Devil Water by Anya Seton Read Free Book Online

beter we meet na more.”
    Charles gave a startled grunt. A hot flush stained his face. He felt betrayed, and after a stunned moment he solaced himself by kicking over the pile of sacks. So this was all her vows of love amounted to! The false trollop! Then it occurred to him that not only had she apparently had the effrontery to tire of him first, but that she had probably gone to Dick, whom he had ceased to consider as a rival long ago. In thinking back to their last tryst, Charles now remembered that Meg had fallen into heavy silences, had seemed about to speak and then stopped. That when they kissed at parting, she had clung to him and whispered, “I’ll pray for thy happiness!” She had then meant it as farewell?
    She’d not get away so easily! Charles, smarting and suffering more than he let himself realize, mounted the mare and rode through Gateshead to the Wilson cottage. He had no idea what he was going to say, but he expected to find Meg there. He hammered on the door. It was opened by a taller, paler edition of Meg who had an infant at the breast and cried “Lawks a me!” as she stared at the thunderous young gentleman in the dripping greatcoat. “What can I do for ye, sir?”
    “Where’s Meg?” cried Charles beyond discretion. “Is Meg here?”
    Nan Wilson’s eyes narrowed and she drew back. “What’s it to thee, where Meg is? Who are ye?”
    Charles did not answer. He could see into the tiny bare room behind, and there was nobody there. Nan put her hand on the latch to close the door. She had known that lately something was very wrong with Meg, and the world being what it was, had wondered if a man would likely be the cause. But the girl had never said anything. She had worked hard in the cottage, helping with the baby and the eternal filthy wash a pitman made, and she had been remarkably glum. Even when Dick came courting of a Saturday night, Meg had shown no lightening of spirit. She’d cling to her sister, and then tell poor Dick she had the headache when he wanted to take her to a jig in Sandgate, or to watch football on the fell. Meg was such a good, honest girl that Nan had not questioned her. Besides, they were proud, the Snowdons, and kept their troubles to themselves.
    Yet now, as she looked again at the youth on her doorstep, her hand fell from the latch, and she said, “Would ye be the Mr. Radcliffe my husband tould me was here the day I birthed the babby?”
    “Yes,” said Charles. “Where’s Meg?”
    Nan opened the door and motioned him inside. “Come to the fire, an’ warm yoursel’ -- ‘tis bitter.”
    Charles came in and stood beside the tiny grate, where a shovelful of coals burned sulkily. “Thank you,” he said with more grace, “and I pray you tell me where Meg is.”
    “I cannot,” said Nan, putting the baby on the bed and fastening her bodice. “The lass is gone, I knaw not whither.”
    “She -- she is always out of a Sunday morning, isn’t she?” asked Charles, trying to be offhand. “To see a Dissenting minister in Newcastle?”
    “Aye,” said Nan with a sharp look. “ ‘Tis what I thought. But she’s not there, nor has been this month o’ Sundays. Maybe you know where she’s been instead these Sundays?”
    Charles flushed and stared down at the bare grease-stained hearth. “I see ye do,” said Nan. She sighed and shook her head. “I’d niv-er’ve believed it o’ Meg, nor that she’d leave me as she did yester-morn, afore I waked, wi’ all her gear in a kerchief, and a note to say--” Nan stopped. The note had said, “I’m sick for home. I mun get back to the Coquet or die. My Sister, tell nobody this.” Nan had not told, though Dick had stormed and pleaded at her, and now this lad -- Nan had a sudden fear. “Mr. Radcliffe,” she said, “ye’ve not got m’wee Meg in trouble, have ye?”
    “In trouble,” repeated Charles blankly. “What trouble?”
    Nan started and peered up into his face. “How ould are ye?” she