The Escape by Mary Balogh - The Survivors' Club 03 - The Escape

Author:Mary Balogh - The Survivors' Club 03 - The Escape [Balogh, Mary]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: AcM
ISBN: 9781410469229
Google: cRiBAgAAQBAJ
Amazon: B00HP3POEC
Barnesnoble: B00HP3POEC
Goodreads: 20442902
Publisher: Dell
Published: 2014-06-30T16:00:00+00:00

15

The village of Fisherman’s Bridge consisted of just one street worth speaking of. It followed the coastline for perhaps a mile. There were no high cliffs here, only a sea wall with golden sands stretching beyond it to the water’s edge.

The inn was halfway along the street on the seaward side, the stables beside it rather than behind, where they would have obstructed the view from the dining room and taproom windows. There was a room available, and the landlord was delighted to let it to Major Sir Benedict Harper. It was quickly clear to Ben that the man knew exactly who he was. News traveled fast in small places. He knew too that Ben had come with Mrs. McKay, who was taking up residence in old Miss Bevan’s cottage beyond the sand dunes. He asked if it was true that she was the granddaughter of Mr. Bevan, and Ben confirmed that she was. There was no point in denying it. It was no secret, after all.

But who the devil was Bevan? It appeared that he was some sort of landowner.

His room was comfortable and afforded a view over the beach and sea. His dinner, prepared by the landlord’s wife, was tasty and plentiful, as Mrs. Price had predicted. He was the only occupant of the dining room, though if the sounds of boisterous voices and laughter were anything to judge by, the taproom next door was crowded. The landlord must be serving in there. It was his wife herself who brought Ben’s food and lingered to talk.

“It is lovely to know there is someone in Miss Bevan’s cottage again,” she said. “I have hated to see it sitting empty when it is such a pretty place.”

Ben could not resist doing some probing. “Mr. Bevan lives close to here, does he, Mrs. Davies?”

“Up at the big house, yes,” she told him, waving a hand inland. “If you go along the street to the bridge, you will be able to see it up on the hill in among the trees. A lovely situation, it is. His father before him chose the perfect spot for it when he decided to build.”

“There was no house on the land before that, then?” Ben asked.

“Only a farmhouse,” she said. “But it wasn’t big or grand enough for Mr. Bevan. Well, it stands to reason, doesn’t it? He had that fortune he made from his coal mines, but it was here he chose to live and set up as a gentleman. He wanted a big house, and a lovely one he built. Our Marged works there as a chambermaid, and she gets a decent wage.”

“This roast beef is almost tender enough to cut with a fork,” Ben remarked. “And the roast potatoes are crisp on the outside and soft on the inside—just as I like them.”

“I do like to see a man tuck in to a hearty meal,” she said, clearly pleased.

“The present Mr. Bevan still has the mines, does he?” Ben asked.

“Those and the ironworks up the valley by Swansea there,” she told him.

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