The Master of Phoenix Hall Read Online Free PDF Page B

about his words. Did no one have a good word for Phoenix Hall? Could Roderick Mellory, a man I had never seen, really be all that bad? Was this part of the country completely wild, with highwaymen and tensions and unrest among the common people? I had heard about the fierce coastal storms and the destructive gales, and I imagined that the emotional climate was equally as fierce. I tossed restlessly between the coarse, heavy linen sheets. They had been freshly washed and smelled of strong soap. I tried to sleep, but it was impossible.
    I felt I was in a state of suspension. London, and my life there for the past twenty-one years, was behind me, and ahead there was only the unknown. We would reach the village tomorrow at noon, and shortly thereafter I would be in Dower House, my new home. I wondered what awaited me there. I finally slept, and I dreamed wild, stormy dreams that might have been a prediction of what was going to take place soon.

III
    T HE AIR was glorious, strongly laced with salt, and even though we had not yet seen the sea there was the unmistakable sense of its nearness. I could feel it, an almost human presence over all the countryside. The coach was making a slow winding climb up a hill, through pine trees and scrubby oaks with blackish-green and rusty brown leaves. As we reached the top of the hill we saw the ocean for the first time, a surging blue-gray mass with a life all its own, moving out to a misty horizon. Dunes covered with the stubble of salt grass slanted down to the water and sea gulls circled aimlessly. I felt my heart leap with excitement as I saw this beauty unlike any I had ever seen before.
    â€œIt’s marvelous, Nan,” I exclaimed.
    â€œPretty,” she said, more restrained in her admiration.
    â€œLook at the water—and the gulls. The sun on their wings.”
    â€œNice,” she agreed.
    Up in the distance a town was set on some rocky cliffs, and near at hand there was a sprinkling of farms and fishermen’s houses. They looked rough and raw, beaten by the sea wind, but their colors were bright in the harsh white sunlight. Plumes of smoke rose from the chimneys, and I saw tiny figures moving like toys. This was a Cornwall sun-bleached and peaceful, surely no place for violence.
    We rode along the ridge for a long time, passing many small towns, as lovely as the first, before turning inland into a heavily wooded area. It was cooler here in the shadows of the trees with pine needles making a soft floor for the wheels of the coach. We passed a man leading four cows with a long stick. He prodded them over to the side of the road and they stood watching with placid bovine faces as the coach joggled past. Later on I saw a little girl with bare feet, her yellow hair the color of straw, walking along the side of the road, surrounded by geese who honked loudly as she scattered bits of grain before her. Nestled in her arms was a tiny brown rabbit.
    â€œIt looks so peaceful,” I told Nan. “I think I shall love it.”
    I meant it. I had never seen the country, my life having been confined to the city. This was a new world unfolding, and I found it enchanting. My whole body seemed to be tingling, as though my blood had been revitalized by the salt air and the fresh, sharp breezes. I leaned out the window, taking in everything with hungry eyes. The experiences of the night before, the highwayman, my chill, my apprehensions had all been temporarily forgotten.
    Four sturdy young men crossed the road, carrying farming implements on their shoulders. They were talking loudly and joking like all healthy young men. They stopped to watch the coach pass by, and one of them let out a raucous yell when he saw Nan perched forward with her golden curls clustered about her face. She waved to the men and settled back onto her seat with a sigh. After that she began to show a little more enthusiasm. As long as there was an ample supply of fine looking men, Nan could be happy