and lay on the covers, still and silent.
•
Tilly stood at the dock, her small trunk between her feet, her large trunk already loaded onto the steamer. She had come directly from Grandpa’s funeral. Pamela would have allowed her to presume one or two nights’ grace, perhaps, but Tilly was aching to go. She didn’t care to see Grandpa’s house in Godfrey’ and Pamela’s possession. No doubt they were already tearing down the drapes, moving the furniture, maybe even uprooting her garden beds to put in Godfrey’s long-imagined tennis court.
No letters had come. Nearly six weeks after her wedding, no letters had come. She had an address, a ticket across the sea, and a slowly eroding hope in her heart. Travelers bustled about her. A purser rang a bell up and down the dock, calling for the various classes to board. The air smelled of metallic water and coal. Amongst the confusion of sights, sounds, and smells, she tried to find a place of stillness and peace in her heart. Soon the uncertainty would be over. She would find her husband, or she would find that he had never been hers at all. Either way, the journey had begun.
SIX
Lumière sur la Mer
T he hackney coach rolled up the hill from farmlands and through the wood that bordered Jasper’s estate. Tilly’s chest drew tighter and tighter, the closer they drew to Lumière sur la Mer. Jasper had to be there. He had to. Or else . . . there was no alternative. He had to be there. They emerged from the wood, rocking and rattling, onto a smooth dirt road. Ahead, she could see the roof of the house. Her husband’s house.
Her house. Lumière sur la Mer. The light on the sea.
She breathed deeply, remembered the cigar box of money in her smaller trunk, and took a little comfort from it. Whatever happened, she would survive. She hoped to find Jasper, alive and well and with a completely reasonable explanation for the lack of correspondence. If he was ill or had . . . she steeled herself . . . simply not bothered to write, she could recover from that, too. But if he was dead or missing, then she feared for herself. Her heart, so recently damaged by the death of her beloved grandfather, could not bear another burden that great. Widowed whilestill a virgin: that would surely make her the unluckiest woman in the world.
The carriage slowed and stopped. She gathered her courage. The footman came to open her door.
“Please,” she said. “Would you wait? I am . . . I am not sure if my husband is home and I have no key of my own.” If he wasn’t here, she had already planned to go to the local constabulary to ask them to help her, and imagined she would spend her nights boarding somewhere.
The footman nodded, and she stepped out of the coach and into the wild wind, down the little stair, and stood for a moment looking up at the façade of Lumière sur la Mer. It looked familiar from the card. Three storys, conservatory to the south, orchard to the north. But it was also unfamiliar. Those tangled gardens. The peeling blue paint on the door. The curtains all drawn as if ashamed of something.
“Madame?” the footman said.
“Yes, I will go now. Wait for me. Don’t unload the trunks . . . yet . . .”
One foot in front of the other, pulse speeding. Her eyes went left and right, noticing the overgrown grass between the poplars, the weeds growing in the urns where flowers should have been. It didn’t look as if anybody had lived here for a long time. Her heart caught in her throat. Now she expected the worst, the very very worst.
At the front door she paused for a breath, then raised her hand and knocked hard. Released the knocker and stood back, anxiously checking over her shoulder that the carriage hadn’t abandoned her here on the wrong side of the wood. A long silence, unbroken except for the wind and
Similar Books
