would you?’ she cried. ‘I’m only visiting the area and would love to know what it’s for.’
‘It is a remarkable structure. You will have heard of the great engineer, Isambard Kingdom Brunel, of course?’ he asked, looking at her for confirmation.
‘Indeed,’ she agreed, not wishing to appear ignorant.
‘Well, he designed the Atmospheric Railway that originally ran along these parts, and this building with the Italianate tower you were admiring was one of the pumping stations. The pumps in there pushed air through pipes to move the carriages along.’
‘Goodness. You said originally, though. Do they not use it anymore?’ she asked, eager to appear intelligent.
‘Alas, the local rats developed a taste for the leather and grease which formed the seals in the pipes.’
‘Rats?’ she shuddered, pulling her mantle tighter round her.
‘Yep, gobbled them up faster than they could be replaced, so that was the end of that, as it were. This building is all that remains.’
‘And splendid it is, too. Thank you so much for enlightening me,’ she told him.
‘My pleasure,’ he said, his eyes twinkling as he perfected a bow. ‘You said you were visiting. Might I enquire how long you’ll be staying here in Starcross, Miss, er?’
Before she could respond, she heard her uncle shout. Turning quickly, she saw he was sitting in the trap gesturing impatiently for her to join him. Following her gaze, her companion opened his mouth to say something, but she cut in quickly.
‘Sorry, I must go,’ she said. ‘Thank you again for the fascinating lesson,’ she murmured before hurrying over to her uncle.
‘What the ’ell was you doing talking to young Furneaux?’ he growled, as she climbed up beside him.
‘Oh, is that who he was? He was kind enough to explain about the pumping station, Uncle. Do you know . . . ,’ she began.
‘Stay away from him, you hear?’ her uncle interrupted. ‘Bad as his father, he is,’ he spat.
‘Excuse me . . . ,’ she began.
‘That’s an order, Isabella,’ he added, tugging on the reins. As the donkey began to move, she stared at her uncle in astonishment.
‘Papa would never speak to me like that.’
‘Well, maybe he should have, then you’d be more worldly-wise,’ he growled.
‘How dare you,’ she spluttered. ‘You can be sure that when Maxwell arrives, he will take issue with you.’
‘Oh, he will, will he? Well, I’ll look forward to hearing what this Maxwell has to say, if by any miracle he turns up, that is.’
‘Stop this minute,’ she ordered, but he ignored her. ‘I said stop,’ she repeated, wanting to be away from this odious man. When he still disregarded her wishes, she peered over her shoulder, hoping to catch the attention of the agreeable young man, but he had disappeared. She stared down at the road passing beneath, wondering if she dared jump.
‘Settle yourself down, maid, we’re in for a skatt,’ her uncle said, pulling his hat further down over his head.
‘A what?’ Barely had she asked the question when the first drops of rain began to fall. As it became heavier, she stared around for some kind of hood, but although the boxes were protected by a canvas cover, the rest of the cart was open to the elements. She turned to her uncle but he stared resolutely ahead. Simmering with rage, she gazed out over the water where steely clouds now merged with the grey sea. A gust of wind tugged at her bonnet and she put a hand to her head. Her uncle oblivious, or more likely not bothered, continued staring fixedly ahead and the journey back to the cottage was both a cold and silent one. She crossed her fingers and hoped that Maxwell would be waiting for her. However, when they turned into the lane, there was no carriage in sight and her heart sank to her saturated boots. She would write to him tonight.
‘Oh my, you’re drenched to the bone,’ her aunt tutted, pulling Isabella into the warmth of the kitchen. ‘Get out of those wet things and warm yourself by the fire before you catch a chill.’
‘Stop fussing, Mother,’ her uncle said, throwing his hat onto the hook by the door. ‘’Tis her own fault she took a soaking. If she hadn’t spent time blethering with young Furneaux we’d have been back before the weather broke.’
‘But I wasn’t . . . ,’ Isabella began, then seeing his grim expression sighed. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ve had a busy day and wish to retire for the night.’
‘’Tain’t six o’clock yet,’ William scoffed. Ignoring him, Isabella made for the stairs, but halfway up she heard him say: ‘Don’t know why she’s tired, it’s not as if she packed many flowers from what I can see. And as for that sparrow food she prepared, no wonder me stomach thinks me throat’s been cut.’
By the time she reached her room, Isabella was shivering so violently she could hardly take off her wet clothes. Throwing herself onto the mattress, she huddled under the thin bed cover and let the tears fall. How she wished she was safely back at home where Maisie would be filling her bathtub with hot water and setting out rose-scented soap petals from the cut-glass jar on the shelf. Then she would sink into her soft feather bed and wait for a bowl of Cook’s consommé to be brought to her on a tray. Instead she’d spent a horrible day in this godforsaken place where, even though she’d tried to help, nothing she did was right. She hated it here and she hated Uncle and William as well. Oh Maxwell, where are you?
Then a thought struck her so forcefully, she sat bolt upright. Instead of writing, why didn’t she make her own way home now? If she slipped out whilst the family were having supper, they wouldn’t even notice she’d gone. Excitement flooding through her, she made to climb out of bed but a flash of lightning lit up the sky. It was closely followed by a deafening clap of thunder that seemed to shake the whole cottage. She’d hated storms since the violent one they’d experienced the night her dear mama had died. All thought of going outside disappeared as, stifling a scream, she pulled the cover over her head and closed her eyes.
She must have slept, for the next thing she knew Dotty was shaking her awake.
‘Come on, Izzie, Father’s called a meeting.’
‘What time is it?’ she muttered.
‘Almost five o’clock.’ Isabella groaned and closed her eyes again.
‘Please get up, Izzie, or Father’ll get mad,’ Alice pleaded.
‘Yes, do hurry and dress,’ Dotty urged. ‘I’ve got your clothes here. They’re dry now as I put them on the pulley above the range overnight.’ Reluctantly Isabella opened her eyes again and saw the two girls were already dressed, their hair neatly braided. How could they look so awake at this unearthly hour, she wondered?
‘All right, I’m coming,’ she muttered, taking the proffered garments. Clambering from the mattress, Isabella winced and put her hand to her back. She felt stiffer than the housekeeper’s starched petticoats. She couldn’t bear to sleep on the floor any longer.
‘Girls.’
