Further adventures from Sharples can be found here
That first walk on dry land was heavenly. The rocks were wet from the crashing foam whipped up by the storm as the jagged plank cruised in on a wave. Its passenger dismounted and leapt on to a higher rock that offered some refuge.
Further along the beach, Jones looked around to see if any of the family had made it to the shore. So far it seemed he was alone.
Jones, however, still went about building a fire from the deadwood he found on the beach. His wet butler’s apparel clinging to his skin squelched with every move. Even so he kept adjusting his clothes so as to make them somewhat presentable.
The fire had been burning a few minutes when Millicent was washed semi-conscious to the shore. Jones dragged her close to the fire using his now semi dry jacket as a blanket.
Millicent was the youngest daughter of his family. Now it was his duty to care for her. The beach seemed deserted and as Millicent came round she huddled close to Jones for warmth.
He watched them from the rock. He thought it better to keep his distance and probably safer too. He had got lucky finding a bit of wood to float him to the shore. He looked at the two castaways indeed that is what they want the world to believe they are.
Yes the storm had been a bad one and would cover their tracks. Millicent’s father would be claimed as lost at sea when the boat had crushed on to the rocks and not brutally murdered by his butler.
As Millicent tossed the cat into raging sea she had not expected him to survive. He, Sharples, would remember.
© JG Farmer 2014