Caught in a Cornish Scandal Eleanor Webster (new books to read .TXT) 📖

her skin unlined, yet she did not seem young. There was something in her movements, the fatigue in her expression and rounded shoulders which spoke of age, or premature age.

‘Sally!’ Millie stepped up to the woman, arms outstretched.

The woman wrapped Millie in a tight hug while two children peered from the doorway, their faces round, flushed and curious.

‘I am so sorry,’ Millie said, holding the woman tight.

‘I know. I know.’

After this tight embrace, the woman stepped back, eyeing Sam with hesitation. She was taller and plumper than Millie. Her eyes were rimmed red. She wore an apron and her hands twisted nervously in the cloth.

‘This is Mr Garrett. May we come in?’

‘Of course,’ she said, leading the way into the small cottage. ‘Flora said as how you were coming and wanted to speak to Da.’

The cottage was simple with small, high windows and a peat fire flickering within the hearth. The two children retreated into the back of the room, their eyes still wide, while a middle-aged man and woman stood in greeting.

‘Mr Garrett, this is Mr and Mrs Aimsworth, and my good friend Mrs Strand and her children, Libby and Gerald,’ Millie said.

‘I am very sorry for your loss,’ Sam said.

‘Aye,’ Mrs Aimsworth acknowledged. ‘Well, come in then.’

They walked further into the room. The air felt warm after the chill outside and laced with the scent of herbs. The room was spartan, clean with a bare wooden table and a kettle hanging over the flames. ‘Would you be wanting anything to eat or drink?’ Mrs Aimsworth asked.

‘No, thank you,’ Millie said. ‘We just wanted to talk with you for a moment.’

Sally turned to her children. ‘How about if you two go out and feed the chickens table scraps?’ Sally suggested.

They complied, with evident reluctance, leaving with a patter of footsteps, followed by a clang of the outer door.

After this exit, the adults faced each other with serious formality. Sam glanced about the cottage, realising how infrequently he had visited a working-class family. The smallness of the space and stark simplicity struck him.

‘It is kind of you to come. Sit down.’ Mrs Aimsworth invited.

They sat at little awkwardly at the table. There were insufficient chairs so Mr Aimsworth pulled up a stool from the hearth, moving a much-used battledore—a book to help the children learn their alphabet—placing it on the table, the alphabet and a picture of some clouds visible.

‘Thank you for allowing us to come,’ Millie said. ‘We are sorry to intrude, but we are hoping that you can help us. We want to get some justice for Jem.’

‘Aye, we warned him to stay away from smuggling. These days it ain’t the same as it once were. He never should have done it,’ Mr Aimsworth said, shaking his head.

‘Jem just wanted to give me a good life—’ Sally spoke, her tone defensive and her face flushing.

Millie slid her hand across the table, touching her friend’s arm. ‘Jem was a good man. He did not deserve what happened to him.’

The other woman grasped Millie’s hand, angling towards her with sudden intensity. ‘There are rumours. I hear say that they weren’t all drowned. That it weren’t an accident and how the ship were wrecked on purpose. That it were—it was murder.’

‘Yes,’ Millie said.

‘So it is true.’ Sally’s voice dropped so low, it was scarcely a whisper.

‘Yes.’

‘Wrecking’s a bad business. The devil’s game,’ Mr Aimsworth said in the brusque tone that men often use when fearing they might display emotion.

Millie took both Sally’s work-hardened hands within her own. ‘We think that there are wreckers tied up with the smuggling here in the village. And we want to stop the wrecking. Anything you know could help. Anything.’

‘And how do you fit it?’ Mr Aimsworth posed this question directly to Sam, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

Millie looked as though she were about to speak, but Sam shook his head. Mr Aimsworth deserved a direct answer.

‘Truthfully, I do not know. As Miss Lansdowne may have said, I am Frances Ludlow’s brother. Jason Ludlow is my brother-in-law. As you likely also know, he is missing. I had an accident on the same night, but my memory of the event has gone.’ He paused, running his fingers over the worn primer, so used the pages were disintegrating. ‘I would like to find out the truth both to ensure there is justice for the men lost and that my sister is not blamed for her husband’s disappearance.’

There was a silence after this statement. Mr Aimsworth eyed Sam for a moment, as though weighing him up. He reached up to the mantel, pulling down his clay pipe and studying it with some intensity.

‘Right, so how can we help?’ he asked at last.

‘My understanding is that there has always been some smuggling here, but that, more recently, this has become lethal, involving wrecking. Are people from here—from this village—involved?’

‘Aye, there are rumours,’ Mr Aimsworth said.

‘Who?’

‘Some of the smugglers—’

Sally gave a gasp.

‘Not Jem, mind. But I heard tell the Captain was involved,’ Mr Aimsworth continued.

‘The Captain?’ Millie said. ‘Of The Rising Dawn?’

‘Aye.’

‘But that doesn’t make sense. The Captain was on the ship. He was killed.’

‘Reckon he weren’t the boss. Wrecking is different than brandy running. There’s jewels, watches, specialised cargo. You need connections. You need people in the big cities.’

‘So you think someone else was involved?’ Sam asked.

‘Aye.’

‘Who?’

The word hung in the air. It seemed like everyone in the tiny cottage was holding his or her breath. Even the fire’s crackle was muted. Millie felt her own breath catch and hold.

‘We do not know for sure,’ Mr Aimsworth said.

‘But you have heard the rumours?’ Sam leaned forward. ‘I’m guessing it is my missing brother-in-law.’

Mr Aimsworth refilled his clay pipe, his movements slow and careful, as though the task required his entire concentration. Again there was that sense of waiting, as though time had been suspended. ‘Aye,’ he said.

‘But why wreck The Rising Dawn?’

Mr Aimsworth put the pipe between his lips, inhaling deeply. ‘I have heard tell the Captain wanted out of