by Anna King
‘Oh, no. Oh, no. You’re not taking anything from this house, Mrs Denton. You’ll leave the way you came; with nothing but the clothes on your back.’
Like a trapped animal, Cynthia’s eyes darted back and forth as if looking for a way to escape, then she blustered belligerently, ‘That’s a lie. I brought two suitcases with me when I came here and…’
‘And the whole lot went straight into the rag-bag. Everything you have now was bought with the Winters’ money, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you walk out the door with those cases. Everything in there belongs by right to Matthew, and I’m going to make sure you’ll never profit by what you’ve done.’
Dropping the cases with a thud, Cynthia looked at Emily with loathing.
‘Look, I’m leaving. You can have the wretched house, and it’s not because I’ve anything to hide, either,’ she added defiantly, but she couldn’t meet Emily’s cold stare. ‘I just don’t want Rose dug up. I think too much of her memory to allow her grave to be desecrated…’
‘Huh! Tell that to the pigs.’ Emily heard herself repeating an old saying of Dot Button’s.
Nervously pulling at her gloves, Cynthia muttered fearfully, ‘What are you doing to do?’
Emily stared back, her face grim.
‘I don’t know yet. I’ll have to talk it over with Matthew, but if I were you, I’d find a place to hide. And for the rest of your life you’ll live in fear of a knock at your door one day; either that, or you’ll end up swinging from a rope. And it would be no more than you deserve, you evil bitch.’
Cynthia glared at Emily, her eyes filled with pure hatred. Then, turning abruptly on her heel, she ran down the stairs and out of the house.
When Emily followed, she was just in time to see the slim figure disappearing round the corner. Heaving a sigh of relief, she addressed the removal men in a trembling voice. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been messed about, but could you put all the furniture back, please. You’ll be reimbursed for your troubles, of course.’
Ignoring the grumbles of the men, she raced back upstairs to find Matthew looking out for her, his face filled with anxiety.
‘What on earth’s going on, Emily? I don’t understand.’
Dropping to her knees, Emily looked up at him and said softly, ‘I’ll explain later, my love. But there’s one question I have to ask you.’ She took a deep breath and added, ‘You once asked me to marry you. Does that offer still stand?’
A glimmer of hope sprang into Matthew’s eyes.
‘B… but, what about Tommy? And… and I’m sick, Emily, and old. You can do much better than me…’
Placing a finger on his lips, Emily gazed at him in adoration and whispered, ‘Tommy’s with Doris. And you’ll get better, I’ll see to that. Now, answer my question. Do you want to marry me?’
Matthew looked down into those blue eyes and nodded weakly.
‘Oh, yes, my dear. More than anything else in this world.’
‘Then it’s settled. As soon as you’re well enough to carry me over the threshold, we’ll be married.’
Holding onto his hands, she laid her head in his lap and closed her eyes happily. She had come home. Tomorrow she would go to the police, but for now she just wanted to savour some time with the man she loved.
Acknowledgments
With grateful thanks to my sister-in-law Barbara Guntrip for providing me with the valuable research books needed to write Palace of Tears.
First published in the United Kingdom in 1997 by Little, Brown and Company
This edition published in the United Kingdom in 2018 by
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
57 Shepherds Lane
Beaconsfield, Bucks HP9 2DU
United Kingdom
Copyright © Anna King, 1997
The moral right of Anna King to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781788630597
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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