The coach north took three days, and by the end of the third one, I was more nervous than I’d been since the day I was put in that pie. I arrived around the middle of the day and found a room at the village inn, telling myself I wanted to smarten myself up. What I really wanted was to put off the moment. And when the coachman shouted ‘Ready to leave’, it was all I could do not to rush outside and climb back in.
It wasn’t hard to find her; everyone had known the Denhams when they had the big house. The woman I asked gave me a strange look: what, it said, what does the likes of you want with her? But she told me to look out for a green gate and a big apple tree in the garden, so I spotted the cottage easily.
There she is.
She was hanging out some washing, with her back to me, and singing quietly to herself. I stood still for a moment, just looking at her, and then took a deep breath. My hand was on the gate when I realised she wasn’t singing, she was talking. To a little girl, playing on the ground beside her. She bent down to the child, tickling her so she wriggled and squirmed.
I stepped back, out of sight. How could I have been so stupid? She hadn’t married Henry, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t married someone else. It had been over two years since she’d come to Oakham. And in that time, someone else had found her.
I was too late after all. Sick at heart, I trudged back to the inn. I had to get away. The village was small; if I stayed overnight, she was sure to discover I was there. One day, perhaps, I might be able to sit in the same room as her husband and child, but not today. The church bells struck two; the last coach out would be going soon. I broke into a run, but as I reached the inn, it was disappearing down the road.
The best I could do then was order food in my room and stay there until the first coach left in the morning. I didn’t care where it was going; I’d take it and make my way back to Oakham by whatever route I could find.
Next morning, I was stuffing the last of my things into my bag when there was a knock on the door of my room. The innkeeper, curiosity seeping from every pore, informed me that I had a visitor. Of course. Someone was bound to tell her.
‘Waiting outside the door when we opened, she was.’
‘Is anyone with her?’ I asked, eyeing the window and wondering if I could I climb out of it. But when he said she was alone, I told him I’d come down. In truth, now she was there I couldn’t resist the chance to see her face again.