Chapter Fourteen
It was late afternoon by the time they reached Liskeard. They left the carriages at the posting inn and walked to the house little Charley Prowse had been taken to twenty-five years ago.
“That’s it,” Georgiana said, pointing.
Alexander halted on the flagway and stared across the street, seeing a sizable two-storied house behind an iron fence. Whoever had built it had been wealthy but whoever owned it now wasn’t. The gutters sagged and there were quite a few slates missing from the roof.
The house looked grim, with its gray stone walls and narrow windows and pointed gables. It also looked empty. All the windows except two were tightly shuttered.
“Does anyone live there?”
Georgiana’s eyes unfocused slightly. “There are two people in the parlor.”
Alexander stared at th
