One of Us Buried Johanna Craven (read dune .TXT) 📖

her. It clicked loudly in the stillness. My eyes pulled towards the vast stretch of glass that filled one wall of the parlour. I could see out to the rusty fields of the farm, and a landscape so predominantly sky.

I hesitated, waiting for the invitation to sit. The offer of tea. Perhaps Flynn wished to show me around the farm first. I wondered whether I ought to remove my bonnet. “The property is beautiful,” I said. “This view is quite something.”

“Yes. It is.” He did not return my smile.

And as I looked in his eyes, I realised. He knew. There could be no doubt.

I felt something sink inside me.

Was I to speak first? Find some petty explanation? Assure him such a thing would never happen again?

“Captain Grant and I are good friends,” said Flynn, before I could find the words.

At the back of my mind, I had known that, yes. Had known it when I had stared Grant down in the middle of his hallway. Foolishly, I had believed – or at least hoped – our meeting might go by unacknowledged.

Flynn rubbed his shorn chin and stared out the window. I wondered distantly if this was the end. I knew there were many men in this colony who would look past such things. But I felt instinctively that Arthur Flynn was not one of them.

He came towards me slowly, his boots clicking on the floorboards.

“I chose to look past what they say about your kind,” he said. “Because I believed you were different. But I see now how wrong I was to do so.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. And I was; truly, deeply. Flynn had been achingly decent to me. He had been willing to see beyond my convict stain and make me wife. I felt a striking guilt at having hurt him. But I also knew that, had I the chance, I would do the same again and again.

My throat tightened. “I was a fool.”

Flynn stood close. I could see the green flecks in his eyes. “No,” he said. “I’m the one who has been a fool. To have let myself be shamed by a government lass. Any man with half a mind knows better than to try and find a little decency in a woman so unspeakably impure.”

I waited for him to strike me. Closed my eyes and braced for the impact. But instead he swept a wild hand across the table, sending his teacup flying across the room. It shattered noisily against the hearth, making my heart leap into my throat.

Flynn turned away, folding his arms across his chest. “You need to leave.”

I trudged back into town, having refused his stilted offer of the trap. This hot, dusty trek was what I deserved, I told myself, as I swatted furiously at the relentless onslaught of flies. Craving the bliss of drunkenness, I stopped at the first tavern I came to and bought a flask of the Rum Corps’ finest. I didn’t care who saw me. I had already been irretrievably shamed.

I carried the liquor up to my room and took a long mouthful. As it seared my throat, a barrage of tears spilled, and I pushed them away hurriedly. I couldn’t bear to sit here in self-pity. Everything that had happened to me I had brought on myself.

I tucked the bottle beneath the bed and trudged down to the tavern with my apron in my hand. I wasn’t due to start work for another hour.

“You’re early,” said Charlie, as he strode in from the kitchen.

“I know. I need the distraction. You don’t have to pay me.” I knotted my apron around my waist. I could smell the dust and sweat on my skin. Could feel my hair frizzing wildly around my cheeks. A lass behind the bar might bring men through the door, but one look at me and they’d walk right back out again.

“What’s happened?” asked Charlie.

“Nothing.” I couldn’t bear to speak of it. Couldn’t bear to think of it. Of any of it. I couldn’t think of the hurt in Flynn’s eyes, or of Blackwell sailing home to his wife. I couldn’t think of Kate Abbott running through the streets picking pockets, or Lottie on the floor of that squalid kitchen. Couldn’t think, couldn’t think, couldn’t think.

The tavern filled quickly and I was grateful for it. Exhaustion was pressing down on me, but I kept myself charging through the bar, wiping tables, and serving drinks.

When I knocked a glass of rum from the counter, sending it exploding on the floor, Charlie took the dish cloth from my hand.

“Go upstairs, Nell. Go and rest.”

I shook my head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. Any fool can see that.”

“I’ve got to clean it,” I said, pointing to the shards of glass lying in the pool of liquor. Inexplicably, the sight of it made my tears spill.

Charlie pointed to the stairwell. “Upstairs,” he said. “That’s an order.”

I trudged up to my room. Rain was beginning to patter against the windows. I sat on my bed, trying to swallow my tears.

I pulled the bottle out from under my bed and gulped down a mouthful. And then another. And one more for good measure.

I had never felt more alone in my life. Never felt so directionless, or so empty. I stared at the window with glazed eyes, watching lines of water snake down the glass.

I knew that just a few blocks away, Blackwell would be alone in Captain Grant’s house. I longed to go to him. To curl up against him and disappear from the world. But I couldn’t do that to Sophia. Or to him.

And I couldn’t do it to myself.

But nor could I stay here, drowning in rum and sadness. I got shakily to my feet and headed out towards the Rocks.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The sky ripped