That evening, before retiring to my hotel, I wandered about the cobbled streets. There was no train to Kelthorpe until the next day, the timetable not being quite so regular as could be wished. The stationmaster had merely shrugged when I quizzed him on the matter, as if to say, What shall I do? For no one wishes to go there, and I could only nod in a resigned fashion, for I did not entirely wish to go there either.
Now I walked upon a well-paved footway, free of wheel-ruts and the leavings of horses, passed by only shop-boys hurrying about their errands, a sandwich-man carrying boards advertising mustard, a constable whose breath bore no taint of drink and ladies whose bonnets were prettily bedecked with ribbons and frills. The day had continued as grey and dull as ever; even sunset left no trace of rose upon the sky, and I was relieved at the sight of it. It was so calming to be cool! To wander about at leisure without the oppressive sun beating down upon me at every moment. There was only the thought of Helena waiting for me, anxious and alone, to weigh upon my shoulders, and I wore that lightly enough, for the thought had seized hold of me that tomorrow—yes, tomorrow, we would return home to London.
I looked down at the smuts that had irreversibly smeared my coat. Such was the province of the city; I could smell the taint of coal-smoke even now entering my lungs. But here, all was rational. The people about me were engaged in the solid and practical requirements of business. Here, men believed only in what was true; what they could see and touch and prove; and as the church bells chimed the hour, I felt glad to be standing within it. Another turn, and a fine chapel came into view: there was its clock, steadily measuring out the days, with its hour-hand and a single minute-hand, thus brooking no confusion. Everything was ordered and in its place, and it acted as a salve upon my heart.
I wandered a little longer before turning towards my lodgings and retiring to my room. The bed was a little hard but comfortable, well-curtained against draughts, and as far as I could ascertain, without any miniature intruders. My head sank into the pillow, which rose in two clouds on either side of my ears, and I listened to the old accustomed sounds of evening: the rumble of wheels on a well-paved road; the rattle of shutters, and not a single tweet of a lark or hoot of an owl.
I listened for them, and found I could barely sleep a wink.
The following morning I was roused early when the maid of all work came to set a fire in the grate. Still half in the land of sleep, I informed her it was an extravagance that would not be required, though the moment she left I realised the room was rather chill after my days of waking under Halfoak’s summer skies. It was of no consequence; I would not be lingering long enough for a fire to heat the room.
I broke my fast hastily and took my leave for the station. Before long I was rushing through the world once more, on my way towards the countryside and eager to see my wife, and hoping that the hayricks might have been moved a little farther from the rails.