The coach was able to make its way through the rain, arriving at the destination within fifteen minutes. The neighborhood was not one I habitually went to, but that did not dissuade me. If anything, it encouraged me to keep the meeting.
I alighted from the coach and told the coachman to go home, despite his protestations. He had been with our family since before I was born, and he was old. I wouldn’t risk his health in addition to relieving him of his livelihood.
“It’s not safe, miss,” he said, glancing toward the house. It was foreboding, its many windows shrouded with black curtains, ravens resting on the roof as though conjured by a witch.
“I will be fine,” I assured him, even though I wasn’t entirely certain of that myself.
My Dark Husband by Percy Wittlesford