Page 114 of The Sisters of Sea View
“She does indeed.” He sent her a teasing glance. “When she can spare the time.”
Mrs. Denby squinted up at his face. “Would it be terribly rude to ask what happened to you?”
“Injured in an explosion, ma’am. But thankfully I lost sight in only the one eye. And how did you lose yours?”
“By years of lace making. How dull my story is by comparison!”
“Not at all.”
“And I can still see ... a little.” She added in a mock whisper, “But don’t tell Viola, or she will stop visiting me.”
He laughed. “No chance of that. I have it on good authority that she quite dotes on you. And I can understand why.”
“You are too kind, sir. Too kind!” She winked at Viola. “And handsome too, if you don’t mind my saying.”
He grinned. “Now, what man would mind that?”
Mrs. Denby insisted they share her biscuits, and while they ate, she regaled them with a story she promised was true.
“Many years ago, a wealthy dowager wearing a fine lace collar was traveling across town in a sedan chair—not a carriage, mind—when she was accosted by a highwayman. Can you imagine? When he demanded, ‘Yer money or yer life,’ she thought he said, ‘Yer money or yer lace,’ and fainted dead away. When she came to, she gave him all her money, a considerable sum, rather than part with her French lace!”
Her listeners chuckled until Mrs. Denby sobered. “Not that stealin’ is funny. ’Course not.”
Which, for some reason, made Viola and the major chuckle once more.
He said, “Then that story is an exception to the rule.”
Mrs. Denby smiled again, but it was a weak effort, and Viola wondered what had saddened her.
When they left the poor house half an hour later, Major Hutton said, “I believe I am smitten. I can see why you come here. She is a delight.”
“I am glad you think so. I completely agree.”
Together they began the walk back. He said nothing further about Miss Truman and neither did she. She did not want to spoil the pleasant spell.
They were halfway down the esplanade when she realized she had walked back across town and along the seafront with her veil pushed back from her face.
Eager to get her chores done quickly so she could return to her writing, Emily stopped at the next guest room and knocked.
From within a cheery voice answered, “Come in!”
She pushed open the door. “Good day, Mr. Gwilt. Just here to see if you have any rubbish I can remove for you.”
He looked up from the book he was reading, half-moon spectaclesperched on his thin nose. “That is kind. The bin is just over by there.”
She walked toward it, nodding to Parry in his cage as she crossed the room. Eyeing the book in Mr. Gwilt’s hands, she asked, “May I ask what you are reading?”
“Tom Jonesby Fielding. Mr. Wallis recommended it.”
“What do you think so far?”
“Truth be told, it’s rather ... well, scandalous for my tastes. I like a swashbuckling adventure where good triumphs over evil, and nothing to make one blush. I suppose that makes me namby-pamby?”
“Not at all. Have you readGulliver’s Travels?”
“Not in ages.”
“We have a copy, and you would be welcome to borrow it.”
