inland and the thick stands of ash, hazel and
oak veiled the sea from view. Under other circumstances it would have been a
pleasant walk with primroses peeking through leaf mulch and the scent of wild
garlic. As they trekked uphill the gradient grew steeper.
"Do you need
a rest?"
Hope shook her
head. "No. Do you?"
"I was
thinking of your ankle, this is not an easy walk."
"I'm fine,
thank you."
Huntley scowled
at her stubbornness. Another ten minutes slow walk and the ground levelled out.
Higher now and through the thinning trees, Huntley caught glimpses of the misty
sea far below. Emerging from the wood, brambles and hawthorn formed a hedgerow
which lead along a country lane. A little way further and cottages sprang up,
simple stone buildings with deep-set windows and low doors. Then the track
widened and then without warning, opened onto a village green.
Two-up, two-down
cottages lined two sides of the green, while along the top road was a modest
coaching inn and two taverns. As they walked, Huntley fancied curtains twitched
and he felt the weight of watching eyes. Hope limped past a terrace of red
brick cottages. She stopped beside a low stone wall and pointed to the door
beyond.
"This is
where I live." Hope stirred the grass with her foot. "I don’t suppose
you would go now?"
"We have an
agreement, and—unlike you—I won’t be able to sail in this weather."
"Of
course." Her mouth tightened. "Come. You are welcome in my
home."
The skeleton of
a wisteria framed a low wooden door, which with trembling hand, Hope pushed open.
Over her shoulder Huntley glanced a dark hallway.
"Hello?"
She called, "Father?"
She stood on the
flagstone step, listening.
"Father,
are you there?"
Huntley found
his patience wearing thin with this man who let his daughter risk her life.
"Perhaps he's out."
Hope cast him a
withering look. "I doubt it."
Huntley had to
stoop under the lintel to enter. In the dim hall there was no carpet, just a
flagstone floor. Wooden beams and a soot-stained ceiling added to the
impression of cramp and neglect. Using the wall for support, Hope shuffled to
the front room.
"Father?"
The parlor was
in darkness, the curtains drawn. It took Huntley a few moments to adjust as
Hope drew back the drapes to let in such daylight as there was. What he saw
surprised him. Yes, the room was small, but there were touches of homeliness;
sea shells on the mantle, framed watercolors and dried flowers in a vase. The
place smelt of beeswax and the sea, a family home.
Hope bent over
the armchair and it was then Huntley saw the man, slumped back against the
wing-back. She looked up with eyes full of sorrow and pressed a finger to her
lips, warning Huntley not to alarm him. Against his better judgement, Huntley
nodded.
"It's
me—Hope." Gently, she rocked the man's shoulder. "Wake up, Father, we
have company."
The man stirred;
even in the dim light, his skin appeared yellow. His face gaunt, he squinted at
Hope and smiled in recognition.
"Hope! Well
there's a sight for sore eyes."
She placed a
tender kiss on his forehead.
"How are
you, Father?"
He gripped the
chair arm, but the effort of sitting upright seemed to exhaust him. "All
the better for seeing you."
"You look
tired. Have you not been sleeping?"
"Tusk, tis
nothing. You know how it goes, up and down. Happen tomorrow will be
better."
"I've been
so worried about you."
"And I you,
but I see you have been well cared for."
Hope recalled
their visitor.
"How
remiss, I forgot the introductions. Father, this is Captain Huntley. Captain,
this is my stepfather, Mr. William Tyler."
The withered man
made to stand. Huntley felt wrong-footed—he had envisaged anger and threats
from Miss Tyler's father, not this quiet courtesy.
"No,
please, don’t get up." Words of castigation melted away. On the mainland,
he had heard Hope's explanation for her actions and yet not understood. Faced
with reality, he felt humbled.
Hope's fingers
tightened on her father's
oak veiled the sea from view. Under other circumstances it would have been a
pleasant walk with primroses peeking through leaf mulch and the scent of wild
garlic. As they trekked uphill the gradient grew steeper.
"Do you need
a rest?"
Hope shook her
head. "No. Do you?"
"I was
thinking of your ankle, this is not an easy walk."
"I'm fine,
thank you."
Huntley scowled
at her stubbornness. Another ten minutes slow walk and the ground levelled out.
Higher now and through the thinning trees, Huntley caught glimpses of the misty
sea far below. Emerging from the wood, brambles and hawthorn formed a hedgerow
which lead along a country lane. A little way further and cottages sprang up,
simple stone buildings with deep-set windows and low doors. Then the track
widened and then without warning, opened onto a village green.
Two-up, two-down
cottages lined two sides of the green, while along the top road was a modest
coaching inn and two taverns. As they walked, Huntley fancied curtains twitched
and he felt the weight of watching eyes. Hope limped past a terrace of red
brick cottages. She stopped beside a low stone wall and pointed to the door
beyond.
"This is
where I live." Hope stirred the grass with her foot. "I don’t suppose
you would go now?"
"We have an
agreement, and—unlike you—I won’t be able to sail in this weather."
"Of
course." Her mouth tightened. "Come. You are welcome in my
home."
The skeleton of
a wisteria framed a low wooden door, which with trembling hand, Hope pushed open.
Over her shoulder Huntley glanced a dark hallway.
"Hello?"
She called, "Father?"
She stood on the
flagstone step, listening.
"Father,
are you there?"
Huntley found
his patience wearing thin with this man who let his daughter risk her life.
"Perhaps he's out."
Hope cast him a
withering look. "I doubt it."
Huntley had to
stoop under the lintel to enter. In the dim hall there was no carpet, just a
flagstone floor. Wooden beams and a soot-stained ceiling added to the
impression of cramp and neglect. Using the wall for support, Hope shuffled to
the front room.
"Father?"
The parlor was
in darkness, the curtains drawn. It took Huntley a few moments to adjust as
Hope drew back the drapes to let in such daylight as there was. What he saw
surprised him. Yes, the room was small, but there were touches of homeliness;
sea shells on the mantle, framed watercolors and dried flowers in a vase. The
place smelt of beeswax and the sea, a family home.
Hope bent over
the armchair and it was then Huntley saw the man, slumped back against the
wing-back. She looked up with eyes full of sorrow and pressed a finger to her
lips, warning Huntley not to alarm him. Against his better judgement, Huntley
nodded.
"It's
me—Hope." Gently, she rocked the man's shoulder. "Wake up, Father, we
have company."
The man stirred;
even in the dim light, his skin appeared yellow. His face gaunt, he squinted at
Hope and smiled in recognition.
"Hope! Well
there's a sight for sore eyes."
She placed a
tender kiss on his forehead.
"How are
you, Father?"
He gripped the
chair arm, but the effort of sitting upright seemed to exhaust him. "All
the better for seeing you."
"You look
tired. Have you not been sleeping?"
"Tusk, tis
nothing. You know how it goes, up and down. Happen tomorrow will be
better."
"I've been
so worried about you."
"And I you,
but I see you have been well cared for."
Hope recalled
their visitor.
"How
remiss, I forgot the introductions. Father, this is Captain Huntley. Captain,
this is my stepfather, Mr. William Tyler."
The withered man
made to stand. Huntley felt wrong-footed—he had envisaged anger and threats
from Miss Tyler's father, not this quiet courtesy.
"No,
please, don’t get up." Words of castigation melted away. On the mainland,
he had heard Hope's explanation for her actions and yet not understood. Faced
with reality, he felt humbled.
Hope's fingers
tightened on her father's
Similar Books
