Chapter Thirty

The McGloury Croft

Mother stared at the telegram. Her usually sharp mind was momentarily drained of all but the information tersely written in the old semaphore woman’s precise handwriting on the rain-spattered telegraph form. It had been waiting inside the cottage, left by messenger earlier in the afternoon.

The lightning threw Mother into vivid relief. Ian, seeing Tasha stunned and staring blankly at the telegram, pulled it gently from her hands. Before he could read it, Mother said quietly, “My daughter—kidnapped! I must return to London!”

She turned and rushed to the door, but Ian grabbed her arm firmly.

“Not in this storm. The ferry can’t get across.”

“I must go!”

He pulled her to him. She pushed back, breaking his grip, shoved him away, and turned back to the door. Ian again clutched her arm. “Trying to get across now’s a ticket to boot hill! You’ll drown. Will that help your kid?”

Mother glowered at him in turmoil. She knew that leaving Millport Island was a physical impossibility, yet she also knew that I was in danger, and her impotence to act was tearing her apart. She buried her head in his chest and he stroked her hair. Her features distorted as her mind fought to regain control. There were no tears.

“In the morning, Tasha,” he whispered.