“Just understand,” Aurora called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the hallway. “We don’t mean to be rude. ’Tis just that—”
The rest of her sentence was cut off by the sound of the entranceway door as it shut behind them.
The Windmouth Lighthouse was nestled at the foot of the hills, beckoning them like a warm, familiar friend.
“How lovely,” Courtney whispered, pausing to regain her strength, tilting back her head in order to admire the stone tower from its base.
“It’s fifty-seven feet high,” Aurora informed her, as proud as if she’d built the structure herself. “And over a hundred years old. But Mr. Scollard keeps it looking new. He not only operates the light, he maintains the entire building himself; there’s not one chipped or broken stone, or a spot on the balcony that’s not freshly painted. Come—let’s go in.” She tugged at Courtney’s arm. “Your strength is all but sapped.”
“You’re right about that.” Briefly, Courtney leaned her forehead against the cool stone, watching as Aurora walked through the unlocked door. “Shouldn’t we knock?” she murmured, following along, then hesitating at the threshold.
“It’s not necessary. Mr. Scollard knows we’re here. See? He’s prepared a fire and some tea. Why don’t you sit down and rest a bit.”
“How on earth did he know…?” Courtney’s voice drifted off as she entered the lighthouse, blinking in surprise as she did. Whatever she’d expected, it hadn’t been this quaintly decorated room with watercolors hanging over a settee, twin armchairs perched on either side of a brick fireplace, and a glorious fire, before which sat a tray containing a steaming pot of tea and three cups.
“Isn’t this room perfect?” Aurora demanded.
“Perfect,” Courtney echoed, still staring at their refr
eshment. “How did Mr. Scollard know we’d be coming?”
Aurora shrugged. “The same way he knows everything. Look back there.” She pointed toward an alcove at the rear of the room. “That leads to Mr. Scollard’s chambers. I’ve never seen them, but I know he built them himself so he’d be able to man his post at the blink of an eye, without the hindrance of traveling. Every evening, at the first sign of sunset, he heads up to the tower to light the lamp. He’s never been late nor skipped a night. Whenever I visit—be it morning, noon, or night—he escorts me to the tower. I adore watching the ships and the waves and listening to him spin his yarns. They’re filled with adventure and excitement.” A fond smile. “I’ve been visiting the lighthouse since I was a child. And in all these years, Mr. Scollard has never run out of legends or patience.”
“He sounds wonderful.” Totally intrigued by Aurora’s description, Courtney lowered herself to the settee, catching sight of the endless spiral staircase that led to Aurora’s haven. “Is Mr. Scollard in the tower now?”
“Customarily, he would be. He spends most mornings polishing the lanterns, making certain all the apparatus is in perfect working order for sunset. However, given our visit, I suspect he’s in his chambers.”
“Did you tell him we might be coming by today?”
“No. I never need to tell Mr. Scollard anything. He foresees things on his own, which is why he’s doubtless on this level rather than in the tower. He realizes you’re too weak to make such a steep climb.” Seeing Courtney’s baffled expression, Aurora grinned. “Trust me. Mr. Scollard will be joining us in a few minutes. Then you can form your own opinion.”
Even as Aurora spoke, a light tread sounded from the rear, and Courtney twisted about expectantly.
A minute later, an elderly man emerged, wiping his hands on his apron. His weathered face, beneath a mop of snow-white hair, was lined with age, but his keen gaze was sharp as a tack, his eyes the brightest blue Courtney had ever seen. Fascinated, she stared at him.
“Welcome, Miss Johnston,” he said, his gruff voice devoid of surprise. “See, Rory? Your friend healed quickly. Almost quickly enough to suit you.”
“Nothing is ever quick enough to suit me, Mr. Scollard,” Aurora returned with a grin.
“True.” He gave a disgusted grunt. “No patience. Not a whit. Even after all these years.” His glance fell on the teapot. “Why haven’t you had your tea?”
Somehow Courtney found her voice. “We were waiting for you.”
“Don’t. You need your strength. Or else you’ll undo all Matilda’s hard work.” He poured a cup and handed it to Courtney, his hand as steady as a lad’s. “Here. Strong. Too strong for Rory, but she’ll have to make do. You’re the guest today. So the tea is just the way you like it—strong and dark. That’s what happens when you live among sailors. You learn their habits. Never met a sailor who took his tea weak.” He glanced about the room, his vivid eyes searching. “You could actually use some of that brandy you like so much. I’ve got a bottle around here somewhere.” A shrug. “Maybe later. Yes, later would be better. Spirits make you too groggy. And if you’re not clear-headed, we won’t be able to examine that watch of yours.” He arched a brow at Courtney, whose mouth was still hanging open. “Drink the tea now while it’s hot,” he advised. “You can stare at me later.”
“I’m sorry.” Instantly, Courtney lowered her gaze. “I didn’t mean to stare. I just…” What in God’s name could she say? That until now she’d believed visionaries existed only in books?
“The tea,” Mr. Scollard reminded her.
Nodding, she took a sip, then another. It was by far the best tea she’d ever tasted—and the most fortifying. Already, renewed strength was beginning to pervade her body.
“That fool pirate,” Mr. Scollard muttered, pouring two additional cups. “You don’t look a bit like Rory. But I guess at night, the coloring could fool someone, especially someone who looks but can’t see. At least then, he couldn’t. He sees now. Good for you.” Mr. Scollard nodded his approval. “Here, Rory.” He turned, handing Aurora her tea. “Drink up. I planned to have those little iced cakes you like so much, since, as it turns out, Miss Johnston likes them, too. But given the fact that neither of you is hungry—besides the fact that Miss Johnston’s unsettling experience this morning has left her too anxious to eat—I decided to postpone the cakes for another time. Maybe for her birthday. Good idea. For her birthday.” He nodded at his own superb alternative. “Now, shall we have a look at that timepiece?” He pulled up a chair, extended his hand.
Wordlessly, Courtney extracted it, placed it in his palm.
“Hmmm.” He turned it over, studying the engraved case. “Nice workmanship. Costly, too. Doesn’t surprise me, given how much your mother loved him.”
“How did you know…?” Courtney gave it up, snapping her mouth shut. Something told her that to continue asking Mr. Scollard where his knowledge came from was not only futile but a senseless waste of time—time she’d squandered too much of already. “Can you tell me anything?” she asked.