Anna Jacobs Read Online Free PDF Page B

innards with tea. ’Tis a woman’s drink, that.”
    It seemed to take him long enough to bring anything and the fire was blazing cheerfully by the time he returned. She’d drunk only half the dish of weak tea when Matthew came into the room, closing the door carefully behind him.
    “I forgot to tell you to say nothing about yourself to Simley,” he said abruptly.
    “I didn’t.”
    “Not even your name?”
    “No. I disliked his manner.” She drained the dish and set it down. “How is my great-uncle?”
    “Failing. We—the doctor and I—feel you should come and listen to his offer immediately. It’s unlikely he’ll last more than a few hours, I’m afraid.”
    “Very well.” She’d never attended a death bed before and the prospect made her feel shaky inside. Her father had been dead for over an hour by the time they carried him home, and it was Bessie who had laid out the corpse.
    As she and Matthew mounted the stairs, it became obvious that the rest of the house was as shabby as the entrance hall and equally ill cared for, though it was a commodious enough place, the sort you’d call a small manor house. From the landing two wings led away, one passageway dark, the other lighted by a candlestick on a small table. Portraits decorated the walls, but they were so dark in tone and the light so bad she couldn’t make out who they showed.
    Beyond the table another manservant was standing outside a door, as if on guard, but this man had an alert expression on his face and bobbed his head to her respectfully. As he opened the door for them, Matthew ushered her into a room lit by such a blaze of candles that she stopped for a moment to blink and allow her eyes to grow accustomed to the glare.
    A gentleman rose from beside the bed and bowed to her.
    Matthew made the introductions. “Dr Lethbury, Miss Jannvier.”
    “Is that her?” rasped a voice from the bed.
    “Yes. This is your great-niece.”
    “Bring her closer! ’Tis plaguey dark in here. Why don’t they light more candles?” The voice was slurred, the mouth twisted.
    Urged on by a firm hand under her elbow, Deborah moved forward to stand beside the bed. The dying man stretched his hand out to her and she reached out automatically to grasp it. With a strength surprising in one so near to death, he tightened his fingers round her wrist and pulled her down to sit on the edge of the bed.
    Her great-uncle was gaunt-featured with a great beak of a nose exactly like her father’s, and sparse, frizzy white hair. The slight resemblance comforted her as did the fact that the old man’s eyes were still lit by a sharp intelligence, even though one side of his face was drawn down and a line of dribble trickled from that corner of his mouth. She found herself thinking that this was a man of whom she might have grown fond had circumstances permitted—unlike her maternal uncle, whom she had quickly learned to hate.
    “Hmm. You’re prettier than I’d expected.” He fluttered his fingers towards her head. “My mother had hair like that.” Another scrutiny and he added, “You’ve got an honest face, too. Don’t you think so, Matt?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good thing you didn’t inherit the Jannvier nose. Looks even worse on a woman.” Ralph chuckled breathily, then grasped her hand again. “Got my letter, did you? Couldn’t write it myself so Matt here did it for me.” He paused, panting a little with the effort of speaking.
    “Yes, I got your letter,” she said quietly.
    “Your mother wrote—when was it, last year?—to say your father had died and left you both badly off.”
    She contented herself with a simple, “Yes.” She didn’t want to go into details in front of strangers.
    “Paul was a stupid fool! Gambling never pays unless you cheat. He was a daredevil as a lad, always into mischief, but there was no real harm in him. I never thought a Jannvier would end up dying in a tavern brawl, though.”
    She shrugged and remained silent. No doubt the