Page 89 of A Winter By the Sea
The older man removed his flat cap, scratched his mop of steely-grey hair, and shrugged before replacing the cap.
Mr. During said something more adamantly—though what,Sarah couldn’t make out. Finally the other man nodded, then climbed back into the wagon.
Bibi Cordey, who helped them make beds and tidy guest rooms, walked past with a housemaid’s box in hand.
“Bibi, are you acquainted with that man?”
The girl joined her at the window and squinted out as the older man gathered the reins and started off. “Aye, miss. That’s Abraham Mutter, what delivers wood and such.”
Sarah nodded. “Yes, but what else do you know about him?”
“Not much,” Bibi replied. “Lives between here and Otterton, somewhere over Peak Hill.”
Together they watched as the wagon disappeared up Glen Lane, then Bibi looked back at Sarah. “I could ask Pa. He knows most everything ’bout folks round here.”
“Yes, please do.”
Mr. During disappeared down the outside steps leading to the kitchen entrance—traditionally the servants’ entrance. Usually, Mr. During and Mr. Thomson used the front door, and only Mr. Bernardi—accustomed as he was to spending much of his time belowstairs—seemed to prefer the back.
Something had clearly unsettled Mr. During’s customary habits and demeanor. Sarah wondered again what that might be.
After breakfast, their three guests went to work at Woolbrook Cottage as usual. Mr. Thomson, however, returned half an hour later, expression somber.
“What is it?” Emily asked.
“The duke’s cold has taken a violent turn. He is sick in bed with orders from his personal physician to stay there.”
“Oh no. I am sorry to hear it.”
James nodded. “I offered to take dictation from his bedside, but Dr. Wilson sent me away, insisting the duke rest undisturbed.”
“Probably wise. I would not worry. He will recover soon. He told me himself that he is strong—stronger than all his brothers. And it’s only a cold, after all.”
“I am sure you are right. At all events, as I find myself with free time, and you with only one good hand, why do I not help with your secret project?”
Gratitude swept through her. “Yes, please!”
The two sat down in the office and returned to work on the guidebook. Emily consulted Mr. Marsh’s outline to see what came next, reviewed her notes on the geography and history of Sidmouth, and began to dictate.
When she got ahead of him, she stopped speaking for a time and waited for him to catch up. She should have been consulting her notes to rehearse the following paragraph but instead found herself inspecting his profile: his head bent to the task, a dark fall of hair over his brow. The slightly upturned tip of his thin nose. The well-sculpted side-whiskers. The shadow of stubble darkening his cheeks, which looked pleasingly masculine.
He glanced up and caught her staring.
“Ready when you are,” he said, meeting her gaze with his deep brown eyes.
Ready for what?she thought, then swallowed hard.Ready for more words, of course. Don’t besuch an idiot.Face warm, she looked down at her notes and cleared her throat to begin anew.
She heard the front door knocker sound and Jessie calling that she would answer it. Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, she went on, “Sidmouth is situated at the extremity of the valley of the River Sid and...”
Jessie brought a caller to the office door, announcing, “Mr. Parker, miss.”
Emily looked up in surprise. “Charles!”
Beside her, James stiffened.
Charles too seemed to still at the sight of his old schoolfellow seated so close to her. His focus shifted from one to the other.
“Thomson, we meet again.”
