Eye of the Wind by Jane Jackson Page A

round neck, her hair brushed to a gleaming ebony cascade, Melissa knocked lightly on her mother’s door and went in. The room smelled slightly stale and the curtains were still half drawn.
    She tiptoed to the bed where Emma lay against a bank of pillows, grape-coloured shadows beneath her closed eyes.
    ‘Good morning, Mama,’ she whispered.
    Emma Tregonning’s eyelids flickered open. She tried to smile but the effort was too great.
    Addey waddled across, carrying a bundle of crumpled linen. ‘Tossed and turned all night, she did. Got some nasty cough. The fever haven’t broke yet. But I’ve just gived her a nice wash and she’s more comfortable.’
    ‘Do you think we might open the window for a few minutes?’ Melissa suggested.
    Addey frowned. ‘Oooh, I don’t know about that. If she was to get in a draught you don’t know what –’
    ‘Just to change the air. It’s a beautiful morning. In fact,’ Melissa added as inspiration struck, ‘it’s warmer outside than it is in here. So I really don’t think she’ll be in any danger.’
    Addey hesitated for a moment, then sighed, her chin jutting. ‘Only for a few minutes, mind.’
    As Melissa pushed back the curtains, she saw the postman trotting up the drive. A letter from George would do more to restore her mother’s health than any prescription of Dr Wherry’s. But knowing better than to mention it she simply stood at the window, pretending difficulty with the catch. She wouldn’t open it until the postman had gone.
    ‘Melissa?’ At the sound of her mother’s voice, weak and slightly hoarse, Melissa turned and went to her side.
    ‘Would you like some more lemon barley? Or maybe a cup of beef tea?’
    Emma Tregonning’s eyes were open and she was staring at the window. She clutched her daughter’s hand. ‘Is that the postman’s horse?’
    Reluctantly Melissa nodded. Since her brothers had first entered the navy, her father had paid a pound a year to ensure early delivery of the mail. ‘I’ll go and see if there’s anything for you, shall I?’
    Lobb was in the hall. He had placed the letters – one with a distinctive green seal – on a silver salver and was about to take them into the dining- room for her father to read over breakfast. He glanced up, saw her midway down the stairs and, knowing her errand, shook his head.
    ‘I’m sorry, miss.’
    ‘So am I, Lobb. It would have made all the difference. Is my father down yet?’
    ‘He is, miss. Will you be joining him for breakfast?’
    ‘Yes. Would you tell him I’ll be with him in just a few minutes?’ Turning, Melissa went back upstairs. Before re-entering her mother’s room she paused to take a deep breath and steel herself against the disappointment her mother would make a valiant effort to hide.
    As she slipped inside, Addey looked up; the naked hope on her plump face fading quickly as Melissa made a brief negative gesture.
    ‘Pity,’ Addey muttered for Melissa’s ears alone. ‘‘T would have bucked her up good and proper. Oh well, least said soonest mended. You go on down and have your breakfast. There isn’t no more you can do for now. I daresay your father will be glad of a bit of company. I only hope he don’t go down with it. Not like hisself at all he isn’t, nor haven’t been for weeks.’
    ‘Well, it’s not an easy time for either of them.’ The matters she had to discuss with him would add even more pressure, Melissa acknowledged as she walked downstairs and crossed the hall to the dining room. But they could not be put off any longer.
    Francis Tregonning was seated at the head of the table, gazing fixedly at the letter he held. It trembled slightly in his grasp, the broken edge of green wax visible at the top. The other lay read and discarded on the table. A napkin was tucked into his striped waistcoat, and a half-eaten plate of kedgeree lay congealing in front of him.
    ‘Good morning, Papa.’
    The butler set a dish of raspberries in front of her. ‘Mrs