Moon Cutters Read Free Page B

were safe, she felt tired and falling apart, as if all the pent-up tension that had been keeping her together was draining away.
    It was dark outside the windows. Mrs Pridie lit a nightlight and pulled the window hangings across. ‘There’s a bell on the table next to you. Ring it if you wake in the night and need anything. There will be a maid sleeping on the day bed and she can see to you tonight. Don’t worry if you hear noises outside or see lights.’
    ‘What sort of noises?’
    ‘Could be men’s voices, or thumping and scraping sounds, maybe. If you do hear those things, don’t mention it to the master.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘It’s not women’s business, that’s why, and he doesn’t like people prying into his affairs. Course, it could be the apparition of the monk from the Abbey. He’s seen from time to time walking abroad. The master gets angry if he’s mentioned. Says it’s twaddle.’
    ‘And is it?’
    She smiled to take the sting from her words. ‘Who knows? Sleep well, Miss Jarvis.’
    ‘Thank you, Mrs Pridie; you’ve been very kind.’
    The woman gently patted her cheek and said in her soothing, almost musical voice, ‘It costs nothing to be kind to a body. You’re a nice young lady, with good manners. No harm will come to you and your sister here, though the master can be strict and expects to be obeyed. How old are you, dear – about fifteen?’
    She shrugged as she avoided Mrs Pridie’s eyes and mumbled something the woman couldn’t possible hear clearly.
    She said a small prayer for her mother, lying out there in the open air, oblivious to the cold. She must tell Sir James about her; he would make sure she had a decent burial.
    ‘Mrs Pridie,’ she said, when the woman reached the door. ‘Where is this place?’
    ‘Goodness, don’t you know? We’re in Dorset, my dear. And this is Lady Marguerite’s House. If you lie as quiet as a mouse, you can hear the shush of the sea against the shore in Lady Marguerite’s Cove.’
    Miranda’s eyelids began to droop. ‘Why does Lady Marguerite have a cove named after her?’
    ‘She drowned there. She was married to Lord Oliver Fenmore, who built this house for her. He was Sir James’s great-great-grandfather. A proper love match, it was, and that over a hundred-and-fifty year ago. She loved the cove. But one day, when she was seated on a rock, a huge wave reared up from the sea and carried her away. Later, her body was washed ashore, tangled in the seaweed.’
    ‘How sad.’
    ‘It’s said that Sir Oliver Fenmore was beside himself, and only the fact that he had a young son and daughter to rear stopped him from going insane. If you listen hard enough, when the moon is full and the night is calm, you can hear Lady Marguerite singing for her lost love to join her. Just remember that the dead can’t hurt you.’
    Miranda shivered and pulled the cover up round her ears as the door gently closed after the woman.

Two
    Fletcher Taunt heaved a sigh of relief as the
Midnight Star
was tied securely to the shore. Although the ship was heavy with cargo, the tide was high. The flurries of snow-laden wind had thinned out enough for her master to safely berth the ship without having to anchor outside the sand bar that guarded the harbour.
    His elegant ship nudged shoulders with vessels of lesser beauty: dusty colliers, a couple of ageing packets and several malodorous fishing smacks.
    The
Midnight Star
was an aristocrat of ships. Her long lines and pointed prow balanced out her three tall masts, which thrust as straight as arrows into the sky. He’d won his uncle’s half-share of the ship on the turn of a card. After the flaming row that action had produced, his uncle had accused him of cheating, something Fletcher would have challenged another man for. They’d traded insults and walked off in opposite directions – Fletcher to take possession of the ill-gotten gains that his bloody-mindedness dictated he now kept, and his uncle to his study, to