You’ve come this far, don’t let it beat you now, she castigated herself. She slowly eased the window silently downward, and began to make her way through the rough thorn-laden rose bushes to the ground below.
Isobel fought to keep her knees from buckling when she reached the safety of the solid ground. Thankful for the small mercy of being in one piece, she eased Peter’s boots onto her chilled feet, pulling her meagre jacket and cloak around her thin shoulders with a shiver. She wished briefly she had taken the time to bring her shawl regardless of the strange looks she would draw. Ruefully she looked downward at her masculine attire, and considered the eyebrows that would be raised should she wear a shawl to match. Now that certainly would draw attention!
A shiver of cool night air ruffled the loose folds of her thin shirt, making her shiver. Isobel pushed away from the house and took off across the yard, careful to keep off the gravel and deep within the shadows of the low standing hedgerows.
Within minutes, she had disappeared among the shadows of the woodland to the side of the house, a mere wisp of a memory in the night. Her tread was so thin and silent that anybody bothering to look out into the gardens would have seen little but the shifting of the shadows in the darkened garden. Certainly, nothing that would forewarn of the looming change of events that was to come.
She trudged on through the long hours of the night, feet aching, desperately considering the options available to her. Valiantly ignoring the increasing pounding in her head and empty rumble of her stomach, she briefly stopped to drink from a tiny stream on the outskirts of a small hamlet just as dawn rose above the horizon.
Although she blessed the foresight of her elder brother for putting the boots into the drawer with his clothing, she wished his feet had been somewhat smaller because the boots had started to chafe the tender soles of her feet, and she was already sore and uncomfortable. How far away was Cumbria anyway?
“Oh dear Lord,” Isobel groaned. She wished she had taken a few moments to purloin one of her uncle’s horses, but knowing Rupert as she did she knew he would take great delight in having her arrested for horse theft. At least on foot, although slow, she could vanish relatively easily. As long as she kept out of sight and away from the busy roads, she should be fine.
Fear compelled her to ignore her physical discomfort and continue onwards. She stopped once or twice to study the mileage stones knowing that as long as she went in the opposite direction to London, she would be heading north and towards Cumbria and far away from Gosport Hall, and Rupert.
Vaguely, she could recall going through Cumbria as a young child to visit a distant relative, and knew it was some considerable distance away. But as a child her perception of the passing countryside from the window of a speeding carriage, was vastly different to those of an adult on foot. Nothing looked familiar. She had only her wits and her vague sense of direction to guide her, and that knowledge didn’t fill her with much confidence at all.
Having spent most of the night walking, exhaustion was looming. She had no idea where she was, but could only hope it was several miles away from her Uncle Rupert. As an excellent horsewoman, she knew that the distance she had spent most of the night and day creating could be easily covered on horseback in half the time, and given her dire situation, time and distance were of the essence.
Kitty would almost certainly have been discovered by now. Isobel prayed that the woman hadn’t been suspected of helping her, and had been considered a victim of Isobel’s duplicity, and left alone.
“Now, where to?” Isobel gasped, her breath coming in shallow pants. Tears pricked her eyes as a sense of isolation and loneliness swept through her. She tipped her head backwards and looked at the twinkling stars through the heavy canopy of trees. Dusk settled over the horizon, and already it had begun to grow cold. There was a fine tremor in her fingers from exhaustion and hunger that had grown worse throughout the day. Despite the threat of discovery by her uncle, she knew she couldn’t physically continue for much longer.
How she longed for the solid comfort of a chair, a warm fire and a good meal. She had spent most of the day walking through fields and skirting towns. For miles and miles, she had trudged onwards, ducking low to avoid farmers and the watchful eyes inside passing carriages. So far, she had not seen any sign of her uncle or any of his servants, but knew that although she couldn’t see him, it didn’t mean he wasn’t there somewhere.
As far as she could tell, the only eyes that had seen her had been those of sheep and cows. She could afford to rest for a little while. She simply had to. Carefully, she dug into her cloak pocket and removed one of the two remaining apples she had purloined from an orchard earlier that afternoon. With a tiny pang of guilt, she bit into its ripe sweetness, closing her eyes briefly to savour the tangy moisture of the juice upon her tongue. She could not remember ever being as thirsty as she was now. She quickly devoured the apple, considering how she would get herself to Coniston while she had the strength.
“Up in the Lakes.” Kitty had said, but how did one go about finding Annie in the Lake District?
Deciding she would face that bridge when she came to it, Isobel eased herself down onto her back in the long grass, out of sight, on the edge of the trees and carefully covered herself up with her cloak as best she could. Immediately, she was encased in meagre warmth that did little to soothe her aching limbs, yet within seconds she fell into an exhausted sleep.
Isobel awoke with a soft cry, tears streaming steadily down her face as the enormity of her situation swept through her.
“Oh Dominic, why?” Her lament was absorbed by the cushion of grass beneath her as she succumbed to the sobs bubbling within. She knew there would be no answer because there never was.
She thought she had come to know him, but had clearly been made a fool of.
It had been horrific enough to learn of her brother being slain during a fierce battle with the smugglers he and Dominic had been sent to vanquish, but to learn of Dominic’s heartless betrayal mere days after her brother’s death had left her with more questions than answers. Had his friendship with her brother meant nothing to him? Had the man never heard of loyalty?
Clearly not because he had reneged on every promise he had given her, except one. He had remained safe while her brother Peter had not. She had learnt from Aunt Elspeth that only a few days after his departure with Peter, on their supposedly secret mission against the smugglers in Norfolk, he had returned to his father’s estate in Berkshire and wed a woman he had apparently been betrothed to for some time.
In her innocence, Isobel had waited for him. She had believed his promises and had willingly accepted him into her heart and body, blindly believing his assurances with a heart full of hope and joyful anticipation.
She had blithely ignored the change in his demeanour on the day of his departure and had worried for his safety for weeks, only to learn of his cruel betrayal in the worst possible way. Before he had left, he had made it clear that had not wanted her to write to him, and had left no direction for her to make contact. Nor had he made any promises to write to her or send any word whatsoever. A circumstance she had accepted without question. At least now she understood why he had been so vaguely distant.
Her thoughts immediately turned to the day her uncle had reappeared in her life. Already distraught with being informed of Peter’s demise, she was numb with disbelief when he had poured scorn upon her tears, casting her as a foolish addle-brai
ned girl with no prospects and no suitors prepared to take her on. Cruelly finding humour in her distress, he had imparted the news of Dominic’s recent marriage to another with a sense of satisfaction that was clear to see. She had listened with only half an ear as her uncle had ranted that her own wild mannered, eccentric family had rendered her unattractive to anyone other than the most heartless rogue, who was after everything she could give without taking her to wife. She, stupid girl whom she was, would undoubtedly have given him everything. He had railed at her with such derision in his face that Isobel had flinched at the surge of humiliation that swept through her.
Rupert’s tirade had seemed endless as he had poured equal scorn upon her aunt for encouraging such wanton behaviour, before sweeping a devastated Isobel from the house. There had barely been enough time to pack anything before she had been so cruelly ripped from her aunt’s care and Willowbrook Hall, her home. In her grief, she had not had the will to protest, and had meekly followed her uncle’s direction without question.
After several moments of indulgent weeping, Isobel swiped the dampness from her cheeks as she stood on the tree line of the wooded glade. It felt as though she was in the middle of nowhere. With the first stain of sunlight breaking over the horizon, she contemplated her situation before slowly resumed her onward journey, trying desperately to ignore the growing sense of helpless isolation that increased with each passing mile.
Whatever the future held for her, she could not go back now. She had the remaining days of summer warmth in which to travel, and knew that if she was to survive, she needed to make the most of them. If she kept off the roads and away from the villages, she had every chance of succeeding in her quest. Life wouldn’t be as cruel as to send her back to Rupert, would it?
She had only a few meagre coins in her pocket. Certainly not enough to get her through the winter, but she wasn’t afraid to work for her keep. Indeed, she had thoroughly enjoyed the few times she had been allowed down into the kitchens to make jam and tarts with Cook. She had no fear of hard work. But how she was to go about persuading anyone to employ her without references; she wasn’t sure. She now understood why Kitty had sent her to her cousin’s house. They would surely know the best way she should go about trying to maintain her independence, at least for the immediate future.
Briefly, she wondered how Kitty had managed, and if indeed she was far behind her, or whether she too was locked in the gloomy depths of the house that had become her prison. She quickly stifled the wayward thoughts that meandered in the direction of Dominic, and his residence on his country estate in Melton, firmly eschewing all notions of happening by his marital home.