The Mystery Of Macgregor’s Cove – Episode 03
The Mystery Of Macgregor's Cove by June Davies
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- 2. The Mystery Of Macgregor’s Cove – Episode 02
- 3. The Mystery Of Macgregor’s Cove – Episode 03
- 4. The Mystery Of Macgregor’s Cove – Episode 04
- 5. The Mystery Of Macgregor’s Cove – Episode 05
- 6. The Mystery Of Macgregor’s Cove – Episode 06
Amaryllis carried a mug of milk from the neat little kitchen into the sitting-room, where Betsy was engrossed in the lessons Great-aunt Mathilda regularly set for her.
“What are you drawing?”
“A map. Great-aunt’s been telling me how our family sailed down the Scottish coast for the Isle of Man, but bad weather meant their boat put in here at the cove,” Betsy said. “I’ve followed their journey on a map Great-aunt Mathilda lent me from her bookshop, and now I’m drawing one for us to hang up in our room.”
“I’ve heard her stories, but never saw where they came from.” Amaryllis studied the map. “Will you show me later? I must make ready the rooms before Noah brings in the packet.
“When that’s done, and I’ve given Ma a hand in the big kitchen, I’ve Dorcas’s chores to do. Our sister has now taken herself to Haddonsell Grange for pots of honey.”
“Is Dorcas setting her cap at the young master, Am?”
The question stopped Amaryllis in her tracks.
“Wherever did you hear such a thing, Betsy?”
“In church,” she said. “Since Mr Adam came back from India, Dorcas hasn’t paid any attention to the service. She looks across at the Whitlocks’ pew, but when he turns and looks at her, Dorcas turns away and her face goes red.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
Betsy nodded sagely.
“I have. On Sunday, Great-aunt Mathilda noticed, too, because when we came out from church she caught up with Dorcas.
“They both looked cross,” she continued. “As they parted at the gate, Great-aunt said, ‘You’re playing with fire, my girl. No good can come of setting your cap at Adam Whitlock’.”
* * * *
Penelope continued reading aloud, but glanced at her father who had drifted into sleep, his breathing quiet now.
Since earlier that year when Elias Whitlock was stricken by illness, there had been many bad times when Penelope and her mother had sat up with him. Last night had been yet another.
She moved to one of the windows. It was open, the curtains drawn aside so soft morning light, birdsong and the heady fragrance of wallflowers, honeysuckle and roses drifted in.
Penelope took a deep breath, gazing down upon the flower gardens of Haddonsell Grange, her father’s pride and joy.
Until his illness, when he wasn’t working at the Akenside pottery or looking after estate affairs, Elias tended his flowers and cared for his bees.
Her father relished being outdoors, seeing the sky above him and breathing clear, fresh air. He’d been born and bred in a pit village, and as a boy had laboured underground.
The door opened and Penelope turned.
“Father’s sleeping. Have you managed to rest?”
“I closed my eyes.” Dorothy Whitlock went to her daughter’s side. “My dear, I don’t know how I would have managed these past months without you.
“Your father felt the same when you took care of everything at the pottery and here at Haddonsell,” she went on, sitting down. “Elias would say that all would be well until Adam got home and took over, and that’s how it’s turned out. You did a grand job running things.”
“I did what was needed.” Penelope dropped a kiss on her mother’s head. “I’ve always enjoyed going to the pottery with Father and helping him around the estate. I was glad to do it.”
Stepping on to the landing, she heard the door of Elias’s study downstairs opening. Her brother and his agent, Gerrard, emerged. Low as their voices were, they carried.
“I wasn’t prepared to take that risk!” Adam said.
“He left you with no choice, Adam. This’ll serve as warning to any . . .”
Seeing Penelope on the stairs, Gerrard’s manner changed.
“Will there be anything else, sir?”
“No, thank you, Gerrard,” Adam said, also glancing towards the staircase. “I’ll join you presently.”
“Very good, sir.”
When Penelope came down into the hallway, Adam hurried to her.
“I believe Father was poorly again during the night. How is he?”
“Sleeping easy,” she said. “Mother’s with him.”
“I knew nothing about his bad turn until this morning. You should have roused me, Penelope. I might have been able to help.”
“You are,” she said gently. “You coming home has lifted a great burden from Father’s shoulders.
“It may be selfish of me, but I’m very happy you’re home. We’ve missed you.” Penelope laughed. “This old house has been abominably quiet without you!”
“Quiet and peaceful!” he responded wryly. “I was not the kindest of brothers, Penelope. I look back with regret at the things I did.
“Furious as I was at being sent away, Father arranging that post in India was the making of me,” Adam confided. “It made my fortune, for there are many opportunities in India for those with the wit to take them.”
“Running the pottery, the estate and so forth must be different from your work in India,” she began. “It isn’t my place to interfere, but if I can help . . .”
“I shall ask,” he interrupted. “I must dash. Gerrard and I have a deal of work waiting.”
“Adam,” she said uneasily, “is all well with that man Gerrard?”
“Of course,” he returned sharply. “Gerrard’s my right hand. He saved my life once when we were caught up in a skirmish in India.
“He’s rough around the edges but trustworthy. I depend on him, Penelope.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I am.” Adam smiled. “Go and rest. Leave the canal, the pottery, the estate, the tenants and the rest of Father’s affairs to me.”
