“Uncle Ellis! Please!”
He did not stir. The sand was thick, her skirts heavy with rain. She tripped, falling as she approached him and scrambling the rest of the way on her hands and knees until she rounded his body to face him.
Sand speckled his pallid face. Dark circles framed his eyes. He did not move. She focused on his chest, and when the slightest movement occurred, she gasped.
“Uncle Ellis?”
He winced. “Abigail?”
“Yes,” she said through her tears. “I am here. You will be all right now. I must find Mr. Rennalls.”
She moved to stand, but her uncle’s words stopped her, and she leaned in closer to hear him. “No, Abigail. It is too late. Too late.”
He released a wheezy breath, and she pulled back. She held her hand at the bottom of her nose. The smell of alcohol lingered in her nostrils. She knew he would occasionally drink with Mr. Craig during their visits, but never had she smelled it so strongly.
“Uncle, what happened?” she asked.
“I tripped,” he mumbled, his eyes barely open. “I was pushed…I tripped. Fell and tripped.” Each word blended into the other.
“Uncle, you are not speaking sensibly. Lay quietly. I will find help.”
She rested a hand upon his chest and scanned the empty beach.
No one would be out in such weather.
No one but the captain.
Her eyes flew to the clifftops, but there was no sign of him. Would he think to look near the cliffs?
“Abigail, you must forgive me.”
“Forgive you? For what?”
He drew in a pained breath, his eyes closing again. She held her breath to avoid inhaling the scent of the hard drink still piercing her senses.
“I wanted to be better.” He grimaced, the creases in his forehead deepening. “I wanted to change for you.”
She tried to make sense of his words, wondering if the fall or the alcohol caused them to slur.
“It is too late, Abigail. For her.” His eyes opened, and he stared into the clouds, flinching as the rain splashed on his face. “Do not lose her, Abigail. Please.”
“Who, Uncle?”
“Golowa…golowa.”
“The lighthouse,” she said, finally understanding. “I won’t, Uncle. I will take care of Golowduyn.”
A tear fell from his eye, sliding down his temple into his sandy hair. “Promise me.”
Her voice caught in her throat. “I promise, Uncle.”
A low thunder rumbled, and Abigail looked to the sky. The rain fell in droves around them. If only she could get him home, to the lighthouse, she was certain she could save him.
But when she looked back at him, the pain had departed from his blue eyes. He stared up at her, his eyes soft. He reached up, stroking the back of his fingers against her cheek.
“Abigail…”
There he was. The man she had not seen since before his fall. The man who had saved her from her past. The man who had brought her with him to the lighthouse. To teach her, to guide her. To love her. The only member of her family who ever had.
She held onto his hand, keeping it against her face. But his fingers did not return her grasp, and his eyes slowly closed.
“Please, Uncle, stay.” Her words ended in a sob, for she knew he was already gone. “Please. You promised me you would not leave me. You promised.”
Gavin’s search for Mr. Moore at the apothecary’s had turned up empty, and when Mr. Craig had said that the lighthouse keeper had not been to see him in months, an uneasiness crept its way into Gavin’s heart.
Anxious for any sighting of the man, Gavin sought out Lieutenant Harris at the inn.
“I saw him at the tavern, but he left over an hour ago,” the lieutenant said.
The tavern? Why was Mr. Moore at the tavern when he said he’d be with Mr. Craig?
“I can keep an eye out, though,” Harris offered, “help him home if I see him.”
“Thank you, Harris,” Gavin said with an appreciative nod.
He left the inn behind, riding through St. Just with searching eyes before making straight for the cliffs. He told himself that he did not need to search there, that he was worrying over nothing. And yet, he could not deny his instincts, nor shake the trepidation that hung over him.
When there was no sight of the man in either direction atop the cliffs, Gavin knew that Mr. Moore had either reached Golowduyn—or had fallen to the one place Gavin had prayed he would not have to search.
With a hesitant gaze, he peered down at base after base of each cliff he moved toward. But without any sighting of the man, he neared Golowduyn with a hope sparking in his chest.
Perhaps Mr. Moore was already home, warming by the hearth with a hot cup of tea. Miss Moore would no doubt be fussing over him, tending to the fire and pulling off his boots. Then Gavin would arrive and be welcomed inside with a warm meal. Perhaps Miss Moore would be so pleased with her uncle’s return that the tension between her and Gavin would dissipate—the disaster from the night before would be forgotten. And they would spend the evening together in comfortable conversation and camaraderie.
Lost in his hope-filled vision, Gavin hardly registered the sight at the bottom of the next cliff until he narrowed his eyes, and a terrible ache sliced through his heart.
The two bodies upon the beach were undisputable. He pulled his jacket tighter around him as rain slipped down his neck, and he urged his horse forward.
He reached the beach in a matter of moments. The wind whistled past his ears. The cold seeped through his clothing and into his very soul as he watched Miss Moore crying over her uncle’s lifeless form.
He blinked hard, fighting away the moisture that filled his own eyes. Memories of his own parents’ passing flashed through his mind—reminders of the constant ache he’d felt for years as he longed for the kind embrace of his mother, and the encouraging nod from his father.
And now…Miss Moore was to suffer in the same manner, and he could hardly bear the thought.
With leaded limbs, he lumbered forward. Her red eyes lifted, cheeks blotted from tears.
“He’s gone,” she whispered.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Moore,” he responded.
He needed to help her. He had to help her. But how?
He looked out to the ocean that had nearly disappeared in the waning light. The clouds thickened. The rain fell harder. They needed to return to Golowduyn, but he could not simply pull Miss Moore away in the midst of her grief.
He moved to her side. She stood up next to him, wiping a hand across her face that was wet from rain and tears.
“Will you help me bring him home?” Her voice trembled.
“Of course,” he said softly.
Gavin hoisted Mr. Moore’s body onto the back of his horse, the wound on his left arm throbbing in protest. The scent of alcohol wafted toward him. So Lieutenant Harris was right. Mr. Moore had been at the tavern.
He pushed aside the upsetting information and focused on the task at hand. How had it come to this? How could his father’s friend, Gavin’s friend—and Miss Moore’s only living relative—be gone?
He glanced toward the woman as they walked side-by-side toward Golowduyn. She carried Mr. Moore’s cane in her hands, her chin quivering with restrained cries, and Gavin’s empathy rose.
Neither of them spoke as they reached the lighthouse. Miss Moore showed him to the study, placing the cane on the trunk in the corner of the room, before Gavin settled the body on the bed. He turned to face Miss Moore but was met instead with an empty doorway.
He hesitated following after her. Did she wish to be alone, or had she simply been unable to remain in the room with her uncle’s body?
Slowly, he moved through the house, first peering within the dining room. Three settings and trays of covered food spread out across the table.
He winced. If only he had refused Mr. Moore and had not refilled the lamps the night before. Then Miss Moore would never have pushed
him—rightly so—from the house, and they would have already eaten the meal she had clearly taken great care to create.
With swirling regret, he made for the sitting room. He found Miss Moore standing near an open window at the back of the room, her arms crossed over her stomach.
Words failed him. After all, anything he might have said would be trite and inconsequential in such a situation.
The rain poured outside, and the ocean roared beneath them—the only sounds heard until Miss Moore spoke.
“He was drunk,” she said softly.
Gavin took a step toward her. “I know.”
“He was not at the apothecary’s this evening, was he?”
He hesitated.
He had to tell her the truth, though he wished he could have waited until she was of a sounder mind. “No, he was not. I was told that Mr. Craig had not seen him in months.”
She didn’t respond, merely closed her eyes.
“Did you happen to speak with him before…”
She flicked a tear sliding down her cheek. “Only for a moment. He did not speak coherently, first telling me he was pushed, then saying he had tripped. With the amount he must have had to drink this evening, I am more likely to believe the latter.”
The wooden floor beneath her had darkened from the water still dripping from her skirts. Her hair hung halfway out of its pins in wet droves. She had to be freezing.
He looked around for her shawl, but it hung near the fire, as wet as her dress. If he had still been staying at Golowduyn, he could have retrieved a blanket from his room to wrap around her shoulders. But now…now he was not sure if he was even welcome to move about like before.
In truth, he wondered if his presence was even wanted. He longed to pull her into his embrace, to hold her as she cried, to comfort her, but the darkness falling over the lighthouse, the fact that they were unaccompanied at Golowduyn, weighed on his mind.
He would never choose to leave Miss Moore. Not if he didn’t have to, and especially not right then. As far as he was concerned, Society could be hanged.
But he could not risk her reputation.
He took a step toward her. “Miss Moore, I wish to help you, but I…I cannot stay.”
She nodded in silence.
“I know you will need to wait out the storm in the watch room,” he began, knowing better than to offer his own help looking after the lamps, “but is there anyone you might consider asking to spend the night here, so you do not have to be alone?”
He knew she liked to keep to herself, to do things on her own, so he was taken aback when she nodded.
“Yes,” she said, “the Causeys.”
Gavin nodded. Mr. Causey could remain with her uncle’s body, and Mrs. Causey could join Miss Moore in the watch room. That would more than suffice until Gavin could come up with a better way to help.
Quickly, he excused himself, knowing the sooner he left, the sooner he could return to her side. He rode across the dark, wet countryside in the direction of Leighton House, the Causey’s estate. Fortunately, he had followed the couple back to their home after their carriage had been stuck in the mud, otherwise he would not have had a hope of finding it in the darkening storm.
After reaching the house, Gavin explained the turn of events to Mr. and Mrs. Causey, who agreed to follow him back to the lighthouse at once.
Before long, the three of them arrived at Golowduyn. Gavin tapped three times before slowly opening the door and stepping over the threshold.
“Miss Moore?” he called out.
He stepped aside to allow the Causeys within the home as Miss Moore appeared with swollen eyes in the entryway.
Mrs. Causey made for her with open arms. “Oh, I am so sorry, Miss Moore.”
“Thank you.” Her voice faltered. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Oh, no, dear,” Mrs. Causey said, leading her into the sitting room. “No, I am here for you. I will make us tea in a moment. For now, you need not say another word unless you wish to.”
Gavin turned to Mr. Causey, who came up to stand beside him in the doorway of the sitting room.
“We will be sure to stay for as long as Miss Moore needs,” he whispered.
“Thank you, Mr. Causey.”
Gavin remained where he stood, silently watching from the doorway as the man entered the room.
Mrs. Causey had her arm around Miss Moore’s shoulders, the women huddling together on the settee.
He longed to stay, to ensure that Miss Moore would be tended to and taken care of the whole of the night. But with the Causeys’ presence, and their kind attention already focused on Miss Moore, the time had come for him to take his leave.
He took a step back, but Miss Moore’s stare in his direction made him pause.
“Thank you,” she mouthed out.
Gavin could hardly breathe, so crushing was the weight on his chest. He had done next to nothing for the woman, and she was expressing her gratitude for him?
He gave a gentle nod in response, staring into her blue eyes before he turned away and left the lighthouse behind.
Though he had not known the woman for long, he had grown to care for her. And the thought of her being in pain—a pain he understood all too well—made his heart ache.
He would do anything to help ease her burden, to help her feel at peace with her uncle’s passing—truly anything at all. He did not know how else he could help her, but he knew he had to try.
Chapter Six
Abigail numbed to the pain and loneliness of her new life. She stayed busy to keep herself and the lighthouse from falling apart, but after her uncle had been laid to rest, she was struck again that he was, indeed, gone.
The sun was bright the day after his burial, shining down on her as she stood at her uncle’s final resting place—the cliffside above Golowduyn. She had purchased a coffin with the remainder of the lighthouse’s monthly funds and had chosen to tie a black ribbon around her wrist. She simply could not afford the cost of a mourning gown.
She eyed the mound of dirt before her, tucking a stray lock behind her ear as the wind tugged at her skirts. “I made a promise to you, Uncle,” she whispered. Her eyes trailed ahead to where the lamp room of the lighthouse was nearly eye-level. “And I will keep that promise. I will not lose Golowduyn.”
Time stood still atop the cliff. Abigail closed her eyes and breathed in the sea air, willing the wind to blow away her troubles, just as it had when she was younger. But things were different now. They could not be so easily resolved.
She turned away from the grave and made her way down the pathway that curved back to the lighthouse.
As she neared the level ground, she caught sight of Captain Kendricks standing nearby, his back to her as he faced the sea. Her heart took a small leap in her chest.
“Good morning, Captain,” she greeted.
He turned toward her with a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Miss Moore, I saw you at the grave but thought it better to wait for your return here. I hope I am not intruding.”
“No, of course not,” she responded.
“May I see you back to the lighthouse?”
“If you wish.”
They walked beside each other in silence. Since her uncle’s death, the captain had called upon her each day. His visits were often short, occurred out of doors, and nearly always involved Lieutenant Harris—whom Captain Kendricks had been rooming with at the inn in St. Just.
Abigail knew the captain called in such a way to maintain propriety, and she was grateful for his kindness in visiting her. The tension between them from before her uncle’s death had disappeared, and she could not deny how she missed his constant presence and companionship in the lighthouse.
“How have you been faring?” he asked, just as he always did.
“Well enough,” she responded.
“You do know, if you need any help, you simply—”
“Must ask you?” she asked with a shadow of a smile on her lips. “I know.”
In the past few days, Captain Kendricks’s offers of help had only increased, despite the fact that he could do little else but visit with her. She appreciated his calls—and his willingness to give his aid—but she could not grow used to them. Not again.
Because soon, his visits would end. Just as her uncle’s life had ended. And she would be left alone to pick up the pieces of her new reality.
For now, however, she would accept the small distraction he provided her with, so she might briefly forget her lonely future that stretched out endlessly before her.
“Your visits have already helped me greatly, sir,” she said with a glance in his direction. “And I am grateful for them.”
He peered down at her before he looked ahead of them. “Are you expecting company?”
She sent him a questioning look before following his eyes to the lighthouse. A carriage waited at the front, and a gentleman stood at the door, knocking.
“Mr. Whitham?” she questioned aloud, too far for the man to hear.
“You know him?”
“He is our banker from St. Ives.” She raised her voice. “Good morning, Mr. Whitham.”
He turned. “Ah, there you are, Miss Moore.”
She moved uneasily toward him. The man hardly looked pleased.
“What can I do for you, sir?” she asked after the polite bow and curtsy had been exchanged.
“Forgive my unannounced visit,” he began. “But I have come to discuss a delicate matter with you.”
He clasped a bulky bag in front of him with both hands as he glanced sidelong at the captain.
Abigail was certain he disapproved of the two of them alone together.
Abigail introduced the two before Captain Kendricks faced her. “Excuse me, Miss Moore. I will take my leave of you now.”
“Wait,” she said without a thought. She sent a wary glance to Mr. Whitham. Her uncle had always insisted on meeting with the banker alone. She had no notion of how the gentleman was or what he might say—but she had a suspicion that he would treat her with greater fairness if Captain Kendricks remained, present and at her side.
Behind the Light of Golowduyn (A Cornish Romance Book 1) Page 10
