Page 64 of The Lover's Eye
Giles returned to the ground and crawled out, attempting to tame his face into a mask of inscrutability.Pemberton’s eyes narrowed on him, however, and he knew he must not be fooling anyone.There was too much horror swirling beneath the surface for him to conceal it entirely.
Pemberton, Bellows, and Heppel took their turns in the sinkhole.No one spoke as they maneuvered to and from the scene, all aware of the tide inching ever nearer.Pemberton was the last to go in, and the coroner followed him.Together, the men returned with Aurelia’s body.
Giles looked away, the acid in his throat returning at the sight of her hair dripping and slinging from Pemberton’s arms.
“We must take her to the chapel,” the coroner said decisively, once the party had returned to their assortment of vehicles.“Are you all able to meet me at the Three Hens tomorrow morning?”
A collective nod stole around the group.
“Very well.I shall see each of you then, say ten o’clock.I daresay we’ll conclude this business before lunchtime.”
Giles did not feel he could breathe again until Mr.Heppel’s gig returned to the main road, where they travelled alone.Everyone else had headed in the direction of the village.
“Poor Reverend,” Mr.Heppel said with a sorrowful clucking noise.“Good man will be devastated.”
Giles did not reply.He, too, felt deeply sorry for the man, but was dealing with too great a shock of his own to have found his voice yet.
“I think he’s done so well all these months because he believed ’er to still be alive,” Heppel continued.“This will give him a shock.A downright shock.”
The gig continued into the night.Giles reached up to loosen his cravat and drew in a deep breath.He could feel the damp on his knees and coat sleeves, still smell the sharp brine on himself.
“Say, you said you got married today, Trevelyan?”
“Yes, sir, I did,” Giles replied, his voice sounding faraway.Even the thought of Isobel made him ache all over, as though he was running and running, but drawing no nearer his destination.
“Might I ask who the lucky lady is?”
The gates of Cambo House emerged out of the darkness and Mr.Heppel’s horse slowed to accommodate the turn.Giles felt a sliver of relief.“Miss Isobel Ridgeway, daughter of the Viscount Ridgeway of Kittwick.”
“How fine!I am pleased for you, good fellow.Do give her my apologies for stealin’ you away tonight.Perhaps me and my old lady can call on you soon and make introductions.”
“Yes, perhaps once she is settled.”
The gig stopped and Giles forced a pleasant farewell before striding up the stairs.He wanted nothing more than to go to Isobel directly, to set their wedding night to rights—or, at the very least, assure himself of his good standing with her.Most wives would consider it unforgivable for their husband to neglect them on their wedding night.He desperately needed Isobel to understand he’d had no choice in the matter.
Before he could open the door, it was giving way before him.Finch stood behind it, his eyes black and questioning.
“Not now, Finch,” Giles said, fighting to remove his coat.“Is she waiting up for me?”
“I do not know, my lord,” Finch said evenly, taking the soiled garment.
Without another word, Giles strode off down the corridor and up the stairs.He didn’t see any light coming from beneath Isobel’s door and muttered an oath.Going into his own chambers, he found Smooch curled on the bed and his fire sputtering out of existence.
He cursed again.All his staff were no doubt occupied belowstairs, gossiping and speculating and flapping their jowls with mindless fodder.He almost wanted to ring for one of them, just to unleash a bit of his temper, but he did not.His focus lay with his wife.
He looked at the closed door that connected him to her, but forced himself to undress and wash with what water was in the basin.It had long since grown cold, raising gooseflesh to his skin as he sponged himself clean.He did not bother with the stubble increasing at his chin, but dressed in a clean shirt and drawers, throwing a warm wool banyan over his shoulders.
He tended to the fire, lingering on the hearth a moment to watch the flames lick high once more.He placed his hands on the warm mantelpiece, staring at the fastened door.Smooch raised her head and tilted it to one side.
“I know,” he whispered, moving to give the spaniel’s chocolate ears a caressing tousle.“I’m not sure what I’m waiting for, either.”
When he entered the dressing room, pale orange light rimmed Isobel’s door, just enough to indicate the low burn of a fire.Giles rapped gently, not wishing to frighten her.When there was no response, he repeated the action.
He must see her.Even if she was cross with him or already sleeping, he needed to lay eyes on her.To assure himself that she was safe and attempt to tamp down the horrifying images that had thus far occupied their wedding night.He wanted it to be Isobel’s sweet face populating his mind.He wanted dreams of the future, not the past.
He opened the door softly.There was enough light for him to make out her form nestled in the fourposter bed.Giles approached cautiously, the silhouette of her body becoming clearer as he went.
“Isobel?”he whispered, gingerly placing the back of his hand on her shoulder.Her face was turned away from him, angled into the pillow.She did not respond.
