Free The Widow's Confession by Sophia Tobin Page B

left to sell.’
    ‘Hush,’ said Delphine. ‘If things get bad for me, you can simply go home.’
    ‘I won’t leave you,’ said Julia, and Delphine did not bother to ask the question which always occurred to her, and which she had asked several times, in train carriages and
hotel rooms across Europe:
why not?
    They reached the lighthouse at North Foreland. It had been worth the walk. The white octagonal building towered over them, arresting in its brilliance, its patented lantern at
rest. Beside it stood the coastguard’s handsome cottage, also painted a dazzling white.
    ‘Knock for the keeper,’ said Delphine.
    ‘You
knock for the keeper,’ said Julia. ‘It’s quite possible that he hates Americans too.’
    But before they could debate it, they saw the figure of a girl hurrying towards them from the direction of the bay. Her bonnet had fallen back, and as she waved at them, urgently, she dropped
one side of her skirts and nearly fell head over heels.
    Delphine and Julia were on one side of the road, and the girl arrived on the other. When Delphine looked at her properly, she realized the girl was the one she had seen in church. Violet eyes,
aquiline nose and small and mysterious mouth were framed by the coppery-gold hair that had been tamed into a bun. She thought again it was a face she would have to paint.
    ‘Can we help you?’ Delphine called.
    The girl spoke, but her voice was soft and high, and her words were carried away by the breeze.
    ‘Speak again,’ said Delphine.
    ‘It’s my aunt,’ said the girl, shouting now, the flicker of distress across her face indicating that she knew she was behaving with impropriety. ‘She is down at the bay
and is feeling unwell. I was wrong to make her walk so far. We were going to be met by a local man who said he would bring his cart for us, but he has not, and now she will not move, and the tide
is coming in, and I tried at Holland House, but no one would come at my knocking, and after that body was found . . .’ She began to cry. The serenity of her beauty was at odds with the tears
which suddenly began to pour down her face.
    ‘We must help this young lady,’ said Delphine to Julia, who had said nothing. ‘Come on.’ She took her cousin’s hand and pulled her along. The girl had taken off
running, which was astonishing, unladylike. She was ploughing down the hill at some speed, holding her skirts up, and Delphine said a small prayer for her sake that a coachload of visitors did not
appear around the turn in the road, to shame her. Julia cast Delphine a look of astonishment as they tried to follow her at a more decent pace.
    ‘She is more child than lady,’ said Delphine, unsure why but feeling the need to defend this young stranger from her cousin’s censure. They hurried along, trying to look as
though they were walking.
    The girl scudded ahead of them, skimming down the length of the grassy slopes, then disappearing through a gap in the cliffs.
    ‘Smugglers,’ said Julia breathlessly. ‘We are following smugglers’ routes.’
    ‘You have been listening too much to Martha,’ said Delphine, glad to see that the girl had finally stopped. As they got nearer they saw she was bent over a person sitting on the
sand, holding her hand. The woman looked to be a matron of fifty or more, with a buxom, tightly-corseted figure.
    ‘She is unharmed!’ called the girl.
    ‘Alba,’ said the woman, as Delphine and Julia approached, seeming both frightened and glad. ‘What has she said? Have we troubled you? There are no gentlemen, are
there?’
    ‘No,’ said Delphine. ‘It is just me and my cousin. I am Mrs Beck; this is Miss Mardell.’
    ‘I am so sorry to be sitting on the sand,’ said the woman. ‘I could die of shame. But I cannot rise. I feel so weak. I am trembling – look.’ Dramatically she held
out one large hand, its fingers glittering with rings. After this demonstration, she opened and delved into a capacious bag which sat on