Page 93 of The Lover's Eye
The vicarage was a healthy-looking establishment, constructed of asymmetrical stone and fat swaths of bulging mortar long since dried.Smoke rose out of the chimney, but skirted a sharp trail inland under the incessant sea breeze.
Isobel had followed Reverend Gouldsmith there, thankful for his relaxed pace, which allowed her to linger behind and support her falling bandage with a discreet hand.
The busiest part of the village was a stone’s throw away, but the vicarage and chapel gave the feeling of seclusion.They perched near land’s end, taking the brunt of the winds and absorbing the suffuse noise of the waves.
Looking at the chapel brought back bright memories of Giles and their wedding.Isobel’s guilt swelled.Again.She should be home with him, not traipsing about alone on the outskirts of the village.
Reverend Gouldsmith clamored up a beaten path from the beach to his home, resting a hand on his knee, which clicked loudly.“Here we are,” he said, extending his arm to let Isobel pass in front of him.
The vicarage’s wooden door opened with a brief, mouselike squeak, and she was ushered into warm darkness.The humble parlor, with its low ceilings and closely set furniture, seemed to trap the warmth of the sun and the small fire burning in the grate.She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in a room so comfortable after spending a cold month in the cavernous spaces of Cambo House, which defied every effort of heating.
“Please, make yourself comfortable, Lady Trevelyan,” Reverend Gouldsmith said, gesturing to a chair of overstuffed, faded cushions.“I shall inform Abigail of your arrival, and see to it that refreshment is prepared for you.”
“Thank you,” Isobel said, sinking into the chair with relief.She had grown more tired than she realized, and her primal instincts were winning out.No doubt she should have felt more ill at ease sitting in the vicarage parlor, but all she felt was comfort, and anticipation at the prospect of a meal.
A woman with a hunched back came into the room, walking on her toes.She had to sit in the chair across from Isobel to meet her eye.
“G’day there, my name’s Abigail.’Tis a pleasure to meet you, Lady Trevelyan.”Isobel returned the warm greeting.“I’m afraid all I ’ave is some buns left from breakfast, and some pickled herring.If you don’t mind waitin’ on a proper supper—”
“Oh, please no,” Isobel interjected.“Do not trouble yourself.That sounds lovely, and I will surely have my husband worried if I stay long.”
Abigail bowed her head in assent.“Very well, milady.I’ll have it right out for you, and with some tea.”She made to stand, pushing firmly up off the chair arm.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Isobel said quietly.“Is there somewhere I might tidy up?”She was desperate to see how her leg was fairing and make use of a chamber pot.
“Certainly.Follow me, dear.”
Isobel was shown down a narrow passage and into a little room at the end of it.A small bed had been made comfortable by layers of quilts and an assortment of lumpy pillows.There was a little washstand with a chipped basin on it, a chest of drawers, and a writing desk with a scratched top.The room faced the sea, and a series of small windows took full advantage of the fact.Isobel walked up to them, peering out at the view.
Wild, grassy dunes rolled into the sea-bitten beach.Waves came in irregular but soothing patterns, leaving the sand a glistening charcoal in their wake.Beyond, she recognized the thin rise of sand out at sea; the island from Marriane’s Banbury story about the vicar and the witch.
She inched closer to the window, as if a few centimeters might make the difference in her being able to see some eerie woman miles out to sea, and her foot bumped the writing desk.
Isobel muttered an oath before she could remember where she was, and bent to pick up a paper that had whisked off the desk.A series of times had been scribbled in a feminine hand.She stared at them, but found no apparent order to the hours and minutes.Aurelia.
The name materialized in Isobel’s brain.Oh God.This was her room.Her desk, her writing, her paper.She thrust it on the desk and backed away.
Isobel hurried then, tidying her appearance and redressing her bandage.The burn was a brighter shade of red than when she’d awoken that morning, and stung rebelliously as she wrapped it.No doubt Dr.Dunn would never have given her leave to resume her walks, had he realized they were miles long treks on the moors and not gentle strolls through the garden.
Back in the parlor, Reverend Gouldsmith rose to greet her.There were spiced buns topped with caraway seeds, butter, and cold pickled herring laid out on a tray.Isobel watched as his freckle-spattered hand poured a cup of tea with total commanded steadiness.
Just one more reminder of the ladies luncheon.She winced.
“Is that an island off the coast?”Isobel asked, hoping to fill the silence and banish her own thoughts.“Does anyone travel there?”
A sympathetic smile drew out the vicar’s mouth.“Oh, yes.That island is quite the local legend, Lady Trevelyan.I have been there myself many times, but I don’t know that I’ll ever go back.”
“Oh?”Isobel took a long sip of tea.It was brewed stronger than she liked, but was so soothing against the dryness of her throat, she thought it the best cup she’d ever had.“Why is that?”
“There is a lost woman who lives there.I used to go and witness to her every sennight, but she threatened my life the last time.”
So Marriane hadn’t been lying.
“Though I cannot say I blame her.I was in a very troubled state of mind when I went to her,” he continued, pausing to scratch the back of his head.“I had just lost my daughter.I wanted answers, and gave no thought to the cost.”
Isobel munched on a bit of biscuit, little flakes breaking off so easily she struggled to consume it in a civilized fashion.Her curiosity was stirred, but she could think of no proper response, only hoping he would continue unprovoked.
“I found a list of times in Aurelia’s room, you see.The only sense I could make of them was tide times, as if she were noting when it was safe to cross the flats to the island.But I was far too harsh with the old woman, I’m afraid.I continued to press her when I should not have done.”
