The Miser's Sister Read Free Page A

her down from Dapple’s sturdy back, mounted in her place, and set off with a wave. Warmed by his consideration as much as by his cloak, Ruth watched him out of sight, then turned to her own upward path.
    The fog was patchy now and blowing around her. The track was clear in front for fifty feet, while to either side she could scarcely see the crumbling wall. Five minutes’ walk brought a group of ancient stones looming on her right, then the damp greyness closed in all about her.
    A stone clattered behind her as though beneath a hurrying foot. Telling herself not to be silly, Ruth swung round nervously and peered into the mists. A heavy cloth descended suddenly over her head and strong arms grasped her roughly about the waist. Struggling for breath, she kicked as hard as she was able. There was a grunt.
    “Her been’t no bigger nor a minnow, but a game one zhure enough,” said a muffled voice. “Us’d better put her out or her’ll cause problems.”
    “Not too hard then,” cautioned another voice, which seemed to advance and recede in a most curious fashion. “Her be gentry, not zome thick-skulled tavern wench.”
    Head whirling, Ruth wanted to explain that she did not intend to cause problems, she simply wished to breathe. An unseen cudgel fell, her mind exploded, and she sank into merciful darkness.
     

Chapter 2
     
    Mr. Oliver Pardoe awoke in near darkness and wondered where he was. The tiny room he lay in was unfamiliar, and his feet were icy where they stuck out of the bedclothes, a not uncommon occurrence for a gentleman of six foot two.
    There was a clatter outside the window, and a woman’s voice shouted, “Jerry! Jerry! Ye’ll miss tide if ye don’t run, boy! Grab a pasty and git!”
    “Aw, ma,” replied a sleepy voice, and the cobbles resounded to Jerry’s heavy-footed departure.
    Oliver smiled drowsily and curled up under his quilt. Port Isaac. He had arrived very late last night after losing his way thoroughly in those interminable, high-hedged Cornish lanes. This was Robert Polgarth’s chamber, and doubtless Bob was attempting to snooze on the ancient sofa in the room below.
    Silence had descended on Dolphin Street once more, though distant sounds could be heard from the harbour. Oliver tried to return to his dreams, but the urge to be up and doing gained the upper hand when he heard his host’s aunt moving in the next room.
    A shuddering splash with water from the rose-painted ewer on the washstand, and he threw on his clothes. He looked doubtfully at his boots, which had visibly suffered from four days of travel. Having no idea how to remedy the damage, he pulled them on. Bob would certainly never notice the state of his blacking; nor was Mr Richard Trevithick, the engineer he was going to see today, likely to cavil at less than glossy footwear.
    Opening the door onto the minuscule landing, he came face to face with a tall, elderly, bespectacled woman, draped in miles of blue woollen shawl. She inclined her head regally.
    “Good morning, Mr Pardoe, and welcome to Cornwall. I am Auntie.”
    “Good morning, ma’am. I am happy to make your acquaintance.”
    “Not ma’am, not ma’am!” said the old lady sharply. “I am Auntie, young man. Surely at eighty-five I can choose what I wish to be called? How can I possibly request assistance of a personal nature from a gentleman who ‘ma’am’s me?”
    “I beg your pardon, Auntie,” replied Oliver, his sleepy blue eyes lighting with amusement. “Pray inform me in what manner I may assist you.”
    “I cannot think how it comes about but my shawl is pinning my arms to my sides. If you would be so kind, sir, as to hold one end, I shall turn myself about until I am free.”
    “Auntie, I cannot possibly render such a personal service to a lady who ‘sir’s’ me.” The words were accompanied by a wicked twinkle. “My name is Oliver.”
    “Hoist by my own petard,” sighed Auntie. “Oliver, dear boy, be so good as to untangle me from