The Whispering Rocks Read Online Free Page A

Ignoring the niceties of behavior and manners, he stopped before Sarah and the abuse poured out in a slurred torrent.
    As she sat there she could only feel immense shame that this drunken boor was her father. On and on he went, while his shallow guests enjoyed every despicable moment of her humiliation. Hermione could not keep her face from beaming and Edward’s delight was scarcely less obvious. Now perhaps his uncle would relent and put aside this upstart wench.
    At last Stratford’s rage was spent and he stood there breathing heavily, his pale green eyes bright. She had made a fool of him, she and Jack Holland between them. All the social prestige brought by Holland’s presence at Rook House had surely been undone by this. Stratford wished to be eccentric, wished to have his name talked about, but not in this way! He glared at his daughter. He had rescued her from nothing, from nowhere, offered her wealth, position and security! And how did she repay him? The anger flared again and he struck her across the face.
    Sarah’s head snapped back and her cheek flamed scarlet where his blow had fallen. Even Stratford’s guests were a little taken aback at this; the smiles faded and looks of discomfort replaced them. Several throats were cleared and Hermione glanced around, wondering if her fool of a brother-in-law had gone too far. Sympathy toward Sarah was the last thing Hermione and her son wanted.
    “Have you nothing to say in your defense?” Stratford nervously loosened his cravat as he sensed the change of atmosphere in the room. The wine-laden haze was evaporating and he began to realize the enormity of what he had done.
    Slowly she rose to her feet. “There seems little point when I’m obviously already judged and condemned, Father.” She inclined her head briefly to him and walked from the room, her slippers pattering loudly in the silence.
    Outside her pride deserted her and she gathered her skirts to run in an unbecoming manner up the wide, curving staircase flanked by its silent carved rooks and rows of paintings of thoroughbreds. In the sanctuary of her own room she flung herself on the bed and wept bitterly. Betty came in and saw her, but left her alone to weep away her unhappiness.
    Sarah’s sobs would not subside and eventually she cried herself to sleep, crumpling the muslin gown and ignoring the pins which pressed against her scalp. The little velvet flowers were crushed and spoiled forever.
    * * *
    “Madam. Miss Sarah.” Betty was whispering urgently in her ear and shaking her shoulder.
    Drowsily, Sarah raised her head, her red-rimmed eyes stinging with the salt of her tears. Her head ached and her mouth was dry. In the fireplace a fire still glowed and the room was otherwise in darkness but for the single candle which Betty held close.
    “What is it?”
    Betty looked worried, frightened almost. “You must get up, madam, for there’s someone to see you.”
    “Who?” Sarah’s voice sounded very loud in the silent house and Betty quickly put her finger to her lips and looked over her shoulder as if expecting Old Nick himself to be standing there.
    “It’s Mr. ‘Olland, and ‘e wishes to speak urgently and privately with you. I didn’t know what to do, miss, ‘cause it’s not right for ‘im to come in here, especially after—”
    “Where is he?” Puzzled by all this secrecy, Sarah interrupted the maid. She sat up, rubbing her eyes and straightening her ruffled hair.
    “I’m here.” Jack’s voice broke into the room and she could vaguely make him out in the shadows by the door.
    She took the candle from the maid. “All right, Betty. Wait outside in the other room. It will be safe enough—don’t worry so.” She smiled, but Betty looked unhappy, for if this should be discovered after all the other trouble today ...
    “If you should want me, madam, just call me.” She scuttled past Jack as if frightened of coming within his spell.
    Sarah stood the candle upon a small table by the