One of his brows lifted. “I saw no more than a shadow, and by the time I reached you, it had fled.”
I hugged my arms around my chest. “Do you think it might have been the same creature that ...?”
“That killed Mr. Roscoe?”
I nodded.
“According to the constable, my solicitor was killed by a rabid dog. I don’t think that’s what this was.”
“But then ...” I frowned, thinking. “It doesn’t seem likely there aretwocreatures attacking people on the heath. Could Mr. Hilliard and the others be mistaken?”
The ghost of a smile visited Mr. Tregarrick’s lips. “While I can’t argue with your logic, I’m afraid I have no answers for you.”
Yet I got the feeling there was more hecouldsay but was choosing not to.
Unsettled by his keen, quiet manner, I glanced again around the room. I had seen no servants and began to think I might be here alone with him.
Clearing my throat, I said, “Well, it was very kind of you to rescue me, Mr. Tregarrick.”
I shifted on the chair and lowered my feet to the floor. As I stood, a fresh wave of dizziness caused me to sway.
I felt cold fingers close around my upper arms and gasped. How quickly he’d reached me!
“Please sit, Miss Penrose.” I found myself looking into his dusty plum eyes. “I insist. Clean your wound, so it doesn’t fester. I’ll bring you a cup of tea. Then I’ll see you home, if you’re feeling recovered enough.”
Breathless at his sudden closeness, and still befuddled by the knock on the head, I managed only, “I thank you, sir.”
Yet the urge to leave was strong. Were it known that I’d been here alone with him, it could start unpleasant talk. Jack and I had trouble enough between us. And though my host had been more than kind—and I was growing more curious about him by the second—there was also something about him that made me uneasy.
But Mr. Tregarrick, who everyone knew did not welcome visitors, had possibly saved my life by bringing me here. I wasn’t willing to risk offending him by flying off against his wishes.
I watched him climb the stairs, his movements slow but not plodding.Unhurried.Yet a moment ago he’d been at my side in an instant. And the very idea that he’d had the strength to carry me across the heath to Roche Rock ... up the steep stairway to the chapel ... I doubted even hale and hearty Jack could have managed it! I had no birdlike figure. Mum had always called me heavy-boned, like her father, who’d brought his family to Cornwall from County Cork in Ireland so he could work in the copper mines.
I sank back down on the chair, picked up the cloth he’d left for me, and dipped it into the water, which smelled slightly of spirits. It stung as I pressed it to the lump, but the coolness was soothing. I took a deep breath and rested against the chairback. My uneasiness about Mr. Tregarrick seemed altogether unreasonable, considering how he’d put himself out to take care of me.
I could still hardly believe I was here. I’d never heard of anyone in the village coming to Roche Rock except Mr. Hilliard, the night I’d found Mr. Roscoe. At one time of my life, I would have barely been able to contain my excitement at the notion of bragging to Jack later.
He’ll take to locking me in if he finds out about this.
The place was far more comfortable than you would expect from the outside. The fire easily heated this room, though I did wonder at the open casement, letting in the damp, chill air. While I was sure the black stone must have been cold to the touch, most of it was covered, and great rugs had been spread over the wooden floor planks.
A tapestry on the wall behind me showed ladies in filmy gowns dancing under great trees, and the many paintings were a mixture of fine scenery and old portraits. On the wall next to the stairway, a man wearing a dark cap with a white feather had a gaze that sent a chill through me.
I didn’t know whether the chapel had ever been used for religious purposes. It was said the family had lived here all the long years since the manor burned. I found it strange, them remaining in such crampedquarters instead of simply building another house. Maybe hard times had come to them.
“I’m afraid I have nothing to offer you but tea,” said my host as he came back down. He carried a tray to the dining table beneath the window. “I am unused to visitors.”
I noticed for the first time that my basket and bonnet were resting on one of the dining chairs and said, “If my basket hasn’t emptied onto the heath”—again—“I have Mrs. Moyle’s scones to offer.”
I stood up to join him, but again he protested, “I think you should be still, Miss Penrose. I can bring your cup to you.”
“I’m feeling steadier, sir,” I argued, “and I will have to walk soon enough. You can’t carry me all the way home.” Picturing this in my mind brought a flush of warmth.
“No,” he admitted, looking down. “It probably wouldn’t be advisable.”
I noted he was saying that he shouldn’t, not that he couldn’t.
He reached for my basket and moved it from the chair to the table. He picked up my bonnet, too, and hung it over the chairback. For some reason, watching him handling my things raised another flutter in my belly.
