Page 171 of The Sisters of Sea View
“I don’t think anyone could swim in that.”
“I can. And so can Armaan.”
She gripped the major’s sleeve. “Be careful.”
Suddenly a boat came into view. How strange to see a fishing boat come rowing up the street, past homes and shops, as though on a Venice canal. At the oars sat Tom Cordey, straining hard.
“Tom!” Viola called, waving to him.
He maneuvered the boat in their direction.
“Need a hand?” the major called.
“Could do, aye. Current’s strong. Pa and my brother are out in the skiff, so I’m on my own.”
He rowed closer.
“I want to come too,” Viola said.
The major shook his head. “We’ll need room for Mrs. Denby and any others we find stranded. Armaan and I will bring her to you, I promise. You wait for us somewhere safe and dry. Shall we say the church? You can take care of her from there. Until then, maybe find something to cover her with if she’s cold and wet. Can you do that?”
Viola nodded, chilled already and glad to have a task.
He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, then turned, wading into the water in his tall boots. He climbed into the boat, taking up an extra oar. Armaan climbed in after him.
As the men directed the boat down the flooded street, Viola turned and made her way south.
She tried to make it to Broadbridge’s to make sure Miss Stirlingwas safe, but the water blocked her way. She looked across the flooded marketplace and was relieved to see her in a boat with Mr. Farrant and a few others. Seeing her, Miss Stirling waved and called, “We’re all right! Go home and be careful!”
Viola nodded and started toward the church. On impulse, she veered right, sloshing her way through a narrow alley ankle-deep in water, to approach Back Street from the rear.
She knocked on the back door of Mrs. Nicholls’s shop. When no one answered, she tentatively let herself in, finding herself amid a flurry of activity.
“Oh, miss,” the older woman said, catching sight of her. “Can’t stop now, I am afraid. So much to do!” Nearby, her daughter hurried up the stairs with an armful of lacework. “Have to move all the lace upstairs, in case the water rises this high.”
“May I help?” Viola had some time, she was sure, until the major might feasibly reach the poor house, collect Mrs. Denby and perhaps her neighbors, and return.
“Would you? How kind. Yes, please.”
Following the woman’s directions, Viola carried up assorted lace, some carefully packaged, some haphazardly stacked. She and the younger Miss Nicholls passed each other on the stairs like runners in a relay.
Now and again, Viola glanced from the upper-story window before rushing back downstairs. The water, dammed in by the wall of unbroken shop fronts, had risen to the ground-floor windows.
Finally, all the lace was out of harm’s way.
“Thank you, my dear.” Mrs. Nicholls panted from her exertions. “Now, was there something you wanted?”
“Perhaps something to keep Mrs. Denby warm?” Viola asked.
The older woman’s eyes widened. “The antique shawl, do you mean?”
“Heavens no. I can’t afford that. Nor would lace be practical in this weather. But if I could borrow something plain and warm,like a blanket? I will return it. The men have gone to gather the poor house residents who can’t leave on their own or have nowhere else to go. I’m afraid she might be cold.”
“Of course.” She sent her daughter upstairs with instructions. While they waited, Mrs. Nicholls said, “I saw you with her at church, you know. Your friendship is no doubt a blessing to Jane.”
“And to me.”
A moment later, the young woman returned with a knitted wool blanket.
