The Cold Light of Mourning - By Elizabeth J. Duncan Page 0,64

bit to get things started. And take things slowly. Try to find a reason to come back, once you’ve established yourself as someone they can trust.”

Gwennie set the tea things on the table, along with a plate of freshly-baked ginger snaps.

“I can see you’re fond of dogs, Gwennie,” Victoria said. “Not everyone would be sure to have a biscuit waiting when a dog comes in from a walk.”

“Very fond,” Gwennie replied. “That’s to say I like pretty much all dogs, except of course the bitey ones. But Trixxi, now, I’ve come to love her, truly I have. Course I can’t keep a dog myself because I live with my sister and her husband and she’s that house proud she wouldn’t hear of keeping any kind of pet, not so much as a gerbil, so I enjoy Trixxi’s company when I’m here. And I don’t mind telling you, I’ve been putting in long hours of late.”

She offered Victoria a warm ginger snap and took one for herself.

Victoria murmured sympathetically.

“Tell me, then, Mrs. Hopkirk, what brings you to these parts?” asked Gwennie.

“Well, I’ve been visiting family in the area. I used to spend lots of time in this village when I was growing up and I’ve always loved being here. I find the scenery so, oh I don’t know, serene yet inspiring.”

“Oh, it is that,” agreed Gwennie. “Although lately, of course,” she said darkly, “we’ve been too busy to take much notice of it.”

“Yes, you have certainly had your share of troubles and sadness here, haven’t you, and that’s why I wanted to offer my services to Mr. Gruffydd,” said Victoria.

Gwennie munched thoughtfully on her biscuit and with a tiny hand gently brushed a crumb off her small bosom.

“Yes, he’s certainly in need of support,” she said. “He’s all on his own now in this great big house, poor lamb. I did think maybe that Louise might stay on for a bit, but after Mr. Gruffydd died, she couldn’t get on her way fast enough. Made me wonder, that did.”

“Really, Gwennie?” asked Victoria innocently. “What did it make you wonder about?”

“Well, I know to those who do private-duty nursing, looking after sick and dying folks is just a job, but it seemed so callous the way she was packing her bag before he was even …” Her voice trailed off and she was silent for a moment. Brightening at her next thought, she perked up and continued.

“Was it you, then, who played at Emma Teasdale’s send off?” she asked. “I did hear that your playing was absolutely splendid. Just lovely, folks said. I’m sure young Mr. Emyr will be very glad to talk to you.”

She cocked her head in the direction of the windows.

“That sounds like them now.”

They heard the back door open, and the sound of a dog’s toenails scratching on the slate floor, accompanied by the unmistakable jingling of dog tags.

“Oh, who’s my darling girl?” laughed Gwennie as an excited Trixxi bounded into the room, tail wagging vigorously from side to side, as she rushed past them to get to her bowl and scoop up her treat.

Emyr followed her into the kitchen, a green ball in one hand and Trixxi’s leather lead in the other. He dropped them in a basket on the floor and looked questioningly at Victoria. His face was troubled and dark. Whether this was due to apprehension or grief, Victoria couldn’t tell.

“Ah, Mr. Emyr,” said Gwennie. “This is Victoria Hopkirk come to talk to you about playing the harp at your father’s funeral.”

Victoria stood up and held her hand out to Emyr.

“I’m so sorry for your losses,” she said. “I’d be happy to perform at your father’s funeral, if you would like me to. Mourners often find the sound of a harp relaxing and comforting.”

Emyr looked at her, his dark blue eyes cold and unreadable.

“That’s very good of you,” he said politely, “but we’ve completed all the arrangements.” His eyes slid toward Gwennie, who pinched her lips together, nodded slightly, and looked at her shoes.

“Mr. Emyr, if I may, there is something wonderfully soothing about that kind of music.” Gathering her courage to look up, Gwennie met his eyes and added firmly, “I think your father would have loved it and after all, the rector’s wife herself did suggest it.”

Emyr relaxed slightly and gave Victoria a superficial smile that came nowhere near his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound ungracious. Well, thank you then, that would be lovely,” he said. “Very kind of you. What