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CHAPTER4
William was surprised he hadn’t caught Pippa’s hair on fire with how fiercely he’d stared at the back of her head during the sprightly vicar’s sermon. He willed her to turn around and look at him again, for no other reason than to settle a curiosity he’d developed. Were her eyes blue or dark brown?
When the service came to a close and the vicar made his way to the back of the church to greet parishioners as they exited the building, a sudden, overwhelming desire to be anywhere but Collacott pressed on William like a millstone around his neck. His father nudged him in the back with the head of his cane, the lion-shaped metal digging into him until he stepped out of its reach.
But the message had been imprinted on him clearly: it was time to win over the good people of Collacott.
“As I live and breathe,” a man said, approaching them slowly, his eyes crinkling happily. He clapped Father on the back, his floppy white hair moving with each jolly step. “Black Heart Blakemore, himself.”
Father’s grin spread slowly over his face. It was a guarded expression, and William was unsure if his father had appreciated the reference. It had to be an older reference, for William had never before heard it in his life.
“It has been a long time since I’ve seen you, John. How is your family?”
That sobered the gentleman. He puffed up his ruddy cheeks and blew out a long breath. “Judith has been better. Hannah is married and lives in Melbury now, so we seldom see her. My nephew is staying with us now instead. Helps out with the fish.” He played with the brim in his hand, turning the hat slowly. “Things have been better, but we get by.”
Father cuffed his friend John on the shoulder, squeezing. “I’ve returned, John. You know what that means.”
John shook his head, smiling. He lowered his voice. “It means we must be wary of moonless nights and old Donewell Tunnel.”
“No,” Father said, his smile back in place. “I’ve returned an injured man.” He lifted his cane in a good show for anyone nearby who happened to be listening. “I must rely on the charity of my son now.”
“Ah, ’tis a blessed thing, that. Donewell Tunnel has caved in.”
The vicar appeared, having foregone his place at the door. His smile was bright, his young face rounded in interest. “Mr. Caney, would you care to introduce me to your friend?”
Mr. John Caney introduced the Blakemores to the vicar, and Father proceeded to present Roger as his cousin’s son, giving his surname as Blakemore as well. Perhaps he was somewhat aware of the danger Roger faced, or he would have revealed his real surname.
Mr. Robinson, the vicar, was jovial in his effusive greeting. “We love new neighbors in this town.”
“I am not exactly a new neighbor,” Father said, clapping John Caney on the back as his friend walked away. “My grandfather built the cottage I’m setting up a home in, and three more generations of Blakemores were raised in that house.”
“What is with everyone calling that place a house?” Roger said quietly. “It’s not meant for more than a pair of children. Such low ceilings.”
William fought a smile. Roger was taller than most men, but even William had to bend down to step through doorways in their cottage. He’d heard his friend bump his head on more than one occasion, only furthering Roger’s dislike of Ravenwood Cottage.
William’s gaze strayed from the men speaking of Collacott’s growth in the last twenty years and found its way toward Pippa and the group she’d sat with—presumably her family—as they made their way outside. Pippa trailed behind two children, a young woman with golden-brown hair wearing a drab, brown dress at her side, speaking rapidly.
“We are in need of a cook,” Father said, dragging William’s attention away from the now-empty doorway. He wanted to slip outside and greet Pippa, but he knew ingratiating their party with the local clergyman was high on his father’s priority list. “Just someone to cook for us once a day or so. Nothing too involved.”
“I do know of a young woman who would be glad of the position,” Mr. Robinson said thoughtfully. He rubbed his clean-shaven chin. “Lily Burke has always had an affinity for cooking, and I’m certain she would not disappoint. I tasted a blackberry muffin of hers the other day, and it was heavenly.”
“Burke,” Father said, rolling the name on his tongue. His gaze searched the remaining parishioners but didn’t settle on anyone in particular. “Would you be so good as to introduce us?”
Mr. Robinson led them outside. The sun had risen higher during the sermon, burning off the dregs of cold that had clung to the morning air. People grouped in the vast churchyard, and friendly, whispered conversations rose in volume as the Blakemores walked through their ranks. William felt eyes on him from every angle, and while he was used to some attention, such a sheer amount of focus was unnerving.
“Mr. Burke,” the vicar said to a man in a worn, brown coat and hat that had seen too many years. “Allow me the pleasure to introduce—”
“No need,” Mr. Burke said, stepping away from the small group he’d been chatting with. He had weather-beaten skin that was old and leathered much like Father’s and appeared to be similar in age. He pulled his hat from his head, revealing light brown hair that thinned over his crown. “It’s been a long time, Richard.”
“Too long. I meant to make it back here before now, but things never quite slowed down before now.” Father reached back and clasped William on the arm, and he stepped forward. “This is my son.”
Mr. Burke eyed William closely. He swallowed hard and his throat bobbed, and he seemed to shake himself. “He looks like you, Richard.” He smiled. “Unfortunate fellow.”
That pulled a smile from William’s tight chest. He’d known that this was the land his father had grown up in. Indeed, William had spent the first five years of his life here as well, though he hardly remembered them. They’d moved on to Dorset when he was still young enough to forget most things about his childhood; only the snatches of warm evenings by the fire and his mother’s sweet voice rested in the murky cobwebs in his mind.
“That is where the resemblance ends,” Father said. “He’s more Cecilia than me, God rest her soul.”
Mr. Burke froze, his body tensing on the impact of those words. Had he known William’s mother, too? The news of her death appeared to be something of a shock, though it had occurred nearly five years before.
