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

the figures, she could not comprehend or make sense of their presence. It felt, she thought dispassionately, as though the narrative had been switched, flipping from Mrs Ludlow’s tragedy into comedic farce.

Oddly, she did not feel the relief that she knew she should feel. Instead, she watched with an exhausted numbness. She remembered thinking that Sir Anthony looked greatly in need of either a strong cup of tea or smelling salts. Likely he’d prefer brandy. Indeed, the poor man looked close to collapse, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief while his gaze swivelled between the prostrate Jason and the elder Mrs Ludlow with a bewildered confusion.

Cartwell talked a lot, a confused mumble of words centred around how he had summoned assistance at the very first opportunity. He stated several times that he was very sorry for ‘all the upset’ while he mopped his forehead. He had come better prepared than Sir Anthony and had a small flask of brandy.

Banks appeared somewhat indifferent to the scene, examining his footwear with considerable concern and frowning at Sam, although whether this was in disapproval of his actions or the treatment of his clothes, Millie did not know.

Meanwhile, the other gentlemen, local constables, were of a more practical mindset. One removed the flask from Cartwell and administered it to Frances. She complied, but with detachment, as though compliance was easier than refusal. Her face held a dazed confusion and Millie wondered if a similar look was duplicated in her own expression.

Sir Anthony, Sam and the constables seemed to have a lot to say. She did not even try to follow the conversation, explanation and hand gestures. Then, one of the constables blew a rather piercing whistle. Instructions were shouted and the second constable bent over Jason, heaving him over his shoulder. Jason groaned. Millie was rather thankful as she had begun to wonder if the man was dead.

And thus the expedition left the beach, Jason dangling over the burliest man’s shoulder while the other constable escorted Mrs Ludlow, trailed by Frances, Millie, Sam, Cartwell, Banks and Sir Anthony.

Nobody seemed much interested in conversation, although Cartwell continued to mumble until Banks requested, politely enough, whether a moment’s silence might be possible.

‘Likely to mourn my jacket,’ Sam muttered to Millie.

The wry words made her giggle, a rather high-pitched chortle which, even to her own ears, sounded somewhat hysterical. She hurriedly subdued her laughter, resulting in a slight hiccup.

‘How are you?’ he asked, softly. ‘You have not said anything.’

‘I think I am fine,’ she said uncertainly. ‘I...um...do not really know. It feels as though everything is disconnected and I need to wait until things connect again to know if I am fine. Does that make sense?’

‘Some,’ he said. ‘I do not know how to thank you enough for helping Frances, saying the right words.’

‘I was so worried and so thankful when she lowered the pistol.’

They continued in silence. This was broken again by Banks, who shared that his investigation with Northrupt about Sam’s dawn horse ride had proved fruitful. Apparently, that gentleman had been told to say this by Mrs Ludlow, most likely to cover both Sam’s absence and her removal of a horse from the stables.

Millie glanced at Mrs Ludlow and wondered if she was listening or if she had retreated into the madness of her mind. How had she thought that it might work, killing Millie and Sam? Indeed, the plot she had outlined seemed flimsier than the creations Millie and her sister created as children with playing cards and toothpicks. Or the tree house Tom had built which had resulted in a broken arm.

But then, she’d likely only hoped for a short-term solution, long enough for Jason to escape and Frances to be declared incompetent.

The group continued to walk up the path towards the clifftop. It was long and tiring, but almost an anti-climax. It seemed that such a dramatic interlude should not be capped by this silent, exhausting walk.

At the inn, Sir Anthony announced that he and the constables would keep custody of the two prisoners and suggested that everyone go home, saying that Sam could come to his office tomorrow morning to make a statement. He would allow the ladies to wait for a day and follow up with statements later in the week.

After this announcement, he provided his carriage for Millie and Frances, while Cartwell secured a conveyance for Sir Anthony, the captives and one of the constables. Sir Anthony told Cartwell that he would also be in his custody until greater insight had been gained about his part in the evening’s events. This resulted in several expostulations from Cartwell which were eventually silenced when Sir Anthony agreed to send a servant to request that Betsy look after the cows, pigs and chickens. The remainder of the party, Banks, Sam and the second of the constables took the smaller carriage to the inn in the village.

Indeed, Millie thought, as she sat in Sir Anthony’s carriage, they had all switched conveyances in an odd game of musical chairs. How strange to be sitting on the crimson velvet cushions of Sir Anthony’s rather stuffy coach as though they had done nothing more dramatic than attend church choir practice. Not that she had ever participated in a choir of any sort, as she was quite lacking in musical talent. Her lips twitched again with humour that was likely closer to hysteria than genuine amusement.

In the seat opposite, Frances sat with an unnatural stillness, her hands clasped tightly together and her teeth worrying nervously at her bottom lip.

‘You will be quite safe now,’ Millie said cautiously.

‘Yes, thank you. For a while I was numb. I could feel nothing. Now I can feel almost too much. I am worried about Noah. I want to see him. Part of me wants to run from this coach, as though I could cover the ground faster.’

‘It is a ponderous vehicle. However, if your feet feel anything like mine, I am certain the coach is moving faster than we