A Deadly Betrothal by Fiona Buckley

Author:Fiona Buckley [Fiona Buckley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House
Published: 2017-03-10T05:00:00+00:00

FIFTEEN

The Grievous Homecoming

‘I don’t understand,’ said Kate, sinking down on to a settle in the West Leys parlour. She had taken one bewildered look at our sombre faces when we arrived at the door, and another at the sight of Eric’s dark-chestnut horse, which we had brought home hitched to the back of the coach, and had then mutely obeyed my gentle warning to go inside, yes, into the parlour, for privacy’s sake, and sit down, Kate. We have unhappy news for you. She had now been told the news, but clearly couldn’t take it in. ‘You say that Eric is … is … dead! But …’

Her hands folded protectively over the hump that was their child. ‘Our baby will be born in January. It’s his son or daughter. He’d want to see his child! He can’t be dead!’ She saw by my face that he was. ‘What happened? Was he ill? Eric is never ill! He …’

‘We’ve brought him home,’ I said. Whatever else we all had on our minds, and as far as Brockley and I were concerned, that was a good deal, we had known that to bring Eric home to West Leys was our first duty. ‘He’s outside, in a coffin, on a wagon. We hired it in Penzance.’

‘I have told the driver and Joseph to go to your kitchen for refreshments,’ said Brockley. ‘They are being looked after.’

‘And I have sent Tessie and Harry upstairs for the moment,’ I said. ‘I hope you don’t object, as this is your house. But we came straight here – I didn’t want to turn aside so as to leave them at Hawkswood – and now that we’ve got here, I wanted them out of the way while we broke this sad news to you.’

‘If Eric is … there … then I want to see him,’ said Kate.

‘No,’ I said. ‘No, my dear.’ She had been my ward and I was very fond of her. This was a hard task for me. ‘The coffin has been nailed shut and … it’s been nearly three weeks.’ It was better, I thought, not to describe his injuries. ‘We had to get the coffin made and the wagon arranged,’ I said, ‘and there was an inquest and then we were two weeks on the road and the weather has kept so warm …’

‘You mean he’s not fit to be seen?’

‘I mean that, yes, dear Kate. I am sorry.’

‘He’s dead. I’ll never see him again. He’ll never see his baby. He … I …’

As the tears came, I went to put my arms round her. Sybil said: ‘Come, Dale, let’s ask in the kitchen for some wine … or something … Kate must have something.’

They went out. Brockley hovered, looking worried and helpless. Kate drew herself out of my arms, and rose and stumbled to a window. ‘Look,’ she said.

The window faced the back of the house and the slope of the grassy hillside that rose beyond. A few sheep were grazing there, and the path leading upwards vanished over the saddleback at the top.

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