The Roswell Legacy by Frances Statham (ebook pdf reader for pc .TXT) 📕

Ginna’s face turned pink. “Actually, at the time I began working on it, I had no idea that you would ever ask me to marry you.”

Ginna held up her hand to admire the brilliance of the ring she now wore. “And it’s nothing so dear as this beautiful ring, so I hope you won’t be too disappointed.”

“I’ll never be disappointed in anything you do, Ginna.”

“You say that now. But wait a few years and then tell me that.”

She eagerly walked into the entrance hall, with Jonathan beside her. “Mummy,” she called out. “We’re back.”

But it was Clara who came to greet them. “Miss Araminta isn’t home yet. She’s gone to look for Nathan. He disappeared early this morning and didn’t even show up for his midday meal.”

“Do you think we should help look for him, Ginna?” a worried Jonathan asked.

Ginna shook her head. “My little brother’s stayed away this long before. He’s probably with Pinky. Catching tadpoles again down at the creek. I expect he’ll be home in time for supper. But thank you, Jonathan, for offering.”

She turned to Clara. “Mr. Meadors and I are going upstairs to the studio, Clara. Please let me know when Mummy is back.”

She had taken only a few steps when Clara said, “Miss Ginna?”

“Yes?”

“I think you’d better wait downstairs.”

Ginna laughed. “Clara, Mr. Meadors and I are going to be married soon. Besides, you’re in the house to chaperone us. That should take care of any likely gossip.”

“It’s not that, Miss Ginna.”

“Then don’t be a spoilsport, Clara.”

“No, ma’am.”

Jonathan looked from the servant to Ginna. Then he followed an eager Ginna up the stairs to the attic studio.

“It’s hot up here this time of the day,” Ginna explained, “so we won’t be able to stay long.”

They passed the landing of the first flight of steps, walked down the second-story hall to the end, where the narrow staircase to the attic was concealed. The once bare plaster walls of the attic entrance had been painted in a trompe l’oeil effect, giving it a feeling of outdoors, so different from the dark woodwork and walls downstairs.

Noticing the light, frescoed walls, Jonathan said, “Did you paint all of this?”

“Except for the frog in the pond. Nathan did that. He’s partial to frogs and tadpoles. That’s why I’m not worried about him this afternoon. He’ll more than likely come home with another frog for his real pond in the garden.”

Ginna stopped in front of the studio door. “Here we are.” She turned the handle, pushed the door open, and hurried inside.

Nothing had changed in the studio since early that morning when Clara had come upstairs. Standing in the middle of the room, an incredulous Ginna looked at the disarray, the destruction of all the work she had done for the past months, and a chilling realization took form.

“No!”

Her hands went up to her face. Somehow, she’d always known this might happen. But she couldn’t bear it, with Jonathan looking on. She had to protect him. “We shouldn’t have come,” she said. “Oh, Jonathan, don’t look. Let’s go back downstairs.”

She began to rush for the door, but a frowning Jonathan reached out to stop her. “What’s happened, Ginna? Who has done this to you?”

Frantically, Ginna looked at the window. “I must have left the window open. Perhaps a bird flew in during the night—”

“No, Ginna. You and I both know this isn’t the work of some poor, trapped bird. This was done deliberately—to hurt you.”

“Please, Jonathan. I don’t want to stay. I want to go back downstairs.”

But Jonathan was in no hurry to leave the studio. Slowly, he walked over to the easel, where he stood and stared at the ruined oil painting. Studying it, he vaguely recognized the portrait of his horse, Angel. And in the saddle sat a man whose face and form had been mutilated by black India ink.

“This was your present for me.”

“Yes.”

“It was a masterpiece, Ginna. I can tell that despite what someone did to deface it.”

A fierce, protective feeling spread through Jonathan, causing a darkness to come to his face that Ginna had never seen before.

“I’m so sorry you had to see this. I don’t know who could have—”

“No, Ginna. You don’t have to pretend with me. I’m sure you know who did it, but I won’t pry. I’ll just make doubly certain that you’re out of this house as soon as possible. You don’t belong here.”

His comforting arms drew her close to him. He leaned over and brushed a tender kiss against her forehead. “Clara wanted to protect you, too, didn’t she? That’s why she didn’t want us to come upstairs.”

“I suppose so.”

“All right. We’ve seen more than enough. I’m sorry, especially for the loss of the painting. But once we’re at Bluegrass, we’ll fix up another studio for you—not in an attic but downstairs, near my office, where the breeze comes in. And you can paint to your heart’s content.”

With his arm around her, he led her to the door. “You’re not to come back in here, Ginna, ever again. When we close the door, you’ll be putting an end to your life in this house. Don’t mention to anyone—not even to Clara—what you’ve seen today. It’s not important. Think only of the life that’s ahead of you—the one you and I are going to share.”

Clara waited and listened in the hallway. But when Ginna appeared, she merely said, “Mr. Meadors won’t be staying any longer, Clara. When Mummy comes home, I’ll be in my room.”

With a composure she didn’t know she had, Ginna walked with Jonathan to the front door.

“I’ll call for you tomorrow, Ginna. At the institute.” He smiled and added, “I’m proud of you, darling. Hold your head high and don’t deign to acknowledge this morbid little charade. It’s only important if you decide to make it so.”

“I love you, Jonathan.”

“And I love you. I’d like to show you how much. But I’m afraid Clara would be quite shocked to witness it.”

Ginna smiled. “Then