Turn of the Tide by Margaret Skea Read Free Book Online Page B

through the low doorway onto the stairwell. ‘Come on, do you wish all the world to know that Hugh Montgomerie has at last taken thought to his appearance?’
    John’s sisters were waiting in the hall, the meal set, when John and Hugh entered. They were clustered by the fire, and for a moment Hugh thought that Elizabeth had not, after all, been
well enough to come down. Then Christian turned and he saw through the gap that opened behind her Elizabeth seated on the bench, her hands outstretched to the flickering flames.
    She made to stand up, but he hunkered down in front of her. ‘No need to rise.’
    Her eyes were inches from his and shining, her voice a little lower than he remembered, husky, perhaps from the fever. ‘I would wish that you were come in better circumstance, but am happy
for it none the less.’
    He floundered, aware of a flush in his face and heat in his palms and cross that he stammered like an idiot boy. ‘I have been away over long and you have . . .’
    ‘Changed? I find you much changed also, and more than your name; six years ago you had plenty to say for yourself. Indeed . . . rather too much.’
    ‘I believe I owe you a gown.’
    ‘I shall expect it then, and before another Yuletide, else you may claim the year of Jubilee and the debt cancelled.’
    ‘You shall have it and soon.’ He was beginning to find himself. ‘I am home now and to sort the estate. But the debts cleared, there will be a wee pickle left to settle with my
personal creditors.’
    ‘Do you have many gowns to buy?’
    Despite that he knew she teased, the colour crept in his face.
    Gillis was swinging on Christian’s arm. ‘Are we never to eat?’
    Christian patted her head, ‘Hush, child. It isn’t polite to hurry the greeting of our guests.’
    Gillis pulled her eyebrows into a frown, ‘But I’m hungry.’
    Hugh turned. ‘And so am I, and so I’m sure is everyone.’ He proferred his arm to Elizabeth and through the fine cambric of his shirt felt the touch of her fingers as a flame.
John sat at the head of the table, his manner easy saying the grace and ordering the seating and the serving of the ale. At twenty-five, his face had broadened and carried a shadow of stubble. His
jaw, sharp at nineteen, had begun to merge into his neck, indicating the thicker figure he would likely become.
    Belatedly noting the absence of the elder Shaws, Hugh said, ‘Your parents are from home?’
    ‘My father thinks to set up a permanent trading base at Veere in the Low Countries and mother has accompanied him in case, I think, that he will find too much distraction among the
continental ladies for her comfort.’
    ‘Tush, John,’ there was disapproval in Elizabeth’s voice. ‘You know the truth of it: that she wishes for once to have the choosing of silks and velvets rather than be
forced to depend on father’s erratic taste.’
    John rolled his eyes, began to protest that it was a joke only, as Christian cut in,
    ‘And I for one will be happy for it.’
    There was a general ripple of laughter at the intervention, for all knew the store she set by fashion, so that she blushed and smiled and the awkward moment was past. The evening spun on, Hugh
at Elizabeth’s side and attentive. She plied him with questions: about France and The Hague and Prince Maurice of Nassau, and how it was that he was not called ‘Orange’ despite
the death of his brother. From the way in which she followed up each of his answers with another, often more pertinent, question, Hugh realised with pleasure that she had an interest in, and a not
inconsiderable grasp of the politics of Europe. But some of her questions were more personal.
    ‘Tell me of life in the barracks.’ Her pause seemed just a fraction too long to be for breath. ‘And out of it. Is it exciting?’
    Afraid that his laugh was too loud to be altogether convincing, Hugh was dismissive. ‘Exciting enough in its way, I suppose.’ Misdemeanours there had been, but minor,