Page 170 of The Sisters of Sea View
They gathered around the table and the game began. Viola was not skilled, so the major offered helpful hints from time to time. Too thankful to be playing at all, the men did not protest overmuch.
Sometime later, the game halted when the wind violently shook the house. Viola looked toward the rain-splattered windows and said, “I had better go.”
“Wait until it lets up. If it does,” Mr. Hutton urged.
Armaan frowned. “I hope Chown is all right. He went out for provisions.”
A few minutes later the side door banged open and Chown blew in on a gust of wind, water dripping from his slouch hat, face, and clothes.
“Good heavens,” Mr. Hutton said. “Did you swim to the shops?”
“It’s bad out there, gents. The river overflowed its banks and is flooding the streets. Shopkeepers are boarding up their doors and windows.”
“I suppose that means no wine or cheese?” Colin pouted.
“Afraid not. The baker tossed me a loaf before he closed up. Bit sodden now.” Chown lifted the drooping bread loaf as proof.
Colin sighed. “Oh well, at least the flooding is in the eastern town. Won’t reach us here.”
Viola’s chest tightened. “The poor house is near the river. I read to one of the residents there. She is frail and does not see well.”
“Surely someone will help her and the others, if needed. The vicar or churchwardens or matron?”
Viola rose. “I hope so. But I need to make sure she is safe.”
Mr. Hutton frowned. “I admire your spirit, Miss Viola, but what can you do?”
“I don’t know, but I must do something. Excuse me.”
She hurried toward the door.
Behind her, she heard the major say, “Colin, there’s a second storm coat in the upstairs closet. Fetch it, please. I shall get mine.”
Colin said, “I don’t want to go out in this.”
“It’s not for you. It’s for Miss Summers.”
Armaan said, “I will go too. One moment.”
The major and Armaan caught up with Viola as she strode down the lane toward the beach.
After helping her into the coat, the three of them hurried along the esplanade toward the eastern town. They passed the Marine Library, deserted now. As they continued past Beach House, Viola drew up short and pointed at a startling sight.
Ahead of them, water ran down the street past the York Hotel and flowed over the esplanade. In the distance, she could see a wider swath of engorged river filling the estuary and encroaching on the shouldering marshlands in its mad rush to the sea.
Their route to the poor house was cut off.
“This way,” Viola urged. They would have to go around, to the north. She led them back to angled Silver Street and followed it toward the churchyard. From there they picked their way past puddles and took Church Lane north toward the mill.
Water swamped the bridge at the ford, then ran in an angry, muddy-brown torrent down Mill Lane, spreading into Fore and Back Streets in twin cascades.
Viola’s stomach sank. Between them and the poor house flowed roiling water at least a few feet deep and rising fast.
“I’ll go,” the major offered. “You stay here.”
“But I—”
“You can’t swim.”
