The Wicked Trade (The Forensic Genealogist Book 7), Nathan Goodwin [little red riding hood ebook TXT] 📗

to Ashford by more than an hour. ‘It be gone,’ she lamented as she rejoined Jonas, who passed her another glass of rum.

‘I shall take you back,’ he said with a grin. ‘After this drink.’

Ann sat back down contentedly light of mind and spirit. The rum smoothed any apprehensions at her missing the coach and removed her original misgivings about Jonas Blackwood.

His small pleasing smile parted his lips as he stared at her.

She returned the smile, feeling an unfamiliar coyness.

The journey on horseback was passing in a haze of giddiness. Ann had clung tightly to Jonas’s midriff, sometimes through the absolute terror of falling, sometimes—when the horse was at a steady canter—simply to feel the hammering of his heart beneath her exploring fingers.

Though the darkness was springing and dancing around her, Ann knew that, having reached the village of Aldington, they were now riding along the incorrect road. ‘You be going the wrong way!’ Ann shouted.

Jonas pulled the horse into a trot and arched back his head. ‘Pardon?’

‘You be going the wrong way,’ she repeated. ‘I be lodging at the Walnut, now.’

Jonas accepted the news, slowed the horse, then turned back on himself. A few minutes later, they had reached the front of the Walnut Tree Inn. Ann dismounted first, glancing across at the silhouetted figures passing behind the flickering candles in the windows.

Jonas jumped down skilfully and quickly tethered the horse. ‘Why are you living here?’ he asked, his words breathy and warm on her face.

‘I were rather in the way at Braemar Cottage,’ she mumbled, eschewing the truth, which probably would have sufficed as an explanation, but the darkness empowered her to reveal more. ‘I also be having some attention from Mister Banister.’

‘Oh,’ Jonas said, though Ann could not tell from that single utterance how he had taken the news, until he added, ‘I better be on my way.’ Then, she knew that it had been accepted as a warning.

‘No, I bain’t meaning…’ She moved in closer to him and kissed him lightly on the lips.

A few short seconds passed, their mouths close but not touching. She kissed him again, with reciprocal vigour and intensity.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Morton was standing in the centre of a stretched hoop of sunshine, which poured through the kitchen window, as he waited for the kettle to boil. A motley assortment of six mugs stood on the worktop beside him. He looked on them as direct representations of the people currently chatting in the lounge and grinned to himself, thinking that the last few days could not have passed off any better. The day after the party had been a relaxed one. He and Juliette had met up with Margaret and Jim for lunch, then had had dinner out with Jack, Laura and George. A pleasant excursion with them to Canterbury had followed the next day.

His meandering mind skipped with the click of the kettle. He made the drinks, then placed the mugs onto a tray and carried them into the lounge. In a peculiar rollcall of his family, Morton matched the mug with its recipient.

‘How did you find staying at that hotel?’ Laura asked, her eyes passing between Margaret and Jim. ‘It looks kinda spooky to me.’

‘Absolutely lovely,’ Margaret answered, with a vague nod of agreement from Jim. ‘In every nook and cranny, you can feel the past. It’s like it’s alive with history.’

‘I think that’s what Laura means,’ Jack laughed.

‘The only fright I had in the night,’ Jim began, ‘was Margaret in a nightdress and hair-rollers.’

Margaret rolled her eyes and blushed a light pink.

‘You guys sure picked a good day to be travelling back home,’ Jack said to Margaret and Jim.

‘Yes, and we’ll have missed rush hour by the time we’ve finished this drink,’ Margaret agreed.

‘When are you flying back to Canada?’ Jim asked.

‘Friday morning; so, we only have two more full days left,’ Laura replied, curling her lower lip.

‘It’s been such a great trip,’ Jack enthused. ‘We really have to come over here more often.’ He turned to Juliette. ‘Don’t worry—we wouldn’t expect you to put up with us every time.’

‘Don’t be silly—you’re welcome here anytime,’ Juliette said. ‘All of you.’

‘Well, if this date goes well, we won’t need to worry about convincing George to come again,’ Laura said with a chuckle.

‘I wonder how they’re getting on…’ Juliette said to nobody in particular.

The chat about George and Lucy going on a date continued with parental scepticism about the wisdom and perils of a very-long-distance relationship, but Morton’s mind drifted elsewhere. He noticed that Laura had implied that George had needed convincing to come to England. Morton still had no idea if George was just a naturally distant person, or if he had some kind of a problem with him. They had still yet to hold anything resembling a conversation which moved beyond the perfunctory; the time for any such growth in their relationship was fast disappearing.

Morton zoned back into the discussion to hear Margaret shuffling forwards in her seat and placing her mug down onto the tray. ‘Right,’ she said, tapping Jim on the leg. ‘Time we made a move.’

Jim obediently downed his drink and stood up, an action mimicked by Jack, Laura and Juliette.

Morton felt a twinge of rising awkwardness at the parting, fearing a repeat of their uncomfortable arrival. He watched as his Aunty Margaret moved to Laura, hugged her and said goodbye, then to Jack. She paused in front of him and smiled.

‘It honestly has been lovely seeing you again, Jack,’ she said. ‘I won’t deny I was quite nervous at the prospect and…well, I even considered not coming at all, but I’m glad that I did. You’ve got yourself a beautiful family.’

They embraced and Jack—indicating Morton—said, ‘We’ve got a beautiful family.’

A tinge of embarrassment mottled Margaret’s neck and cheeks.