Caught in a Cornish Scandal by Eleanor Webster (best books for 20 year olds TXT) 📕

‘I hope you will be comfortable,’ Millie said gently.

Frances stood, cradling Noah, as her gaze scanned the small room. Millie touched the woman’s arm to guide her further into the room and was startled by her instinctive flinch as she jerked away.

What had her husband done to her that had made her so frail and frightened? Millie had not liked Jason, but largely because he drank and gambled and always encouraged Tom to do likewise. She had not previously realised that he was a cruel man.

Lil put the bassinet by the bed and then left to show the nursemaid the way. Still cradling Noah, Frances went to the window, pressing her face to the glass.

‘You cannot see the sea,’ she said.

‘No, we are further from the coast than Manton Hall, though you can get a tiny glimpse from some of our rooms.’

‘I do not know if I am sad or relieved.’

Millie stood beside her. ‘I have always felt that the sea was the most wonderful, beautiful part of my life here, but also cruel and unpredictable. I felt that particularly...’ she paused ‘...during the last few days.’

‘It takes so many lives. I think about them. I think about them all the time, you know, the people that do not come home.’

The image of Jem and the other men flickered before Millie’s eyes. She pushed it away. ‘I am certain that your husband will be found safe.’

Frances did not appear to hear her, still staring through the pane. ‘Sometimes, I think I can hear them. Crying and asking for help.’

‘It is the sound of the wind and waves, Mrs Ludlow,’ Millie said. ‘I have often thought that the wind sounds like a cry. You will hear it less here. It is more sheltered than Manton Hall.’

‘Could you call me Frances? Mrs Ludlow sounds like my mother-in-law.’

‘Of course, and I am Millie.’

Just then, Flora and the nursemaid entered and Noah, likely unimpressed by the delay in his feeding, cried again, his face scrunched up with anger and his tiny fists and feet kicking.

Millie turned to depart—the time for confidences had passed. She paused at the door. ‘Please, let us know if there is anything you need. We eat quite simply as it is just my mother and sister and I, but even so... I am wondering if you would prefer a tray in your bedchamber? I sometimes find too much socialising tiring.’

A flicker of gratitude flashed across Frances’s face. ‘Yes, I would prefer to eat here.’

‘Then we will make it so. I am afraid it will not be anything fancy. To be quite honest, our financial circumstances are not what we would like. Hence the lack of furniture and pictures.’

Frances smiled, as though finding this confidence reassuring. ‘Truthfully, my entire circumstances are not what I would like.’

‘Then we have much in common.’

Sam got into his carriage with a surge of gratitude. The family had their own challenges, but they had offered hospitality instantly and without question. It had been the right choice and Millie had a strength that reassured him. She would not be easily swayed by the senior Mrs Ludlow.

Speaking of whom, he realised that he had best get to Manton Hall and collect Marta, who had been packing up more of Frances’s belongings. Besides, there might be some news of Jason.

When Sam exited his carriage at Manton Hall, he had a vague and unrealistic wish to enter and depart without the elder Mrs Ludlow being any the wiser. Unfortunately, his plan was scuttled the moment he saw Northrupt, who announced that Mrs Ludlow had left the sanctuary of her bedchamber.

‘She asked if you would see her in the parlour, sir, on your return.’

‘Of course,’ Sam said, as he could hardly refuse. It would be rude and, more practically, she had attended the dinner prior to Jason’s disappearance and conversing with her might stimulate his memories.

Before his recent trip to Cornwall, he had met Mrs Ludlow at the wedding and a few times in London. She had been known as having a clever wit and a glamourous sophistication that even middle age had not fully eclipsed. However, with her husband’s death a few years previous, her influence had lessened and she had spent more and more time away from the capital.

The butler led him into a well-appointed room which seemed too full of items and had a new shininess that was discordant with the house’s older exterior. The paint was fresh. The windows were large, the ceilings high and decorated with rubicund cupids and ornate gold filigree. A fire burned brightly, providing considerable warmth, and Mrs Ludlow sat near it in a comfortable wing chair.

He remembered her dimly from the dinner two nights previous, but he was struck again at how changed she seemed from the sophisticated woman he remembered from London. Her hair was simply arranged, her clothes circumspect to the point of dullness and her forehead puckered into a frown. Only the rings glittering in the firelight spoke of wealth or glamour.

She looked up quickly and he wondered if she might be hoping that he was Jason. She must be on tenterhooks, desperate for news.

However, if disappointed, she covered it well, her expression softening into a smile. ‘Sam, I am pleased to see you. Everything is so incredibly worrying.’

Sam took her outstretched hand. ‘Northrupt says there is still no news of Jason.’

‘No. Do you know anything?’

He shook his head. She slumped into the seat as though some integral strength had been lost to her.

‘I wish I could remember something that would help,’ Sam said, weighing his words with care. ‘I must have drunk too much. I do not remember much of anything from that night.’

‘You do not remember the evening?’

‘I remember bits about dinner, but nothing later,’ Sam said, sitting in the chair beside her.

‘You went to bed early.’

Except he had not...or he had gone to his room and had then gone out for a seaside stroll during a bloody