Ember Island by Kimberley Freeman Read Free Book Online Page B

flowers riot through the beds, and between taming them and pulling weeds the long afternoons took care of themselves. She returned to the house in the evening, filmed with perspiration and soil, and sank into a perfumed bath to enjoy the dull ache of her muscles. She would go mad without the garden to tend. She didn’t know how other women could school themselves to an indoor life of watercolor painting and soft etudes on the pianoforte.
    Tilly spent as much time as she could in the mornings and evenings with Grandpa, reading to him and listening to his stories. It seemed the nearer his death drew, the better his memory of his early life became. He told her childhood anecdotes until he was hoarse. Her mind often wandered, but she did her best to listen toevery small detail and smiled and laughed in all the right places. She could imagine nothing sadder than Grandpa being without company in his last days, and the gentle squeeze of her hand every time she left told her that he was glad she had stayed.
    •
     
    Tilly was in the garden on the Tuesday Godfrey arrived without notice. She sat in the wooden seat she’d had placed between the hawthorn hedges, with a book open on her lap. Sweet jasmine was heavy in the air. A bumblebee buzzed listlessly nearby, and she was almost falling into a doze when the clop of hooves and the rattle of a carriage roused her. She rose and rounded the side of the house to see the arrival of Godfrey’s gleaming black and red chaise, drawn by two matching bay horses. They stopped at the entranceway and the footman opened the door to help Pamela down.
    Pamela. Godfrey’s wife. Tilly’s stomach turned over. Why did she have to come? Grandpa despised her. Seeing her would likely make him more ill than he already was. Tilly hurried over to greet them, saying the little mantra in her head she always said when Godfrey and Pamela were around. Be calm and moderate. A temper serves nobody. They were words her grandfather had said to her a thousand times.
    “I hadn’t thought we’d see you,” she said quickly, as Godfrey took Pamela’s arm. He wore a tall hat and a black coat, and Pamela was in a green traveling coat that rode up over her bustle. With her perfectly rounded blonde curls and big blue eyes, she resembled nothing so much as a porcelain doll.
    “I was going to send a letter,” Godfrey said, offhandedly. He was as unattractive as his wife was handsome, with mousy hairthat always looked dirty and a body like two pillows tied together. “But it was unnecessary. The old man isn’t going anywhere and it would be too shocking, I suppose, for you to allow your husband to house and feed you.”
    Tilly let the jab slide. It had been delivered with Godfrey’s customary wry smile, which meant he could say as he pleased and later claim he was jesting if anyone took offense.
    “How is the old man?” Godfrey asked.
    “He is very tired, but otherwise in good spirits. You must allow me to go ahead and prepare him for your visit. I don’t want him to be overwhelmed.”
    Godfrey was already striding for the front door, nearly bowling Mrs. Granger over to get in the house.
    “Granger, we’ll have tea in the parlor, thank you,” he said.
    “Yes, Mr. Kirkland,” she answered with a little nod. The slight tightness in the woman’s jaw was the only outward sign that she disliked her incoming master.
    Tilly smiled at Mrs. Granger. “Do take your time,” she said.
    Godfrey gave Tilly a frown, but did not push further. Pamela was already in the parlor, inspecting the drapes. “How old are these?” she asked Tilly.
    Tilly knew Pamela already saw Grandpa’s house as her own, and was so outraged at this obvious and uncouth anticipation of possession that she dared not answer in case she said something everyone would regret. Instead, she tried to stall Godfrey on the stairs. “Please,” she said, “let me come with you. He’s very frail . . .”
    Godfrey took her wrist firmly and set her