Free The Whispering Rocks by Sandra Heath

uncanny wobbling head.
    Paul returned to speak to his sister. “ ‘Lissa, Miss Stratford will be happier in your care than in mine, so please take her to Mother’s rooms. Marks is having them prepared now. Oh, and see that she has some of your clothes, for hers are still the other side of Hob’s Brook.”
    “But, Paul!” Melissa’s voice was urgent, “There’s no need for Marks to prepare Mother’s rooms. I’ve already set aside accommodation for our guest—aired and waiting.”
    He was impatient to be away, his quicksilver mind turning over various other problems which had to be attended to. “ ‘Lissa, Miss Stratford is an honored guest and so Mother’s rooms shall be hers.”
    Sarah felt awkward, and the very last thing she wanted now was for Melissa to be offended. After all, perhaps the girl did not want someone sleeping in her mother’s rooms. “Mr. Ransome, I shall be well satisfied with the accommodation your sister has—”
    “No. You will have Mother’s rooms, and that’s the end of it.” With one hand unfastening his limp cravat he turned away, hurrying up the stairs two at a time and calling the butler. The servants melted away from the hall and Sarah was left alone with the strange Melissa.
    The girl’s warm smile was fading rapidly as her brother turned his back, and she bowed her head coldly to Sarah and, picking up her skirts, swept regally up the stairs.
    Sarah followed, miserably conscious of the poor figure she cut as she walked behind the dazzling girl in pink. She was made even more miserable by Melissa’s obvious dislike of her. But why should Melissa behave like that? She had never known Sarah and could surely have no just reason. The Buddha’s head tinkled melodiously in the draft caused by her passing and Sarah shivered.
    Her skirts clung horribly to her legs and her shoes squelched unpleasantly as she hurried along the dark, beamed passageway. The light figure ahead paused, and to Sarah’s surprise she saw that Melissa was somehow hesitant of going into the room where the maids’ voices could be heard. The girl took a deep breath and then walked in, vanishing momentarily from sight until Sarah too reached the doorway.
    The dull winter afternoon gave the room a chill look, but already a maid was lighting a fire in the hearth and the leaping flames sent out a warm glow. The walls were covered with a silk wallpaper painted with magnificent birds and flowers of Chinese design, and the pageant of delicate colors seemed to move the firelight across their dull blue background. A four-poster bed stood against one wall, a golden bed hung with aquamarine curtains of velvet. Everywhere was the touch of Melissa’s mother, now dead, but obviously when alive a woman of taste and a love of elegance.
    Melissa stood by the bed, her whole bearing one of nervousness. Occasionally she licked her lower lip as if it was dry, and her green eyes glanced time and time again at the window. Outside the rain still fell, lashing against the pane. The naked ash tree in the courtyard bowed to and fro outside the window, its branches occasionally bending so near that they scratched at the glass.
    “Draw the curtains, Janie,” said Melissa sharply and the maid, who was folding back the sheets on the bed, hurried to the window. Just for a moment Sarah looked out of the window and saw the tor which had caught her attention before. The curtains shut out the wintry scene and the firelight came into its own. Sarah looked at Melissa again and saw the relief which swept over her as soon as the curtains were drawn.
    Looking at the maid who was kneeling by the fire, Sarah was reminded of Betty. She tried to force away memories, but to no avail; they crowded into her mind, painful with their freshness. She held her breath, walking to the fire and holding out her hands to the warmth. The tears were determined, but she was equally determined. She did not wish to weep in front of strangers, and especially not in