He turned to find Cailean regarding him with a worshipful stare. “Is Lily safe?”
Cailean nodded, but his gaze turned to one of worry, and he glanced toward Jem and then at Martha, clearly wanting to say something.
“What is it?” Hugo asked.
But Jem just shook his head and Cailean looked away. What was going on? Would the islanders really be so offended that he and Martha had gotten stuck while looking for Cailean?
Hugo bristled at the thought; he dared anyone to so much as look sideways at Martha. Especially Clark; the man had better mind his step.
Hugo would speak to the vicar, himself, and assure him that nothing inappropriate had happened. Thankfully, he could do so with a clear conscience. Aside from a chaste kiss, he had behaved like a complete gentleman for the first time in his life. It was about as enjoyable as he’d always suspected it would be.
He could also tell the vicar about Martha’s betrothal, which would put an end to any other foolishness. Hugo wouldn’t say anything to the vicar, now, but he would send back some money after he got home, just to thank him for all that he and Martha had done for Hugo.
It took less than ten minutes to get from the caves to the beach at Nethertown, where a great number of yoles were up on the sand.
Hugo frowned; was it Sunday today?
“Why are none of the boats out?” Martha asked.
Jem’s jaw moved back and forth, his gaze shifty.
Martha looked at Hugo and he shrugged.
Only then did Hugo notice all the people standing higher up on the beach. “Jesus,” Hugo muttered under his breath. It looked like the entire population of the island, even Gerry Boyle, had gathered to greet them. He swallowed. Were he and Martha really in so much trouble?
“Jem?” Martha’s voice was unnaturally high.
Robert Clark stood at the front of the crowd and he and two other men came forward to catch the yole.
Before they even reached the shore Cailean scooped up Martha and hopped into the frigid water, which came to his knees.
Hugo scrambled toward the bow as the two men beached the boat. “What in the—”
“Put her down right now, Cailean,” Robert Clark ordered, his expression stern. The huge lad jolted.
“It’s all right, Cailean,” Martha soothed. “You can set me down.”
He did so, and then scuttled away from Clark, visibly frightened.
“You’ve scared him.” Martha frowned at her betrothed. “There’s no reason to—”
“There’s been an accident, Martha.”
Martha looked over the crowd of people. “Is somebody hurt? My father—where’s—” Her eyes darted wildly before settling on Clark again. “Where’s my father?”
Clark cleared his throat. “There was a fire at your cottage and—well, I’m sorry, but your father was there. He must have been sleeping when—”
“No.” She shook her head violently, backing away from Clark as if he were attacking her. “No. You’re lying—” She stumbled, and Hugo lurched forward to catch her.
Martha twisted in his grasp, tears streaming down her face as she stared up at him. “Hugo—tell him he’s lying!”
Hugo slid his arms around her slender, shaking shoulders, his gaze riveted to Clark. For once, the other man’s face contained only sorrow, no dislike or fear.
“What happened?” Hugo asked as he stroked Martha’s back.
“Maybe a candle fell over or the vicar put something on to cook and forgot about it.” Clark shrugged. “It’s hard to say.”
Hugo thought about how absentminded Mr. Pringle had been the day he’d invited him in for tea. And then he thought about the vicar’s expression when Hugo had told him that Martha would never leave the island without him.
I’ll take care of that, he’d said.
Hugo’s stomach churned, as if he’d eaten something rotten. Had this been Mr. Pringle’s way of taking care of things?
“It can’t be right, can it, Hugo?” Martha’s fingers dug into his waist.
“I don’t think Mr. Clark would lie to you, love,” he said quietly.
But Martha didn’t seem to hear him. “He can’t be gone. He was here just hours ago—he can’t be gone so fast, not without some sort of … warning or chance to say goodbye. That’s not how it’s supposed to happen. Is it?”
Hugo frantically searched his mind for something that might comfort her. But, in his experience, that is exactly what happened to the people you cared about: they left you when you least expected it and without warning.
Clark laid a hand on Martha’s shoulder. “Come, Martha. My mother and sister are waiting for you at the house. We will take care of you.”
Hugo felt her body stiffen slightly and he held her gaze, looking for some clue as to what she wanted—needed.
Her eyes pled with him—begged him to do or say something that would take away her pain and return her life to the way it had been yesterday, when her father had still been alive.
But he couldn’t give her that. Nobody could.
She dropped her gaze and stood unresisting as Clark slid his arm around her shoulders.
Hugo swayed toward her as Clark led her away, his hands twitching to grab her back. But she wasn’t his to comfort, was she? She had told him only hours before of her betrothal.
Martha had an arm around Clark’s big body and clung to him, her feet stumbling as the crowd parted for them. She sobbed like her heart was breaking.
Hugo suspected it was. And there wasn’t a damned thing he could do to help her.
Chapter 20
Hugo dried his face on what used to be his second-best waistcoat but was now his hand towel, and then washed the rag in the rapidly cooling wash water and hung it out to dry.
There. Now he was ready for work tomorrow. His last day of work, in fact.
The day after—Saturday—Packard would ferry Hugo over to the mainland where he’d engage a room at the inn, purchase some clothing and shoes, and then hire a post chaise to
