The Outcast's Redemption (The Infamous Arrandales) Read Free Page A

couple of chairs. Wolf guessed the furniture had been consigned there when it was no longer of any use in the house. However, it was serviceable and the bed was made up with sheets, blankets and pillows upon a horsehair mattress. He lost no time in shedding his clothes and slipping between the sheets. He could not help a sigh of satisfaction as he felt the soft linen against his skin. After a journey of twenty hours aboard the French fishing boat that had put him ashore near Eastbourne, he had travelled on foot and by common stage to reach Arrandale. The most comfortable bed on his journey had been a straw mattress, so by comparison this was sheer heaven.
    He stretched out and put his hands behind his head. He could not fault Miss Grace Duncombe as a housekeeper. A smile tugged at his mouth as he recalled her shock when the parson said he was to stay with them. She had come into the room like a breath of fresh air. Doubtless because she brought the chill of the spring evening in with her. She said she had been visiting a Mrs Owlet. He frowned, dragging back old memories. The Owlets had worked at the great house for generations. It was a timely reminder that he would have to take care in the village, there were many such families who might well recognise his lanky frame. Grace Duncombe had no idea of his true identity, but she clearly thought him a rogue, set upon taking advantage of her kindly father, which was why she was housing him in this garret. That did not matter. He was here to find out the truth, but he must go carefully, one false move could cost him his life.
    * * *
    It was Grace’s habit to rise early, but this morning she was aware of an added urgency. There was a stranger in the garret. She was quite accustomed to taking in needy vagrants at the vicarage, giving them a good meal and a bed for the night, but Mr Peregrine disturbed her peace. She was afraid her father would invite the man to breakfast with him.
    As soon as it was light Grace slipped out of bed and dressed herself, determined to make sure that if their guest appeared he would not progress further than the kitchen. When she descended to the basement she could hear the murmur of voices from the scullery and looked in to find Mrs Truscott standing over the maid as she worked at the stone sink in the corner. They stopped talking when Grace appeared in the doorway.
    ‘Ah, good morning, Miss Grace.’ Mrs Truscott looked a little flustered as she came forward, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘I was just getting Betty to wash out Mr—that is—the gentleman’s shirt. So dirty it was, as if he had been travelling in it for a week. We didn’t heat up the copper, not just for one shirt, Miss, oh, no, a couple of kettles was all that was needed and look—hold it up, Betty—you can see it has come up clean as anything. All it needs now is a good blow out of doors and it will be as good as new.’
    ‘Did Mr Peregrine ask you to do this?’ asked Grace, astounded at the nerve of the man.
    ‘Oh, no, Miss Grace, but I could see it needed washing, so I told Truscott to fetch it off the gentleman at first light, saying I would find him a shirt from the charity box to tide him over if need be, but he said he had another to wear today, so all we have to do now is get this one dry.’
    Betty had been nodding in agreement, but she stopped, putting up her nose to sniff the air like a hound.
    ‘Begging your pardon, Mrs Truscott, but ain’t that the bacon I can smell?’
    ‘Oh, Lordy yes.’ The housekeeper snatched the wet shirt from the maid’s hands and dropped it into the basket. ‘Quick, girl, it will be burned to a crisp and then what will the master say? Oh, and there’s the bread in the oven, too!’
    Grace stepped aside and the maid rushed past her.
    ‘Give me the shirt, Mrs Truscott, I will peg it out while you attend to Father’s breakfast.’
    ‘Oh, Miss Grace, if you are sure?’
    ‘I am perfectly capable of doing it, so off you go now.’