Fire at Midnight by Lisa Marie Wilkinson

Author:Lisa Marie Wilkinson [Wilkinson, Lisa Marie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: Romance, Fiction, General, Historical
ISBN: 9781933836546
Google: KXbJoVY0FZQC
Amazon: B004IK8TNI
Barnesnoble: B004IK8TNI
Publisher: Medallion Press
Published: 2009-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Avery Paxton paused in front of the Grog and Gavel. His mouth was dry. He walked into the pub and was roundly greeted by one and all.

He visited the pub with the same dependability that the Cornish people had come to equate with rain on Sunday. After several tankards of stout ale, Avery Paxton could be counted on to become the most amusing source of gossip in all of Cornwall and Devon combined.

Sebastién battled a strong crosswind as he steered the tiny rowboat in choppy seas. They came close enough to the great foundation of rock to which the Eddystone Light was anchored that Rachael was afforded a glimpse of its underpinnings: iron rods of at least twelve feet in length in a stone base some two dozen feet tall.

This was no ordinary lighthouse. She squinted up at the tower as they stepped onto the landing platform that led to the front entry. The ten-sided upper section bore an artist’s impressions of the sun and moon, plus various inscriptions, mostly in Latin: Post Tenebras Lux (“After Darkness, Light”), Salutem Omnium (“For the Safety of All”), Pax En Bello (“Peace in War”), and Glory Be to God.

Directly below the great lantern with its massive glass windows was a skillfully engraved shower of stars and the inscription Anno Dom in bold work, flanked by a reference to the reign of William the Third.

Sebastién urged her forward, whispering that he expected to find the décor of a Parisian bordello inside. As they passed through the main door, she glimpsed another engraving in Latin, this one a proclamation that the lighthouse had been designed and constructed by Henry Winstanley.

The interior of the tower upheld the lavish style promised by its exterior. Rachael had expected to find steep, rust-corroded spiraling stairs, drafty landings, and hard pallets tossed onto cold floors. Sebastién, evidently expecting the same, gave a low whistle when he opened a door and discovered an attractively appointed bedchamber.

The room was richly gilded, with a large closet and a small chimney. While Sebastién noted the barred outside shutters with a grunt of approval, Rachael marveled at the fine woodwork and the quality of the tapestry rugs.

They climbed carpeted stairs to the next floor, where they discovered the “state room,” a chamber similar to the one below but with a larger fireplace and enough closet space for a monarch’s wardrobe. The two sash windows had also been equipped with shutters to bar and bolt.

The next level, called “the airry,” was an open gallery with a huge leaden cistern used to hold rainwater. The cistern could also be used to allow the sea to pass through in the event of a violent storm.

They wandered into the kitchen, a semi-domed room of moderate size. The kitchen was equipped for basic needs and hinted of past use with its casual state of disarray and, lingering cooking odors.

“Mr. Paxton lives here,” Rachael guessed.

The room had a huge fireplace, a recessed oven with a level of ash attesting to frequent use, two dressers, and a long trestle table.

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