Wendy Soliman by Duty's Destiny Read Free Book Online Page A

afternoon.
    Felix was snapped out of his reverie by the sound of her voice.
    “May I introduce you to the rest of our guests, Mr. Beaumont?”
    “Certainly you may.”
    Felix followed her toward a tiny woman of indeterminate age. “Mr. Beaumont, this is Miss Willoughby.”
    The little woman trilled in excitement when Felix bowed, but appeared a little alarmed by his size. She twittered, declared herself delighted, and fiddled distractedly with her shawls. A harmless creature, and nothing to do with the foul goings-on in the Barker family, if Felix was any judge.
    “Miss Willoughby is an old acquaintance of my aunt’s, Mr. Beaumont, and is our longest-standing resident. She’s been with us ever since we opened our doors to guests.”
    “And most comfortable you have made me, Saskia, dear,” Miss Willoughby said, earnestly.
    A gentleman walked up to them.
    “This is Captain Fanshaw, Mr. Beaumont. He is engaged upon writing a Seafarer’s Almanac.”
    “Quite so.” Fanshaw shook Felix’s hand. “Been a seafaring man all my life, sir, and would advise you most strongly not to believe all the rot that’s been written upon the subject. Feel duty-bound to set the record straight, you see. No choice in the matter. Do you know the sea yourself, Beaumont?”
    “I cannot claim any particular knowledge in that respect,” Felix said, even though it was a blatant lie. Felix took a keen interest in the family’s business. He turned his attention to the middle-aged couple whom Mrs. Eden was now waiting to introduce.
    “This is Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins, who are spending the summer with us, Mr. Beaumont. Mrs. Jenkins has been indisposed, and her physician has recommended sea air.”
    “Then I trust you’ll soon make a full recovery, Mrs. Jenkins,” Felix said, bowing once more.
    “Oh, she’ll be fine,” her husband answered for her. “Just a little rest will see her restored in no time.”
    Mrs. Jenkins didn’t appear capable of answering for herself, or of contradicting her domineering husband. Felix was glad of an excuse to turn away from them as he awaited an introduction to the final person in the room — the one who had attracted his attention almost as soon as he entered it.
    “Mr. Beaumont, may I present Mr. Fothergill.”
    Felix found his gaze focused upon a small, exceptionally thin man, whose head didn’t reach Felix’s shoulder. His coat was threadbare, his neckcloth slightly soiled, and he was wearing thin, ill-fitted trousers, rather than the more acceptable breeches which adorned the person of every other man in the room. His face bore the tell-tale signs of an imbiber, having broken blood vessels and unnaturally heightened colour. Felix noticed, when he shook his proffered hand, that it was slightly unsteady. As if to lend truth to Felix’s suspicion, Fothergill helped himself to his second glass of sherry in ten minutes.
    “Mr. Fothergill is a school master.” Mrs. Eden didn’t notice, or perhaps chose to ignore his rudeness in making free with her aunt’s sherry. “He currently has the task of teaching my children.”
    “And they would learn well enough, if only they were better disciplined.” Fothergill stood far closer to Mrs. Eden than politeness dictated, an air of propriety about his action. “‘Spare the rod and spoil the child’ was the motto in my last school, and I see nothing wrong with that.”
    The lady herself frowned fleetingly at his forthright statement but made no attempt to contradict him. She did however step slightly away from him.
    Fothergill clasped his lapels, his stance oozing confidence. He clearly believed that an opinion expressed upon a subject he felt well-qualified to expound upon would pass unchallenged. It was most annoying, but Felix found himself wanting to defend Mrs. Eden and her delightful twins against this pompous oaf, and proceeded to do just that.
    “Really, Fothergill? Is not such an attitude merely an excuse for poor teaching?”
    Felix could have