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Chapter Fourteen
By the time he had realised where she had gone it was too late, and she had been gone a good fifteen minutes before he returned. Despite Archie’s warning for her not to visit the remains of her cottage alone, of course the witch had done so because she was so determined to put on a brave face she would refuse all help because that was the way she was made. He recognised a kindred spirit when he saw one and Sophie was so proud and noble she put him to shame. Rafe had no idea what a dreadful blow it had been when she had first witnessed the devastation, but as he hurried around the bend and saw her stood before it, her posture was entirely defeated and her lovely face bleached of all colour. She looked desolate. Heart-wrenchingly desolate and lost. Her brave face and expressive eyebrows so downcast it physically hurt to witness it.
She sensed his approach and briskly made herself busy by bending to rifle through the rubble.
‘You are supposed to be resting.’ She avoided his gaze as she spoke. ‘And I know for a fact you have had a very eventful morning thanks to Socrates.’
‘You are supposed to be resting too, madam.’
‘I was ordered to have a good night’s sleep and I have.’
Rafe stopped on the periphery of what had once been the cottage, ridiculous and innate good manners dictating that he should not enter her home until invited. ‘I did not want you to see this alone.’
‘I saw it the night it collapsed in a ball of flames, so this is hardly a shock.’ She bent to move a big chunk of plaster from the ground so she could investigate beneath rather than glance at him.
‘I am so sorry for what happened. If you had told me about your chimney, I would have had it fixed. You have to know that, Sophie. I would never have...’ She stayed him with a raised palm but still refused to meet his eyes.
‘The state of the chimney was hardly your fault. Your predecessor though...well, that is another story. But I dare say he is already burning in hell for his shocking neglect of his tenants and the extortionate rent he charged them.’
‘A small consolation and an eternity of roasting in brimstone hardly seems punishment enough for this.’ He stared out at the remains and wished he knew how to fix it for her. How to make amends. Even if he rebuilt it, it would never be the same. The soul of the cottage was gone along with all its memories and sentimental contents. Things that not even the Almighty could replace. ‘His neglect was criminal.’
‘It was.’ She stood to dust off her hands, then rested them on her hips while she surveyed the scene in her customary matter-of-fact manner. ‘Once I am done here, I might wander past the churchyard and spit on his grave.’
‘I shall join you.’ His long-distant second cousin had a lot to answer for. ‘We can spit like camels together.’
She tried to smile but didn’t quite manage it. ‘I shall be sure to come fetch you once I am done. In fact, I might even invite all the villagers and we can all dance on his grave once we’ve all run out of spit.’ The tense, flat line of her eyebrows proved the bravado was taking its toll on her. In case he noticed, she bent to heave another large chunk of rubble out of the way and he just wanted to grab her and haul her into his arms and reassure her that he certainly wouldn’t judge her if her real emotions broke through. In case he did, he caught her elbow instead.
‘Ned has already been through this with a fine-tooth comb.’
‘I know...’ She gestured to the angry sky above. ‘But it looks like we are due a storm, so I wanted to sift through it all myself in case Ned missed something of significance before it gets washed away into the stream.’ To prove her point she picked up the scorched, carved panel Ned had kicked and discarded yesterday. ‘This, for example, is part of Aunt Jemima’s bed. It was a family piece, well over a hundred and fifty years old, and both she and her father and grandfather were born in it. The bed might be no more, but this small memento of it might bring her some comfort.’ She brushed it down and put it to one side, still avoiding his eyes, then carried on with her search. ‘It is a task which only I can do.’
As polite a go away as he had ever heard.
‘Many hands make light work, and I might only have one usable one at the moment, but I should like to press it into your service.’
She hesitated before answering, clearly wanting to be left but also aware that he wouldn’t leave her. As if she sensed he was as stubborn as her when he put his mind to it, she went for admonishment instead of argument. ‘Dr Able said no lifting, so you cannot.’
‘Anything heavy and only with my bad arm. You have my solemn pledge I shall only use this one.’ He raised his good palm up as if swearing an oath. ‘If it doesn’t fit in this...’ He waggled his hand for good measure. ‘I shall leave it to your burly beau to shift.’
Her dark brows furrowed. ‘I have a burly beau?’
‘Ned isn’t your paramour?’
The eyebrows shot upwards. ‘Of course he isn’t? Wherever did you get that idea?’
More importantly, why the blazes did he vocalise it? ‘The pair of you seem close, that is all. I am not privy to any local gossip.’ Rafe stepped over what had once been the threshold and crouched to examine the floor with as much nonchalance as he could muster. ‘But you are single and so is he, so it is a natural assumption to make.’
‘We’re friends, nothing more.’ She forced a smile as if the mere thought amused her. ‘Never mind that I am much too old for him.’
‘Are you?’ He made a great show of scrutinising her, trying to distract her from the onerous task at hand by making inane, charming conversation while they worked side by side. ‘Then you have aged well for an old hag.’
‘Less of the old hag, thank you very much, for I am only thirty and hags are at least double that. I believe the correct terminology for a woman of my years and circumstances is past her prime. A phrase which is usually always followed by the poor thing and trust me that is bad enough. Besides, I have already been called old by a Peel this morning. Old and haggard, I believe were his exact words.’
Rafe winced. ‘Archie tends to say whatever pops in his head with little consideration as to whether it is appropriate. I doubt he meant it how it sounded. If it’s any consolation, he thinks I am old and wizened too and I have only three paltry years on you.’ He found the twisted remains of a buckle and held it up in case it meant something to one of them, then tossed it when she shook her head.
‘Archie is what? Eighteen? Nineteen?’
‘Close.’ Rafe found a stick and began to use it to move the dusty layer of compacted soot next to his feet. ‘The rascal turns one and twenty at the end of the month. Wants a puppy in honour of the milestone. Plans to name the mutt Mary irrespective of the sex of the thing and will make my life a misery if I do not find one in time.’
