The House on Blackberry Hill (Jewell Cove 1)

“We really did get off on the wrong foot,” he continued, as the moment stretched out.

“Pun intended?” she asked, softening when his smile grew. Their gazes met for a few seconds more while things between them seemed to settle. “All right,” she granted softly, removing her hand from his and looking around the room. “Now, if you’d care to explain what you mean without hauling me from pillar to post, I’ll listen.”

“I haven’t heard that particular tone since I was in fifth grade and was caught running through the school library by Miss Haines.”

“Apparently the lesson bore repeating. What did you want to show me?”

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; Something—amusement, respect, perhaps a combination of the two—gleamed in his eyes. “All right. For starters, look at this.” He reached behind her and ran his fingers over the dark wood of a grandfather clock. “This clock is over a hundred and fifty years old.”

Abby dutifully looked and tried to ignore the way his long, capable fingers caressed the dusty wood. Instead she focused on the clock face. She wondered what had been happening at the house at the time that the hands had stopped moving. They sat precisely at 3:26. “It doesn’t work.”

“Maybe it can be fixed. Even if it never keeps time again, the actual construction is in fantastic shape.” He gestured to the right, to the dining room. “And this room. It’s full of antiques. Look at the mantels on the fireplaces—all the wood trim is original to the house. The dining table and chairs were shipped from South America to Captain Foster himself, made from mahogany out of the Amazon.”

“How do you know that?”

“Everyone knows that.” He regarded her curiously. “You really don’t know anything about the house, do you?”

Tom did, apparently. Her annoyance at her own ignorance warred with a very real curiosity to listen to what he knew.

“Did you think I was lying?”

“Well, no, but…”

“Scout’s honor.” She lifted two fingers. “I never knew anything about this side of the family. Nothing about the house, nothing about the money, nothing about Marian. My grandmother never spoke of it.”

Silence filled the hall. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. It appears the two sides of the family were completely estranged.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “I wish I knew. I’d like to find out, though. It makes no sense that there’s a whole history I never knew about. A whole family.” And it hurt that the person she’d trusted most hadn’t trusted her in return.

He paused. “I don’t know what to tell you. There might be a few old-timers left who could help, if you really want to know. No guarantees, but it’s worth a shot.”

She looked up at him. “Do you think?”

He shrugged. “It’s possible. But for now, I can give you a basic history of the house if you’d like.”

“That would be nice.”

He smiled. “Right. Well, let’s go back to the beginning. Captain Jedediah Foster built this house in the late nineteenth century. His father, George, was one of the founders of Jewell Cove, along with Edward Jewell and Charles Arseneault. The Fosters made their fortune on the seas. Jed built himself a mansion for his growing family. Both his sons were killed in World War One, so his grandson, Elijah, took it over when he married Edith Prescott. Marian and Iris were their daughters.”

He walked farther into the foyer, gesturing above them. “This chandelier was brought over from France by Elijah Foster before the start of World War Two. While Jed had been a captain, the family fortune was really built on shipping, until Elijah sold the company in the late fifties. He died within two years of selling the business, leaving everything to Marian.”

And nothing to Iris. Abby didn’t like Elijah already.

“Is the chandelier electric?” she asked, changing the subject.

“No, that’d be whale oil. It’s much older,” he explained. “You can actually raise and lower it so it is closer to the table for dinner lighting.”

“Dinner? In the hall?”

“Haven’t you noticed how wide it is?” He turned back to the hall and they both looked up at the light hanging from the ceiling. “The Fosters were rumored to be great hosts. The dining room seats twelve. Out here you could easily seat fifty. Then when dinner is over, up go the lights, out go the tables, and you have a space large enough for dancing.”

“How do you know all this stuff? Were you here a lot?”