Page 67 of A Gathering Storm

Nick regarded her as he turned that question over in his mind. Isabella was six years his junior, a bright, pretty, spoiled young woman with the world at her feet. She was the apple of Godfrey’s eye, and he’d always indulged her shamelessly, showering her with gifts. When she was very small, and had taken an unaccountable liking to Nick, Nick had been outwardly offhand with her, but secretly fascinated by this tiny, demanding queen. But there had always been—on his side at least—a tension between them too. And yes, a resentment.

She was his cousin, his blood. And yet he would always be her social inferior. Part of the Roscarrock clan, but never truly one of them. Just as he would never be one of the villagers, even though he’d lived there all his life and played with the village children when he was a boy.

“I don’t belong here, Bella,” he said roughly.

She blinked. “What?”

“I don’t belong here,” Nick repeated. “Not really. I’ll always be Darklis Hearn’s Gypsy bastard in this place.” He shrugged, feigning unconcern.

“Nick,” she whispered. “I don’t—I don’t know what to say.”

Somehow he managed to huff out a laugh. “Well, that makes a nice change. I’ve never known a more talkative person than you.”

She gave a choked laugh of her own. “Grandy says I should try to be more like you—learn how to keep my own counsel. Oh Nick, he does care about you, you know! He just can’t show it, or say it—it’s not his way.”

Nick sighed heavily. “It’s nice that you want to believe that, but the truth, as far as the old man’s concerned, is that I’m an embarrassment. Jacob’s Gypsy by-blow. Godfrey gave me a job and a home, and though I never asked for it, I wasn’t too proud to take it, not when he got my labour in return. But he doesn’t owe me anything, Bella, and I don’t owe him or anyone else. Truth is, I’m free as a bird. There’s nothing holding me to this place.” He smiled weakly. “Isn’t that grand?”

She shook her head. “I’ve seen you walking the cliffs, Nick. I walked them with you when I was a girl sometimes, and if ever someone was in love with a place, it’s you. You love the Roscarrock land, and these horses and—” she looked around, found Snow lying dozing in the corner of the stable, pointed at him “—that ugly dog, and—and Grandy and me, a little bit too, I think. That’s what’s holding you here, or what should be.”

Was that what held you to a place. Loving things?

Loving people?

Was that what made you belong? If so, then why did he feel lonelier than ever when he thought about what and who he loved?

And Christ, was it only two weeks since Truro?

It felt like a lifetime.

Isabella gazed at him hopefully, and he felt a strange mixture of emotions at that look, because yes, he did love her a little, but sometimes he hated her a little too. For never seeming to mind that he worked in the stables while she just played there, or that he’d been schooled in the evenings after a long day of labour while she was taught French by a fancy governess and had dancing and drawing lessons, and Harry was sent off to school with the sons of the great and the good.

Perhaps she saw something of his thoughts on his face, because her own fell, and for a moment she looked so like the little girl she’d once been that, despite himself, he found himself sighing and saying, “You’re a pain in the neck, Bella, but I suppose I don’t mind you too much.”

The hurt expression faded at that, though she still looked heartbroken.

“Oh, cheer up,” he said, injecting a bit of humour into his voice. “I bet you won’t even miss me once I’m gone!” He even managed a grin then, though he wondered how convincing it could possibly be.

“I wouldn’t be sad if I thought you wanted to leave,” she said. “But I don’t think you do. Everything and everyone you love is here, Nick.”

She had listed all those everythings and everyones a moment ago, but she’d missed the most important one. The one who dominated his thoughts every day. The one who made his heart wrench whenever Nick thought of him.

The one who was the reason he couldn’t bear to stay another day.

Isabella thought that love was what held you to a place, and maybe that was true, mostly. But sometimes it was the very thing that drove you away.

22nd July 1853

Nick wanted to walk along the cliff tops one last time before he left Porthkennack, but when he rose from his bed on the day of his departure, it was to find that a thick mist had rolled in from the sea, shrouding the coastal path in a dense, white veil. His planned walk—the one he’d intended to be a farewell to the only home he’d ever known—became instead a ghostly thing. As sure-footed as he was, he couldn’t see further than two feet in front of him and eventually he turned back, disappointed.

Over the course of the morning, the mist slowly cleared, but as it did so, the sky grew steadily darker, the air thickening with the close, heavy promise of bad weather. It seemed, Nick thought, that Ward was going to get his storm, at long last. And if Nick was any judge, it was going to be a bad one.

The coach wasn’t due to leave till four o’clock, so at noon, Nick went down to the village for a walk around and a tankard of ale at the Hope & Anchor.

“I hear yer off,” Martha Trevylyn said, as she set his ale down on the bar and held her hand out for his coin.

“Ayes,” Nick said.

“Talkative feller, aren’tcha?” Martha said, laughing.