Read Online Eulogy's Secret (The Huntley Trilogy) by Grace Elliot - Free Book Online Page A

if Miss Foster was Farrell’s kin or not.
    “But I want to stay,” Miss Foster said quietly.
    “It isn’t seemly,” Huntley interjected. Really, for a penniless waif, Miss Foster was remarkably stubborn.
    Quiet resolve in his watery blue eyes, Farrell met his stare. “Mrs. Featherstone shall be chaperone and I pledge to treat Miss Foster like a lady.
    Jack teetered. How could he object to a father taking in his own child? “As you wish.” He bowed curtly. Truly he was glad to have her off his hands, and yet… with a grimace he reached for his calling card.
     “Take this. If you are troubled send for me.” He hated, deep down, that he needed to see her again, if only to make sure she was safe. “Good day, Miss Foster. I wish you well.”
    They shook hands. On impulse, Jack bowed and pressed her fingers to his lips. Letting his warm breath linger, his eyes met hers in challenge and yet it was he who trembled. Need struck home like a runaway carriage and snatching away his hand, he made for the door, fully intent on never seeing Miss Foster again.

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 7
     
     
    Eulogy followed Mrs. Featherstone up two flights of wooden stairs. The older woman breathed heavily and paused on each landing to catch her breath.
    “It wasn’t always like this.” The housekeeper gestured to a mark on the walls, the ghostly outline of the painting that once hung there. “Since the master fell on hard times, piece by piece, all the pretty things got sold.”
    Eulogy struggled for something to say. “It must have been a grand house back then.”
    “Aye, that it was.” The housekeeper’s age-spotted hand tried the handle of a paneled door. “Anyhow, things is how they are and here we are. Your room.”
    Mrs. Featherstone blustered on ahead, drawing the curtains and raising a cloud of dust. Eulogy sneezed, as she peered into a spacious, well-proportioned room, the furniture shrouded in sheets
    “I’m sorry. I’d have tidied if I’d known. Tis a big house for one woman to keep in order.”
    “It’s me that should apologize, arriving unannounced like this.”
    “That’s quite all right, dear.” Mrs. Featherstone lifted the corner of a dust sheet. “If I remember rightly, the furniture is quality. Mr. Farrell don’t come up to this part of the house. Happen he forgot all about it.”
    The cover slid off to reveal a finely carved, if outmoded, settle that was richly upholstered in silk tapestry and clearly a valuable piece.
    “And the bed, once I get the dust of the hangings, tis second to none.”
    Eulogy’s mouth dropped open at the magnificent four-poster bed hung with plush velvet curtains, a far cry from her functional cot at Easterhope.
    “Why it’s lovely,” she breathed, fingering the carved oak, leaving silvery trails in the dust.
    “Tsk, tsk, happen I’ve not kept up with things as much as I’d like. Happen a good clean is in order.”
    “I will help.”
    “Well I’m not sure, you being a guest an’ all.”
    “Nonsense, I insist.”
    Relief brightened the older woman’s face. “Well, if thee’s sure Miss.”
    “It’s not in my nature to be idle, Mrs. Featherstone.”
    “Then we shall rub along just fine, thee and me and sooner we get the copper boiling, sooner things get clean.”
     
    After two hours and innumerable buckets of hot water later, a pleasant room began to emerge from beneath layers of grime. As she worked for the first time in weeks, Eulogy forgot her troubles, finding comfort in physical activity. It wasn’t until Mrs. Featherstone suggested a break whilst she made supper, that Eulogy realized she was weary to her bones and sank onto the bed.
    Left alone, she inhaled deeply, the clean pillows smelt of laundry blue, fresh air and home. Suddenly her limbs felt like lead and her eyelids started to close. She tried to stay awake, intending to help Mrs. Featherstone with the food. But instead fatigue washed over her and despite the hour, for the first time in