Authors: Rosemary Smith
A Stranger's Kiss
© Rosemary Smith 2014
Rosemary Smith has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in Great Britain in 2007 by Ulverscroft Large Print.
This edition published in 2014 by Endeavour Press Ltd.
It was the 24th of May 1849, what a way to spend my twenty-first birthday, a birth date I shared with Queen Victoria. The coach pulled by four greys rattled along the tracks of Bodmin Moor, taking me ever nearer to my destination of Ravensmount near the Lizard in Cornwall. I looked at my maid, Tilly, and her head lolled on the glass window, her pink lace bonnet askew on her dark ringlets, her chest rising and falling as she slept.
At least she could sleep I mused, whereas I had hardly slept since I received my friend, Amelia’s, letter some four weeks ago. I could hear Amelia’s voice, ‘Sara, I am to be married!’ she had said last September, her words followed by her gay laughter, ‘But I am to live in Cornwall,’ she said quietly, her final words to me being, ‘I am deliriously happy.’
Until four weeks ago I had not heard from her in spite of my having written to her frequently at Ravensmount, nor had she told me of Tobias Tremaine, the man she had married, except to say that he was devilishly handsome and was the master of his home Ravensmount in Cornwall.
As the never ending moor passed slowly by the window and grey skies brooded over us, our only companion was a stout middle-aged woman who snored incessantly irritating me some-what. I reached once again into my reticule for Amelia’s letter, unfolding it slowly I looked again at the words I’d read at least a hundred times before.
Dearest Sara,
Please come to me for I fear I am being poisoned, someone wants me dead. In a house full of strangers I know not who the perpetrator is. I beseech you, indeed implore you, please come soon or I feel it will be too late.
Your friend,
Amelia.
The words were few, but I could sense the urgency and distress with which they had been written and had wished to rush down to her straight away, but Mama and Papa would not hear of it. Our home in Bath was a fair distance from the desolate countryside in Cornwall, it had taken nearly four weeks to persuade them to let me travel with Tilly as chaperone. As I thought of her Tilly stirred and looked at me sleepily.
‘Are we nearly there, Miss Sara?’
‘We can’t be too far now.’ I pacified her, for Tilly had loathed the journey, the swaying of the carriage had made her feel nauseous and the lodging house we had stopped in at Exeter last evening had not been to her liking.
‘I slept on straw, Miss!’ she told me somewhat indignantly this morning.
Looking at my fob watch pinned to the bodice of my pale green dress I could see it was twelve noon. We had been travelling for three hours so had at least two more hours to travel until we reached our destination.
The coach suddenly jolted to a halt. Looking at Tilly I could see her hand clapped to her mouth, she obviously felt ill once more.
‘Come Tilly, we are to stop for refreshment,’ I coaxed as the door of the coach was opened admitting well needed fresh air.
‘I couldn’t eat a thing, Miss,’ she said quietly.
‘Maybe a cup of tea would revive you,’ I said gently as we were helped out of the coach into a small courtyard. As we walked towards the small stone built inn, with the welcoming sign of the Travellers’ Rest, our skirts swished on the gravel beneath our feet and I felt my head starting to pound. Lack of sleep and worry about Amelia was taking its toll.
Seated on a wooded bench in the dimly lit room of the inn by a fire which was needed as the place smelt damp and musty, I pulled my cream fringed shawl tighter around me.
‘Where are you travelling to?’ the lady who was our companion and sat opposite us addressed me for the first time. She had boarded at Exeter and had promptly fallen asleep. Her voice was cultured which belied the simple royal blue serge dress she wore, the skirts of which revealed her voluminous, somewhat grubby, petticoats.
‘We are bound for the Lizard and a house called Ravensmount,’ I answered politely.
‘May I ask your name?’ she enquired softly.
‘Why yes, it is Sara, Sara Osborne, and this is my maid, Tilly,’ I said introducing us and expecting a name in return.
‘Tilly needs ginger wine to settle her stomach, and some sustenance like bread and cheese,’ our nameless companion offered. ‘Give me your hand, Sara,’ she asked unexpectedly.
I removed my cream-coloured glove and offered this stranger my right hand. The hand which took my cool one was sweaty and hot and I had a feeling of revulsion as she turned my hand over, staring intently at my palm.
I wanted to pull away from her strong grasp, but at the same time was curious to know what this woman would say. For some minutes she studied my hand, her curly blonde hair was all I could see as she bent over intent on what she was thinking.
‘You have a long lifeline, but it has a break in the middle, which I foresee as danger in the not too distant future,’ with which words she let go of my hand.
‘Is that all you can say?’ I asked, disappointed and trembling at the same time.
‘I strongly advise you not to go to Ravensmount.’ As she spoke she leant towards me and whispered, ‘Or at the very least, do not spend a night there or you will be drawn into a spider’s web. Take heed young woman for I have The Sight.’
Silence between the three of us ensued after this revelation, needless to say I partook of little although I did order Tilly ginger wine and she ate her bread and cheese as I instructed. The woman never spoke again, although she watched me, her insipid blue eyes regarding me even while she ate.
Settled back in the coach, the changing scenery from moor to countryside drifted lazily by with the sun now shining in a clear blue sky. I mulled over what the woman had said, glancing at her I could see I was no longer the object of her scrutiny for she too looked from the window. Not another word had been said and when the coach halted for her to alight I panicked and spoke to her as she stepped to the ground.
‘What is your name?’ I called some shrilly.
‘Tamsin,’ she said hesitantly and I knew she had nearly said more. Her eyes searched mine and in that brief moment I could see the beautiful woman she had once been. Then she was gone, disappearing through the streets of the small village, a carpet bag in her hand.
‘Have we far to go?’ I asked the ostler before he shut the door once more.
‘About twenty mile I reckon, Miss,’ he replied in his Cornish brogue, a language quite unfamiliar to me.
I sat back in my seat and like Tilly, drifted off into an agitated slumber. Thoughts of Amelia laughing gaily and images of brightly coloured potion bottles and spiders’ webs were all mixed up and whirling around in my head. Then I was caught in the web, my hands flailing frantically to claw my way out of the tangling mesh, but, I couldn’t get free and a petrified scream escaped my lips which served to wake both Tilly and I up with a start.
‘Whatever’s the matter, Miss?’ Tilly asked softly, her arm around my shoulders.
‘Just a bad dream,’ I uttered, my body and voice trembling.
I smoothed my green skirts with my hand and gathered myself together. Sitting up straight I looked from the window. The coach had slowed down as we were on a precipitous winding track climbing slowly to the top. I could see the sea glimmering in the sunlight on our right and was painfully aware of the sheer drop to the shingle below.
‘Oh my Gawd, Miss!’ exclaimed Tilly, clapping her hand to her mouth.
‘Don’t worry,’ I soothed, feeling anything but calm, ‘I’m sure the good man has done this many times before.’ I silently said a prayer. With some relief we reached the top of the hill where the track widened and then I saw it, a gasp of surprise escaping from me.
A massive grey stone building with two crenelated towers, one at each end, lay before me. Built on a promontory, the front of the house faced the afternoon sun. I was overawed by the size of it and as the coach came to a halt a few moments later by two large stone pillars, a large stone bird sat on top of each, I guessed this to be Ravensmount.
The door of the coach opened and I could smell the salty sea air, reminding me of Weston-super-Mare, the only seaside place that I had visited. Whereas Weston was a thriving place with a promenade, here we were in the middle of nowhere.
My trunk was placed by a stone pillar in the shelter of a tall hedge, two of which lined the short drive. From where I was standing I could see the imposing tower which made up this end of the house. Tilly and I walked up the short drive. As we reached the front of the house a host of large black ravens swooped and squawked, whirling above our heads settling on the far tower. Tilly ducked her head.
‘Please, Miss, I want to go home,’ she wailed.
‘Don’t be foolish,’ I chided her, ‘it is only a few ravens.’
Before we climbed the five wide curving steps to the door I stepped back to look at the house. Even as I looked the many leaded windows glinted in the sun, akin to a row of candles burning on a dark winter’s night. Without warning the sun disappeared, turning to look I could see the black cloud which covered it momentarily.
Everything looked different, the house took on an austere menacing look and I prayed this wasn’t a bad omen. As I thought it the sun reappeared and I told myself not to be fanciful. Reaching the large oak door with Tilly at my side clutching her luggage I didn’t get the chance to ring the large bell. The door was opened to reveal a tall, gaunt looking woman with dark greying hair drawn back off her unsmiling face. She was dressed in brown with a large bunch of keys at her waist.
‘I knew you were here, the ravens always tell us when we have a visitor.’ She spoke in a firm measured voice. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I’m Amelia’s friend and have come to visit, I did write so she will be expecting me,’ I explained.
The woman hesitated before she spoke, looking at Tilly who cowered behind me, and I set to thinking that my maid had been a bad choice for a companion.
‘You’d best come in and I’ll fetch the master,’ she said grudgingly, ‘but your maid will have to come with me to the kitchen.’ The door was drawn back and I entered the vast hall. Highly polished dark floorboards covered by small brightly coloured rugs shone in the sunlight.
In the centre, a wide curving staircase with a polished banister beckoned to the upper floor, the odour of beeswax lingered in the air. To the left of the staircase I could see two wide wooden steps with a long wooden table beyond. It was all quite opulent and indeed not as I had expected.
‘May I ask your name?’ I ventured.
‘I’m Mrs Mallory, the housekeeper,’ she replied curtly. ‘Please take a seat while I take your maid to the kitchen.’ As she spoke she indicated a wooden chair by the doorway.
‘Please come with me,’ instructed Mrs Mallory on her return. She led me to a large oak door. On opening it I stepped into a sumptuous drawing room. Wine-coloured velvet curtains hung at the long window from which the sun streamed through.
‘I’ll fetch the master, Miss,’ and Mrs Mallory left me.
I looked around the room taking in the small polished tables on which stood various bric-a-brac and I noted the large wide stone fireplace, the mantle of which was again draped with wine-coloured velvet on which stood a large onyx clock graced by a china dog at each end.
The door opened quietly behind and I stood up. Was I about to meet my friend’s husband at last? I asked myself. I turned with my back to the fireplace as a tall dark-haired man stepped into the ray of sunlight. I was at a disadvantage as the sun fell in my eyes, but my heart missed a beat as I looked at this handsome stranger.
His eyes surveyed me as well, from my blonde hair, curls of which were visible under my pale green bonnet to my green eyes beneath which were sweeping over him. Colour suddenly suffused my cheeks and I felt hot and uncomfortable praying that he had not noticed.
‘Please be seated, Miss…?’ he queried, and realised that he did not know my name.
‘Sara, Sara Osborne,’ I offered in a quavering voice as I sat once more on the settle.
‘Miss Osborne, I am Tobias Tremaine. I understand you are a friend of Amelia’s.’ He stepped out of the sunlight as he spoke and I could see him more clearly. He had a handsome suntanned face with sparkling black eyes and his black hair curled appealingly at the nape of his neck.
‘Yes,’ I stammered after what seemed minutes following his question, and I felt foolish urging myself to pull myself together. ‘You are Amelia’s husband?’ I asked in a far steadier voice.
He didn’t answer for some time, but when he did his words surprised me. ‘No. Amelia and I did not marry for many reasons, the main one being that she loathed this house,’ he said quietly.
‘But,’ I stammered, ‘she led me to believe you are married, and four weeks ago I received a letter imploring me to come to her.’
‘Then you are on a fool’s errand, Miss Osborne,’ he informed me.
‘And why pray is that?’ I countered.
‘Because my dear Miss Osborne, your friend, Amelia, disappeared two weeks ago.’