A Wounded Soldier for the Trapped Duchess by Patricia Haverton

Author:Patricia Haverton
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2020-08-07T21:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 18

T apper had traveled through the night, paying a small price to ride the Royal Mail coach to Covey-by-the-Sea, a small fishing village that faced the opposite ocean as the somewhat gentler waters between England and France. These waters were treacherous, leading as they did to the wide Atlantic, and there were some that said there were more fishing vessels lying beneath those waves than floating atop them.

Why Grandfather would wish to end his days here, I cannaw know, Tapper thought as she walked the narrow streets in the early pre-dawn morn.

She looked around as she went, her nose assaulted by the overpowering scent of the previous day’s haul. True enough, pelicans jockeyed for position atop the pylons at each pier, waiting to dive forth for the fish heads the men were still chopping off and flinging into the sea.

“What is this, then?” Tapper muttered with a scornful grimace. “Flower boxes at the windows? A tidy little fence runnin’ round the garden? I ‘spose there’ll be tea cakes and lace on the chair backs if I e’er make it past the vines above the door!”

The cottage was nothing at all what Tapper suspected her grandfather of admiring, let alone a place he’d make his home. She remembered the attic apartment where she and the old man had lived ever since her parents had died, with its sparse and functional furnishings. It sat directly above the offices where the man had worked, taking reports from the victims of terrible crimes and solving some of the country’s most notorious offenses.

“I shouldna be taken aback if he’s stitching a needlepoint in there!” Tapper muttered again, staring with revulsion at the pristine stone pathway that led to the brightest whitewashed walls she’d ever seen.

After letting herself in through the gate and pausing at the door, Tapper was struck by a hopeful thought—perhaps this was not the correct house. Had she taken a wrong turn somewhere an ended up in a spinster woman’s garden? But no, the letter he’d last sent had told her which house, and here she was.

Tapper raised her hand to knock on the small blue door but a low, gruff voice from within called out, “Enter!” Shaking her head, Tapper pulled the latch and pushed open the door, only to find the interior was as bad as she’d expected.

“Who is it? Who’s there?” a man called out, sounding very much alarmed.

Tapper smiled. Her grandfather might think he could deploy his bag of tricks on her, but she knew better than to fall for it.

“Ya know ‘tis me, Grandfather,” Tapper said, taking off her cap and letting her long, dark curls fall down her back. She shrugged out of her oversized coat, grateful to be out of it amidst the heat of the coming day.

“Tapper, me boy! So good to see you again!” the old man shouted from his comfortable chair. Tapper smiled at the old man’s favorite jest, as she was neither a boy nor could he see her, at least not clearly.

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