Ember Island by Freeman Kimberley

Author:Freeman, Kimberley [Freeman, Kimberley]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Historical
ISBN: 9781476743509
Amazon: 1476743509
Barnesnoble: 1476743509
Goodreads: 18143967
Publisher: Touchstone
Published: 2013-08-20T05:00:00+00:00

FIFTEEN

Evening Conversation

Tilly closed the door of the little stone chapel behind her, shutting out the bright sun and humid heat. In the last two days, the fierceness of the subtropical summer had become apparent. Damp heat clung under her arms and between her breasts, perspiration beaded along her hairline, and she wanted more than anything else to strip down to her chemise and petticoat and sit very still somewhere cool. There hadn’t even been the respite of an evening thunderstorm. She hadn’t the slightest inclination to work in the garden: the very idea of doing hard physical work in these conditions made her ill. Instead, she had sewn two cotton nightgowns, thin and sleeveless, to wear as she melted into her bed at night. Then she lay, in and out of sleep, on top of the covers. Window open, fighting off the occasional buzzing mosquito that made its way under the net. Nell had reassured her that it wouldn’t remain this hot forever; that all that they needed was a change from the southeast that would bring cool ocean air flowing over them. But in the meantime, she sweltered.

So the comparative cool of the chapel was welcome. She made her way down between the rows of wooden pews and slid into the front one. Trapped air and unfinished wood. One little window let in a beam of yellow sun. She bowed her head and clasped her hands and prayed, as she had every day since Nell had told her about Hettie’s crime.

Forgive me, Father. Forgive me for what I did to my husband. I didn’t know he would die. He wasn’t without sin, but it was for you, not me, to decide his punishment. I am sorry. I am sorry. Forgive me.

She raised her head and looked at the icon of Jesus on his cross that hung on the wall behind the lectern. “Forgive me,” she said aloud.

A cleared throat behind her made her turn sharply. She had always been alone in here before now, but this time a tall, plump man stood in the aisle, looking at her curiously. His hair was completely white, his skin was the exact color of undercooked pastry, and moist with a slick of perspiration.

“Hello,” she said, climbing to her feet, pulse thudding guiltily at her throat. “I didn’t know you were there.”

“I just came in. You didn’t hear me?”

She shook her head. She had been too immersed in the recriminations in her head.

He looked at her, his expression both cocksure and greedy as his eyes roamed from her hair to her waist and back to her face. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. I’m the chaplain, Mr. Burton.”

“I’m Miss Lejeune. Eleanor’s governess.”

A light of recognition went on in his eyes. “Ah. The governess. I had wondered when I would meet you.” He strode down the aisle and extended his hand. She gave him hers and he lifted it gently to his mouth to kiss it. His lips were too wet, pressed against her fingers for too long.

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