The Turn of the Tide by Philip K Allan

Author:Philip K Allan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penmore Press LLC
Published: 2019-04-24T08:00:00+00:00

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The parlour at Rosehill Cottage was a modest sized room with lemon walls and contrasting sage-green hangings and furniture, but it did enjoy the most pleasant aspect the house had to offer. Its bay window was framed by a clambering dog rose and looked down, across a garden packed with flowers, toward an old, red brick wall with an arched gateway. Through it could be glimpsed the gnarled trees of an orchard. Above its fireplace, a portrait of the late Reverend Nathaniel Clay, dressed all in black, save for a white neck cloth, glared down into the room with the same pale grey eyes with which his son looked back at him.

‘How old was father in this portrait, Mother?’ he asked. Mrs. Clay senior craned her head round to peer up from her wing backed chair.

‘I dare say he was much the age that you are now, Alexander,’ she said. ‘It was painted when we first moved into the parsonage, here in Lower Staverton.’

‘I have always thought his to be a handsome face,’ said Lydia Clay. ‘But what a frown, and what gravity in his countenance! It is as if he were about to deliver a particularly thunderous sermon.’

‘That is so true!’ laughed Betsey Sutton, placing her hand on that of her sister-in-law. ‘As a child I was rather fearful of this room, on account of his disapproving stare.’

‘Pshh! There is no occasion for such talk, Elizabeth,’ sniffed her mother. ‘Your father had a most kindly disposition when the occasion merited, which this artist has been very ill in displaying. Why, I daresay your brother can adopt a savage look when required, to face down the ne’er-do-wells upon his ship.’

Clay demonstrated such a look, out of sight of his mother, and was rewarded with guffaws of laughter from his sister, wife and brother-in-law.

‘Oh, it is good to see you again, Alex,’ said John Sutton. ‘How long before you must return to the Titan?’

‘I am afraid this will be but a fleeting visit, brother,’ replied Clay, his eyes on Lydia. ‘I will be obliged to take the Plymouth coach in the morning.’

‘And how do matters progress?’ asked his friend.

‘In truth, it is hard to say,’ said Clay. ‘Tolerably at present. We have taken a fine little prize, but as for the rest, I am at one remove from events. It is chiefly Tom Macpherson and Major Fraser who engage with the Royalist rebels.’

‘Ah, yes, the mysterious Major Fraser,’ teased Lydia. She held a cupped hand across one eye. ‘My husband can relate so little of his character or history that I begin to wonder if he exists at all.’

‘Very unsatisfactory, I am sure,’ laughed Clay. ‘In my defence, he does take discretion to a level I had never thought to exist. I dare say that such behaviour is a virtue in his line of work. But what of you, John? Are you in danger of returning to the service of your king, or have the delights of my sister’s society quite driven the war from your mind?’

‘All in good time,’ said Sutton.

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