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

weeks, she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
    At first, she drifted in a pleasant hinterland surrounded by comfort and security, where everything was safe and in its place. Then the familiar nightmare found her, the one she’d had ever since Mary Foster died. She stood on a cliff edge with unseen hands pushing at her until she fell, clutching at the empty air for an anchor but tumbling in nothingness. Darkness, deeper than the grave, consumed all happiness, leaving in its place a hollow, roiling sense of despair.
    With a whimper she forced herself to wake from the nightmare. Wide eyed and disorientated she stared at unfamiliar shadows, trying to make sense of everything.
    “Miss Foster? Are you all right? I heard noises.”
    Someone was tapping on the door.
    Through a fogged mind Eulogy recognized Mrs. Featherstone’s voice and slowly remembered where she was.
    “A bad dream. Please, do come in.”
    “No dear, just wanted to tell you tis suppertime. Can you find your own way to the kitchen?”
    “Is it truly that time already?”
    “Fraid so dear, you were sound asleep. It seemed a shame to disturb you.”
    A candle flickered on the bedside table, the sun having long since set. With heavy limbs, Eulogy pushed the quilt from her legs that Mrs. Featherstone had laid there whilst she slept. This small act of kindness nearly undid her. Crossly, Eulogy swiped away tear. She could not afford to cry for if she did she might never stop.
     
     
     
    Down in the kitchen, Mr. Farrell greeted Eulogy warmly.
    “Mauvoreen, come in! I hear you had a sleep. I am pleased.”
    During the afternoon the previously disheveled Irishman had washed and shaved, donned a clean linen shirt and brushed his hair. His eyes remained blood shot, but he had obviously made an effort and Mrs. Featherstone positively glowed with approval. He welcomed his guest with outstretched arms, and if his hands shook, he took pains to conceal it.
    “Sit, Mauvoreen.” Farrell pulled out the chair closest to the fire. “Mrs. Featherstone’s cooking is second to none.”
    And indeed, the delicious smell of thick gravy woke a fierce appetite in Eulogy. Smiling weakly, she sat.
    “Now Miss Foster, if you’d pass that plate…”
    The three of them sat round the table to a meal of stewed rabbit with dumplings in rich gravy.
    “I hope you don’t mind eating in the kitchen. Tomorrow I’ll clean the dining room.”
    “Oh, but the kitchen is so cozy,” Eulogy said.
    Conversation lulled again and they ate in awkward silence. From beneath lowered lashes Eulogy snatched glances at Farrell, a man of middling build, with tousled gray hair that had once been blonde. Deep lines etched his face, but when he caught her watching him and smiled, his faded blue eyes came alive. Eulogy liked him instinctively, a warmth and honesty about him, the likes of which she hadn’t met in a long time.
    “Might I ask how you knew my mother?”
    Farrell’s fork clattered to the table. The ginger cat, hitherto sleeping by the fire, caste him a dirty look, stretched and stalked off.
    “I…I…” A shaking hand reached for the porter, “I…” He pushed the jug away.
    “I am sorry. It was just when you said I looked like her. I so want to know about my mother.”
    “You are right to ask.” His voice fell away.
    Eulogy thought it best to change the subject.
    “I shall not impose long. My intention is to find employment and rent a room.”
    “You will do no such thing!” Farrell half rose.
    Mrs. Featherstone tut-tutted. “Now, Mr. Farrell, you’ll frighten the lass. Sit down and be calm.”
    Farrell bowed his head. “Excuse me outburst, Mauvoreen. Happen as I’m not fit for gentle company. What I was trying to say was that you are to stay here as long as you like. My home is your home, humble as it is.”
     “Oh, it wasn’t my intention to appear ungrateful, you are too kind...”
    “Tis not kindness Mauvoreen, but a desire to right a wrong.”
    The hairs prickled on