Page 36 of Echoes of the Sea (Storm Tide #2)

Having only ever seen semaphore used in movies, Kip was admittedly fascinated watching Ivers use flags to communicate with the lighthouse farther up the coast. Ivers had agreed to go into the village with Kip, Smudge, and Mick but couldn’t leave the lighthouse unmanned.

“Loftstone is in the keeping of the Pierce family, legends among lighthouse keepers. Them’ll send one of the family down this way to keep watch at Guilford while I’m in the village.”

And that was exactly what happened. A man in a heavy wool coat over a thick-knit sweater, a cap pulled tight over his head against the wind arrived by way of a rowboat.

Ivers and the man exchanged quick and silent nods, then the new arrival made for the lighthouse.

Ivers turned on a dime and began walking along the island path back toward the house.

Not a word was exchanged and apparently didn’t need to be.

Maybe that was why Ivers wasn’t overly prone to talking. He was used to communicating in ways other than words.

It wasn’t until Mick, Smudge, Kip, and Ivers, tucked tightly into the pony cart, made their way around toward the side of the house facing the sea road that the lighthouse keeper broke his silence.

He jutted his stubbled chin in the direction of the house.

“Miss looks nervous. Be’est a fine idea for you to hop up there and reassure she. ”

The snickers from the other two told Kip he hadn’t mistaken the teasing he thought he heard in the man’s suggestion.

Though it wasn’t exactly the style of teasing he’d exchanged with Malcolm, he appreciated it just the same.

Kip was alone in many ways, and his entire future had disappeared in an instant.

To have even the tiniest hint of what he’d enjoyed about his friendship with a man who had been like a brother helped.

And seeing Amelia standing outside the house, watching them with a look that was both hopeful and anxious, somehow helped too.

Smudge brought the cart to a stop and gave Kip an expectant look. Not needing any more encouragement than that, he hopped from the cart and rushed up the stairs on the side of the house that led to the small terrace where she stood.

“I know you’re not fond of standing out here, where you can hear the ocean so clearly,” he said.

“I hate that I am leaving the doing of these important things to others. It’s not fair to any of you and makes me feel too ... weak, I suppose. Helpless.”

He took her hands in his. It was not something he’d really ever done in his own time, except as part of a scene in a television show or movie.

But it felt so right with Amelia. “We’re all well aware of the requirements of your grandfather’s will.

And we’ll reiterate that to the village so they know you aren’t dismissing the importance of what you’re asking. ”

“There is something very frustrating about being charged with proving how capable I am but being required to do so under circumstances that prevent me from being capable.”

Kip leaned closer. He lowered his voice. “I think that might have been the point, my dear. I didn’t know your grandfather, but all I’ve learned of him and this arrangement tells me he probably wanted you to fail.”

She lifted her eyes to him again, and only then did he realize how close he’d actually come to her, leaning in as he had.

She was so near that he could see the nuances of color in her brown eyes, the tiny freckles that dotted her face, and the subtle variations of color in her auburn hair.

He couldn’t entirely keep his eyes from dropping to her lips.

He didn’t know all the customs of this era, but he suspected they’d been bent and twisted in The Beau .

That show had involved a great many romantic entanglements, where torrid embraces and quite a lot more happened remarkably quickly and frequently and with few if any consequences.

But he knew by instinct that as much as he would like to kiss Amelia, and kiss her rather thoroughly, he’d have to be patient and measured and come to a better understanding of a lot of things before even tiptoeing in that direction.

He took the tiniest step back, squeezing her hands. “We’ll convince the village, I’m certain of it. I don’t intend to leave until we do.” But that brought worry to her face.

“You might not come back?”

That was not the message he’d intended to send. He lifted her free hand to his lips, absolutely certain he was allowed to do that. He lightly kissed her fingers. “I will always come back. But I don’t mean to come back alone.”

She blushed, and that was tremendously rewarding. Maybe that was one of the reasons for all the strict rules of this era. It made for more of a challenge, and the reward for making progress was all the sweeter for it.

“We don’t yet know how the village will respond to your situation,” she reminded him. “Please be careful. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”

Man, there it was again: that feeling of elation at such a simple proof of progress.

He gave a quick nod. “I’ll be careful. And I’ll come back.”

He was still riding high as they crossed the sea road and made their way into the village, something Mick seemed to enjoy immensely.

They were a motley crew, to be sure, wandering into the Rusted Anchor pub.

A gruff and impersonable lighthouse keeper.

A scamp of an orphan who wandered wild over the local island.

Smudge, who’d grown up here but had also been one of the only people from the village willing to make the journey across the sea road.

And Kip, dressed as a gentleman, professing to be one, but clearly not quite fitting in.

It would actually be a very interesting cast of characters in a murder mystery TV series.

They could wander from village to village solving mysteries and having larks.

Sometimes Kip had to actually remind himself that all this was real, that he was living in the time that he was used to seeing glorified on the screen.

It wasn’t nearly as much fun, and the stakes were exponentially higher in real life.

But it meant Amelia was real. And that meant what he felt for her was grounded in something true and sincere.

He didn’t know if he’d ever had that with Giselle. Not even at the beginning.

“Smudge’s back,” the barkeep declared to the others in the pub, which elicited a quick cheer and words of welcome.

“Always good to see you, Ivers,” the barkeep added.

The older man, who had identified himself as Smudge’s grandfather during Kip’s previous visit to the pub, motioned little Mick over and had the boy sit beside him. To the barkeep, he said, “See if you have a spot of tea for this little scamp.”

This was going relatively well.

To the room in general, Smudge said, “I’ll give the lot of you one guess what’s brought our Mr. Quality back out to the village pub.”

Looks were exchanged, at first solemn but slowly sliding into smiles. Those smiles turned to laughter. Even Ivers cracked the tiniest bit of a smile.

Into the chuckles, Smudge’s grandfather said, “Finally sorted it, did him?”

Smudge nodded. “Gave me a list of all the proof him had been seeing. And that were before him realized what had happened. Can’t say I’d ever imagined that a traveler on the tides wouldn’t even notice him had been tossed hundreds of years out of time.

” Smudge emphasized the word hundreds in a way that brought more laughter around the room.

“I suspect this means the lot of you don’t think that I’ve lost my grip on my faculties,” Kip said.

They all shook their heads and kept chuckling.

Smudge’s grandfather said, “Different people along this stretch of coast react to tales of the tides in different ways. And us’ve heard from those what’ve traveled that, in future times, the tales’ll not be believed.

But you’re fortunate enough to have found yourself in this moment among people who know it to be true enough. ”

That was fortunate. He couldn’t imagine what he would have done if he’d eventually sorted out the truth of things in a place where that would have seen him thrown into an institution or locked in prison somewhere.

He might just survive it in Guilford. But that likely meant he could never leave.

His future lay in this tiny corner of the kingdom.

“Guilford Village won’t view me as an oddity,” he said.

“Oh, them will, sure enough,” Smudge said, slapping a hand on Kip’s shoulder. “But most of we won’t think you mad.”

He would likely still be eyed with curiosity. He could endure that.

“Miss Archibald’s had an idea,” Smudge said. “I think the village ought to give it a listen.”

And that brought the laughter around the room to a halt. Faces turned more pensive and wary.

“Worth listening to,” Ivers added. That changed the hints of suspicion Kip saw into undeniable intrigue.

Ivers and Smudge both turned to Kip, watching him expectantly. Mick was too busy eating the Yorkshire pudding and gravy the innkeeper had provided him to be paying much heed to anything else.

It was for Kip, then, to relay Amelia’s plan. He liked that. He liked that she had trusted him, that his newfound friends were trusting him, that the village was trusting him enough to at least listen.

Standing up there in front of them all, he decided this had best be one of the better performances of his life. He needed to be convincing without being arrogant or dismissive or seeming to run roughshod over them.