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.’ At the sound of their father’s roar, Dotty and Alice fled down the stairs. Not wishing to fuel his anger, Isabella quickly donned the coarse clothes, tidied her hair and followed them.
‘Are you feeling better, my dear? Come and sit by me, Father’s holding a family meeting.’ Although her aunt was smiling, Isabella noticed she looked strained.
‘Well, if it’s a family matter, I’ll leave you to it,’ she replied.
‘Like it or not, you are part of this family now, so sit yourself down. That’s an order not an option,’ her uncle barked, seeing her hesitate.
‘But I’ve told you, Uncle, I’m only staying until Maxwell comes for me.’
‘Not exactly hurrying himself, is he?’ William sneered.
‘That’s enough, William,’ her aunt said, shooting him a stern look. ‘Right Isabella, I’ve poured you a mug of tea and we’re having brewis to break our fast. We can eat whilst Father tells us his plan.’ Reluctantly, Isabella took her place, but as she stared at the soggy mess in the bowl, her stomach turned over.
‘Maybe not what you’re used to, girl, but it’ll save Mother cooking whilst we’re extra busy, so eat up,’ her uncle instructed, giving her a stern look. ‘Right, pay attention, everyone.’ Isabella felt a rush of relief as he turned to address the others. Picking up her spoon,
