Darkness In The Flames Read Free Page A

adventurous beachcombers, let alone walking parties of geologists interested in studying its formation.
    No, Sidney Chesswell had what he desired most—his privacy. And he guarded it fiercely while he delved into the mysteries of the supernatural.
    The night held no terrors for him. He often walked the beach at this hour, enjoying the glitter of the night sky as it sparkled off the glassy waves lapping at his feet. This night was no different, except that the waves were choppier—an indication of how severe the storm out to sea had been.
    This section of England’s southern coast was protected by the cushion of land known as the Isle of Wight. It took the buffeting from the fury of the English Channel, leaving only a pale echo to pound on Sidney Chesswell’s private beach. But the currents were strange entities, working according to a schedule of their own. Sidney had often found varied oddments washed up along the shore…clear evidence of yet another victim of Neptune’s fury.
    Further west along the coast, smugglers were probably at work. For them, a night like this was a blessing, and a chyne a place of safe-haven. But not here. Not St. Chesswell. This stretch of water was well traveled by the revenue officers, and a regiment of the King’s Own was quartered not many miles from this very spot. Too close to allow any self-respecting smugger the peace of mind he’d need to operate efficiently and in secrecy.
    The only traffic in these waters was legitimate, ferries to and from the Isle of Wight, and occasionally a large sailing ship or warship heading into the safety of Southampton Water. In times past there had been ships sailing to and from France, but now…
    Sidney sighed. His thoughts had circled back to Josephine, since it was on one of these ferries that she’d stolen from his home and his life, returning to her native land and—according to her note—the one man she had truly loved.
    That had hurt Sidney the most…knowing this quicksilver woman had only wed him for his title and his money. Not that she’d had the chance to abuse either. Their union had lasted all of two years and although he’d been happy loving her, she had never really returned his affection to any great degree.
    He could accept this now, so many years later. He could not, however, quench the pain or fill the emptiness. He was reclusive and liked it. He had no interest in pursuing the life of a dilettante, or in bedding other women. He cared not whether he was talked about, only that he be treated with the respect his title deserved. He did his best to make sure his tenants and servants were well treated, and knew the local folk by name. The vicar had given up urging him to attend Sunday services, simply nodding politely when they passed.
    Some might view Sir Sidney Chesswell’s life as empty. Others might wonder at his reluctance to live at all, at least by their standards. The man himself didn’t care one whit about any of their opinions. His life was exactly as he desired.
    And this night it was about to change—permanently.
     
    *~*~*~*
     
    An hour must have passed while Sidney walked his solitary trail along the beach and back, and the sparse lights of St. Chesswell were clearly visible when he noticed something along the high water line.
    A large bundle, perhaps clothing washed overboard during the offshore storm and tangled with debris to end up soiling his pristine property. He sighed.
    Then—incredibly—the bundle moved .
    Sidney’s breath caught in his throat then gusted between his lips in a harsh grunt. There was an arm, a hand scrabbling in the pebbles. It was a man .
    Hurrying over, Sidney marveled that this orphan of the storm was still alive. “Sir, good God, sir…can you speak?” He lifted the man’s head free of seaweed strands and watched as his eyes opened and he coughed. “Careful, man. You’re probably full of seawater. Easy now.”
    The man’s skin was cold, clammy with the salty dampness of his