Page 3 of The Cornish Widow

Chapter Two

Lydia, hampered by her long skirts and a little breathless, caught up with her brother. “We saw lots of men, down in a little cove, unloading barrels and bundles onto rowing boats and taking them ashore.”

Theo interrupted, clearly more impressed by the vessel itself. “The ship was sooo beautiful. She had all her sails down and was just bobbing on the sea.”

Lydia clasped her hands. “The sea was beautiful as well. Such a lovely bluey green. Like the painting we used to have in the parlor. The one above the fireplace.” For a moment her face took on a wistful expression as though she were far away, back in Bath.

Harriet frowned. Who could be unloading goods into a quiet cove in the middle of nowhere? Not a question she wanted to know the answer to, because whoever it was must be keen to do it out of sight of the authorities. Even though she knew little about the sea, she had enough sense to know that cargos were generally unloaded in big ports.

“Were they smugglers, Mama?” Theo asked, giving voice to her own fears, but managing to sound as though he thought it the most attractive of options.

Bertha harrumphed as though she thought Theo might be right.

“I’m sure they’re not,” Harriet said, which she knew for an outright lie. “But nevertheless, do you think any of them saw you watching them?” She had to fight to keep the worry out of her voice. They’d only just arrived in their new home, and already danger threatened.

“I was lying on my stomach,” Theo said. “Pretending I was watching out for the Spanish Armada so I could go and warn Drake where he’s playing bowls on the Hard. They couldn’t have seen me.” He squinted at his much taller sister. “But Lydia was standing right on the edge of the cliff.”

Lydia had the grace to blush. “I couldn’t help it, Mama. I didn’t know there’d be anyone there, and I didn’t know they might be smugglers.” Her voice rose in panic. “How was I supposed to know? Do you think they saw me? Do smugglers come after people they think have been spying on them?”

Hands on hips, Bertha peered out of the kitchen door towards where the none-too-distant cliff edge lay beyond the trees, perhaps expecting a cutlass-wielding smuggler to come charging over it at any moment.

Harriet patted her daughter’s arm. “There, there, Lyddie. They’re probably just local fishermen unloading their catch. Your brother’s been reading too many boys’ adventure stories. But all the same, it would be best for you to stay close to the cottage if there are fishermen about. They might be quite rough people.”

Bertha nodded. “Best to keep ourselves to ourselves here, I’d say.”

Harriet bit her lip. In the past year Lydia had changed, almost overnight, it seemed, from an awkward, gawky child into a beautiful young woman, with Harriet’s luxuriant chestnut hair and her father’s heather-green eyes. In Bath, it had been relatively easy to keep young men away from her, mainly because they hadn’t known any, and didn’t mix with people who had sons her age. But Harriet had a feeling that here in Cornwall, things might well turn out to be different. And fifteen was far too young to be considering matters of love, which no doubt an innocent young girl would do if introduced to a handsome young fisherman. Or even a not-so-handsome one who took the trouble to pay her court. Or, heaven forbid, a smuggler.

Lydia pouted but didn’t demur. Perhaps she’d felt more than curiosity on spying the unknown ship down in the cove and instinct had warned her to be more wary. She gave herself a little shake and changed the subject. “Mama, we aren’t going to have to sleep here tonight, are we?”

Theo smacked his hand against his forehead. “Unless you want to walk all the way back to Penzance. The wagon’s gone, remember. What a silly you are.”

Lydia clenched her fists. “Don’t you call me silly.”

Oh no. Harriet recognized the light of battle in her daughter’s eyes. She wasn’t yet grown up enough to resist a fight with her brother if she perceived herself wronged.

Bertha got in there first, though. “Theo, go and fetch our bags in from where the carrier left them. Lydia, let’s see if we can find a broom. Or better still, three brooms.”

Harriet heaved yet another silent sigh. Thank heavens for Bertha. What would she do without her?

Shooting her brother an angry glare, Lydia followed her mother from the kitchen into the parlor, her nose wrinkling still further at the state of it. “I think we’re going to need more than brooms, Mama. Where are the servants? Surely Aunt Bolitho will have sent a maid to prepare the house for us?” She paused, no doubt because the unlikelihood of this was settling over her. “Won’t she?”

“Clearly not,” Harriet said, spotting a mangy birch broom leaning up against a wall. “Here. You take this one and sweep out the kitchen. Start with the ceiling to get all the spiders’ webs down. Then the walls and furniture and finally the floor.”

“Spiders’ webs?” Lydia took the broom between finger and thumb as though it were made of something disgusting. “Can’t we get a maid in to do that? Why do I have to do it?”

“Because we don’t have a maid any longer,” Bertha said. “Only me and you. So if you want to spend the night in a house full of spiders, you go and sit on the grass outside.”

Theo lugged in one of their well-stuffed valises. “Where shall I put it?”

Exactly. Where in this filthy house should they store their bags? “The bottom of the stairs,” Harriet said. They could sweep out the ground floor and then go upstairs, but for now the stairs, dirty or not, were the best place for their bags. “Can you go and get the rest?” She turned back to Lydia who still held the broom as though it might bite her. “And you can get started. Off you go. I’ll do the parlor.”

“Theo gets to do the easy job, as usual,” Lydia moaned.

Theo scowled at her. “These bags are heavy. What did you pack in yours, Lyddie? It feels like bricks. Did you pack bricks? Did you?”

Lydia raised the broom like a weapon.

Harriet stepped between them. “If you persist in arguing, we’ll never get this house done by nightfall, and we’ll all have to sleep amongst the spiders. Get on with it, both of you.”