CHAPTER 69
“Miss Wains! Miss Wains! Please wait!”
His very voice made her blood want to flee, but she spun around, forcing a smile lest she scream. “Mr. Runington, shouldn’t you be at the doctor?”
“Yes, I am. Or I was. I just saw you from the window. Tell me you’re not going back to that dreadful lighthouse. I asked around. Others have seen the ghost.”
She froze; her breaths felt sharp and painful, but she tried to act natural as she said, “Mr. Runington, that can’t be possible.
I have lived there all my life and I have never seen it nor did my father ever speak of it.
” Except that she did and he had. How often had he told her of long-haired ghosts and the monsters that owned the sea?
“No, I had my crew ask the fishermen and they’ve seen a white-haired specter. With hair long and like the moon, and lips like ruby blood.”
“Mr. Runington! I think you’re just trying to scare me!” She meant out of the lighthouse or she hoped he would take it that way. But it was more true in other ways. She was terrified, so terrified she was sure each next breath would not come.
“No, no, I do not mean to frighten you. I speak the truth. The men have seen it as of late. Ever since you failed to save those men. They say it must be the ghost of one of them.”
“Mr. Runington, I am not a child that can be scared out of my home!”
“No, listen to me!” he said, grabbing her upper arms.
“Let go of me! Let go this instance!” She wriggled a bit, but it was startling how firm his grip was.
In fact, now that she really looked at him, his build was not that of a rich son of a merchant who spent his time accounting and doing the books.
No, it was the build of a sailor, used to lifting sails and heaving cargo. And she could not break free.
“Let go of her while I’m still playing nice.”
They both turned to the new voice. Mr. Wilson stood, tall, his face dark and ominous, his arms crossed. His build was even bigger than that of the trees he worked with, and Mr. Runington slowly obeyed.
“I am not trying anything strange,” he started.
“No? Then why did I hear her screaming?”
Mr. Wilson reached out a package to her; she recognized it as the bread. “I was trying to catch up to give you this. I did not think he would try to accost you so soon.” His eyes truly threatened murder to the man. “How dare you, sir? What kind of gentleman lays hands on a woman?”
“No, no, there must be a misunderstanding.”
She glared at him; how often did he claim that? He must be the most misunderstood man on the earth.
“I was merely saying this to protect her,” Mr. Runington continued.
“As if I’d believe that from a man who already threatened her.”
Mr. Runington looked at her as if he was both hurt and bewildered she would tell such a thing. “No, listen to me, the both of you. It’s not just me. Ask the fishers. There’s a ghost about, and it’s coming for her. She can’t go back to the lighthouse.”
“How do we know it’s coming for me now,” she said, “when I haven’t even seen it?”
“Who else could it be coming for? It lingers near the lighthouse. It’s come ever since you let those men drown—”
“I did not let anyone drown!”
“—so what else could it want but your blood?”
“That’s a big leap,” Mr. Wilson said.
“And ghosts aren’t real,” she finished. Everything from Mr. Wilson’s tone to his expression to his brow said the same.
“Threats didn’t work so now you think you’ll try ghost stories?” Mr. Wilson sneered. “That’s cute. What’s next? Monsters?”
It would be hilarious if it were not so tense: the man who wanted to believe in mermaids taunting the one who believed in ghosts.
“It is not. There is no scheme here,” Mr. Runington said. Then looking to her, he added, “Though the offer still stands of course, and I implore you, Miss Wains—”
“Enough!” Mr. Wilson barked and even she flinched. She hadn’t known he had such a tone in him. “What do you even mean to do?”
“She must come with me to the city.” He said it so simply, like there was no other possibility in all the world.
Mr. Wilson gave a biting laugh of shock. “You would ask a lady to go with you to the city? To be what? Your mistress?”
“No, you fool,” Mr. Runington spat. “My wife!”
But Mr. Wilson’s eyes practically glowed. “And what if she’s already spoken for?”