Read Online The Widow of Larkspur Inn by Lawana Blackwell - Free Book Online Page A

you.”
    “What did she mean by that?” Aleda asked, clutching Julia’s sleeve with one hand and her doll with another as the group walked across the courtyard, shaded by a sentinel oak with wide-reaching branches. The driver brought up the rear, shouldering a heavy trunk.
    “I’m sure it’s nothing, dear.” They passed cast-iron benches mottled with algae before arriving at a solid oak door. A wrought-iron bell pull was fastened to its frame, worn smooth by generations of hands that tugged at it. Julia fished the ring of keys, two candles with tin holders, and matches from her satchel and said to the children, “Now remember, it’s been closed up for eight years.”
    “Will there be mice?” Still at her side, Aleda asked the question in a low voice so as not to alarm Grace.
    “I wouldn’t imagine,” Julia answered, at the same time sending up a quick, Please, Lord, no mice! She tried one key and then another. “There should be no food inside to attract them. We should probably get a cat later, though.”
    “A cat?” It was Grace, the animal lover, who perked up at this. “Can it be a mother cat, so she’ll have kittens? And black, please, with a white face and paws.”
    “Just as soon have the mice, if it was me,” grunted the overburdened coachman from the rear. “Will ye open that door, or are we to stand out here all—”
    “This is the right one.” The rusty hinges squeaked and the door stood wide open. Julia was encouraged to hear no scurrying sounds as she peered inside. A corridor stretched out before them, musty-smelling and murky black beyond the light coming in from the doorway.
    Julia lit her candle and stepped inside. Now that the corridor was illuminated, Julia could see that it was actually a very short one, emptying into another longer corridor running the long part of the “L” of the house. It looked no less forbidding, however, for cobwebs hung as thick as bed curtains in some spots. Aleda came up behind her and gripped at her sleeve again. “Please, Mother, let’s leave now,” she whimpered.
    “It’s going to be just fine, Aleda,” Julia answered, wiping a string of cobweb from her cheek as she took another step forward.
    “Would you like me to lead the way, ma’am?” asked Fiona, her candle now glowing.
    The idea was enormously tempting, but Julia turned down her offer. What message would be sent to the children if she were to cower behind Fiona? She turned to the right and walked cautiously down the corridor, passing two closed doors at either side of her before pausing at the arched open doorway to a central hall. Julia took a step through the doorway and gasped when something crunched beneath her foot. Behind her, Aleda let out a squeal.
    “What is it, ma’am?” Fiona asked from the rear.
    “I don’t know.” Julia lowered her candle, and discovering something resembling dried leaves scattered over the stone floor, she scooped up a crumbling handful. “How odd. Why would anyone strew leaves all over the floor?”
    Fiona stepped past the children and into the room, then bent to take up some leaves. Her circle of amber candlelight then illuminated her smile. “They’re likely meadowsweet—perhaps some lavender as well. To keep away mice and moths.”
    Thank you, Lord , Julia prayed, silently blessing whoever had had the foresight to take such precautions. Holding the candle above her head, she could make out a high rafted ceiling and cavernous stone fireplace. Sheets covered with dust draped every piece of furniture, many showed signs of rot where the years of neglect had taken their toll. Combined with the cobwebs, they gave the room a decidedly ethereal atmosphere.
    The children came into the room in a huddle. Julia turned to reassure them that the room would look quite different when cleaned and was disheartened to see that the anxious expressions upon their faces had deteriorated into something resembling terror. Perhaps we should stay at the Bow and Fiddle