Free Eye of the Wind by Jane Jackson Page B

sawdust-sprinkled shirt he preferred to retain rather than excite curiosity by exposing the welts that striped his back, Gabriel took the pie, touched by the boy’s thoughtfulness and tact. ‘Much obliged.’
    Billy gazed into the distance while Gabriel ate, then thrust the jar toward him. ‘Here, ’tis good ale. Falmouth brewed.’
    Raising the jar to his lips, Gabriel drank deeply. The bitter beer, cool and delicious, quenched his thirst and gave him new strength. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he returned the jar. ‘Know anyone who might lend me a boat?’ Watching Billy’s face reflect tumbling thoughts, he added, ‘For fishing, Billy. Nothing more.’
    Blushing, Billy shrugged. ‘I never thought you was one o’ the gentlemen .’
    ‘Too risky. I’ll pay for the loan with half my catch.’
    Billy thought. ‘Jack got a boat. But he don’t go out much now. Want me to ask him, do you?’
    ‘Thanks.’ Gabriel started back toward the saw pit.
    It was mid-afternoon when, for the second time in two days, Melissa walked with the doctor to his horse. She waited until they were out of earshot of the house to ask the question, dreading his answer.
    ‘How … How ill is my father?’
    Dr Wherry stopped, raising his eyes to hers. His expression was sombre, his gaze compassionate. ‘I think your brother should come home as soon as possible.’
    Catching her lip, she nodded, not trusting herself to speak, understanding all his response implied. George was in the navy, and there was a war on. But George was also her father’s heir and would be the new head of the family, responsible for her mother and herself. It was clear the doctor did not expect her father to recover. She forced the words past the lump in her throat.
    ‘How long …?’
    The doctor moved his shoulders. ‘It’s difficult to say. His strong constitution, active lifestyle, and moderate habits must count in his favour. But I’m afraid the toll of the last 12 months …’ He shook his head. ‘I’m so sorry, my dear.’
    Melissa returned to the house to find Sarah waiting for her.
    ‘Please, miss. These was left on the dining room table.’
    ‘Thank you.’ Taking the folded letters, Melissa started toward her father’s study.
    ‘Beggin’ your pardon, miss, but if you don’t mind me asking, we was all wondering, how’s master going on?’
    Melissa swallowed the aching tightness in her throat. ‘Not good, Sarah.’
    The maid’s eyes brimmed. ‘I’m some sorry, miss.’
    ‘Thank you. Could you bring me some tea? I’ll be in the study.’
    Sitting in her father’s high-backed leather chair, she gazed out of the window. The sun shone from an azure sky dotted with puffs of cloud. Swifts dipped and swooped after insects. The garden was fragrant with roses and in the farm meadows the last of the clover would have been cut. Soon it would be the turn of the grass. Tall and lush, it would make good hay. The breeze made it ripple like water. Down in the yard, the new packet-ship was well on its way to completion. Once the masts had been stepped, the internal fitting could begin. Nothing had changed yet everything was different. And the suppliers had not been paid.
    She had not yet told her mother of her father’s collapse. The fever had reached its height at midday and in her delirium Emma had cried out for both her sons. Then, without warning, a drenching sweat had beaded her face and trickled down her temples and neck, soaking her hair, the pillow, her nightgown, and the sheets. Greatly relieved, Melissa and Addey had moved her to the couch. And while Addey bathed her mistress, crooning softly as if Emma Tregonning were still the child she had once nursed, Melissa aided Sarah in stripping and changing the bed. Her mother was sleeping peacefully now, aided by one of Dr Wherry’s draughts. She would need all her strength to bear this latest blow. All the more reason for delaying as long as possible.
    ‘Pour a cup for you shall