Mr Bishop and the Actress
Page 21
He answers with a smile that probably almost matches the one on my face, nods, and wrenches his hook out with a great splintering sound. ‘Come on out, then, lads. We’re discovered.’
Harry
It’s time.
I have admired the new conservatory, made my farewells to the staff, and given instructions to the new steward. I advise him that any seamen seeking employment must be hired immediately even if they are bereft of skills or limbs, shake his hand, and wish him luck.
I accept Shad’s invitation to dine with the family later that evening and return to the steward’s house. My replacement will probably not occupy the house for a few days, for I have some unfinished business before my departure for London.
Molly, our milkmaid, passes me, a large bowl of cream balanced on her hip. She pauses to curtsy, her deference spoiled by a saucy wink.
She knows.
Outside the dairy the cats have gathered to lick up a patch of mingled butter and cream that bears footmarks and the imprint of a wooden leg.
And so to the house, where the tick of the clock sounds louder than usual, the rays of the late afternoon sun slanting in through the mullioned windows.
The bedchamber door is closed.
I open it to find the room occupied entirely by one monstrous piece of furniture I know well. The bed is huge and ancient, its posts dark with age and carved with leaves and flowers, the hangings a dark red silk. A bed made for passion.
The occupant of the bed, who mirrors in her state of undress the cavorting deities of the tester, smiles and holds out her hand to me.
‘Sir,’ Sophie says. ‘I must speak to you about my bed.’
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1 - 1814, Norfolk
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19