Contents

Also by Danny Weston:

The Piper
Mr Sparks

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First published in 2016 by
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Copyright © Danny Weston, 2016

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ISBN 978 1 78344 461 8

PART ONE
OCTOBER 1853

CHAPTER ONE
THE LONG WALK

William crested the hill and paused for a moment to look down into the bay. It was a blustery night and the ocean moved restlessly beneath a full moon, rushing back and forth onto a wide shingle beach. Even at this height, he could hear the rhythmic swishing of water on stone far below him. Off to his left, set back from the sea and arranged on a distant hilltop, was a circle of tall standing stones, stark in the moonlight, their grey shapes casting long shadows on the ground. Away to his right, he had his first clear view of what must be Jessop Rise. It was perched high on the cliff edge, a big, crumbling ruin of a place, stark against tumbled moonlit clouds, and it seemed to be positioned here so the occupants could gaze out across the sea for mile after mile. To a boy who had only ever seen the ocean at a distance, it was a powerful moment.

William adjusted the bundle on his back, which contained everything he had in the world, and considered the fact that he had been walking solidly for the best part of four days. His ankles were rubbed raw by his heavy boots, and the soles of his feet were blistered and aching. He’d spent every night of his travels sleeping in barns and outbuildings, sneaking into them after dark and leaving well before the sun was up. The only food he’d had over this time were the berries and roots he’d foraged along the way and the occasional meagre offerings from people he’d met as he travelled, kindly souls who despite being poor themselves had taken pity on this young boy, out on his own.

He didn’t know Wales at all, even though it was the land of his birth. But coming back here was certainly preferable to staying on at the workhouse in Northwich, surviving on the awful food and dealing with the endless bullying of the older boys. He told himself that however unfamiliar his uncle’s house was, it had to be an improvement on what he had endured over the past few months.

William started along the clifftop track, the powerful wind gusting in off the sea threatening to blow him off his feet at any moment. As he walked, he thought of Mrs Selby’s face when she’d called him into her study, five days ago. She was the person charged with the day-to-day running of the workhouse, a heavy-set, scowling fright of a woman, with a face that looked as though she were being forced to swallow something that tasted bad. She’d glared at him as he stood in front of her desk, his cap in his hands, his head bowed.

‘Well, boy,’ she said, ‘it would appear that all your prayers have been answered.’

He stared at her, mystified. ‘My… prayers?’ he echoed.

She lifted a sheet of writing paper from the desk and waved it at him. ‘I have a letter here from a Mr Seth Jessop …’

‘Who?’ William couldn’t help himself. It was his own surname, sure enough, but the Christian name meant nothing to him.

Mrs Selby grimaced. ‘Your uncle,’ she elaborated.

He continued to stare at her in bemusement.

‘Your dead father’s brother?’ she added, saying it slowly as though speaking to an idiot. ‘Oh, come along, boy, you must know of him. He lives in North Wales, does he not?’

William shrugged. ‘I think I do remember my father mentioning that he had a brother,’ he murmured. ‘He told me he had fallen out with his family years ago; he had very little to do with them.’

‘Yes, well, he must have a forgiving nature, your uncle. At any rate, he’s offered to give you a home.’ She looked positively outraged at this news. ‘He wants to take you off my hands, just as the two of us were beginning to get acquainted.’ She glanced slyly at the willow cane hanging on the wall above her desk, a cane that William had already learned she was more than happy to use on any boy who incurred her wrath – something that was surprisingly easy to do. You only needed to be a little bit slow in following one of her orders. ‘Well, don’t just stand there gaping like a stranded fish,’ she told him. ‘Aren’t you pleased? Aren’t you delighted?’

William nodded, but he was still utterly mystified. ‘Excuse me, Mrs Selby, but how… how did my uncle even know about me?’

‘The authorities must have written to him, I suppose. Informed him of your father’s untimely death and reminded him that, as your next of kin, he had a moral duty to offer you some sort of help. I imagine they expected nothing more than a few guineas in financial assistance, but he’s actually offered to give you a home in one of the finest houses in North Wales.’ She laughed at the sheer improbability of it and pushed the letter across the desk to him. ‘Here, read it for yourself,’ she suggested. She thought for a moment. ‘You can read, I take it?’

‘Yes, Mrs Selby. I … I was going to school before my father…’ He found he couldn’t continue down that line. It made him think about the accident and of his father, lying pale and drawn in a hospital bed, gasping for breath as death placed its cold hands upon him, so he busied himself looking at the letter. It was short and to the point.

The message was so brief that William found himself turning the paper over to see if there was anything else written on the back of it, but that was all. He placed it back on Mrs Selby’s desk and looked at her.

‘Wales?’ he said.

She gave him an impatient look. ‘What about it?’ she snapped.

‘I know nothing of it.’

‘But your late father was a Welshman, was he not?’

‘Yes, ma’am, but … we came to Northwich when I was just a baby.’

Mrs Selby shrugged. ‘I cannot do much about that, can I? Think of this as an opportunity to reacquaint yourself with your homeland.’

‘Yes, ma’am. Excuse me, ma’am, how… how will I even get there?’

‘That,’ said Mrs Selby, ‘is entirely up to you, boy. But you will leave these premises at first light tomorrow, so we can offer your bunk to somebody less privileged than you. We won’t be short of applicants, of that you can be sure.’

So at first light the following day, he’d done as she suggested. He had no idea how far it was or how long it would take him to reach his destination. As it turned out it was a journey of over eighty miles, and the workhouse had given him nothing for the trip but the clothes he stood up in, an old blanket, a crust of dry bread and a tattered map that Mrs Selby had found for him. William was glad that he had it as he made his way steadily south-west, through Kelsall, Chester, Ruthin and a whole collection of towns that he couldn’t even pronounce, until finally he reached the very end of the country, beneath the spot where the long arm of North Wales pointed out into the sea. The armpit, William decided, looking at the map.

And now here he was, in a place where the land ended abruptly, falling away to the moonlit sea far below him. He turned and followed an ancient track towards the old house. The path rose and fell, the dirt worn smooth by the passage of generations of feet. It switched this way and that, dropping steeply into unexpected declivities and then rearing up again so that William was sometimes obliged to balance on slippery rocks, uncomfortably aware of how close he was to the sheer drop at his left. One slip and that would be the end of him, he realised, so he stepped with great care. Gradually he grew closer and closer to Jessop Rise. Every muscle in his body protested at this last trudge, but he steeled himself and kept on going, telling himself that food and drink would surely be waiting for him when he finally reached his destination.

He was perhaps no more than half a mile from the house when he came to a place where a high rocky outcrop edged the track to his right and he became aware of a figure, sitting on the rocks a short distance ahead. As he drew closer he saw that it was a woman, her slight frame cloaked and hooded against the rough winds that flapped and shook the folds of the loose grey garment. A small lantern at her side bathed her body in a weak yellow light, but somehow failed to illuminate her face, which was lost in the shadow of her hood. William decided that she was gazing towards Jessop Rise, as though watching it intently. She made no sign of being aware of his presence; she just sat and stared in the direction of the house. As he came alongside her, he felt compelled to stop and speak. In such a desolate place, it would have seemed rude not to say something.

‘Good evening, ma’am,’ he said, trying to push aside the exhaustion that made even talking an effort. He pointed towards the house. ‘Would that be Jessop Rise?’ he asked.

She made no effort to reply, just kept gazing fixedly at it.

He wondered if perhaps she had failed to hear him, so he tried again, raising his voice to shout over the blustering wind. ‘Excuse me, ma’am. Am I … am I heading along the right path to …?’

His voice trailed away as her head turned in his direction. He still had no impression of a face contained within the hood, just a dark hollow that seemed as deep as a pit. The sight of it seemed to momentarily still his blood in his veins. He swallowed hard, aware that the woman’s eyes must be studying him with the same intensity with which they had watched the house. He felt compelled to say something more.

‘It … it is my… my uncle’s house. Seth Jessop. He has invited me to …’

But then the head turned away and went back to studying the distant building, as though the woman had dismissed him.

‘Well,’ he said, and he was aware of a tremor in his voice as he spoke. ‘I’ll b-bid you goodnight then.’

He resumed walking quickly onwards and had taken perhaps three steps when he distinctly heard a hoarse voice behind him: ‘Good night, boy,’ followed by a breathy laugh.

Fear rippled through him, and despite his tiredness he quickened his pace, almost tripping and falling on an outcrop of stone, but he managed to steady himself. When he had walked another twenty paces or so, he paused to glance back and felt another thrill of apprehension when he saw that the stone outcrop was now completely empty. He looked this way and that, trying to work out where she could have gone, and it occurred to him that she might have left her perch in order to follow him. The thought of that lent him wings. He kept on going and did not slow his pace again until he reached the gateway of the house.

CHAPTER TWO
THE HOUSE ON THE CLIFF

There was a stone archway at the top of the path with the name of the dwelling inscribed upon it in an ornate script. William noticed that the word ‘Jessop’, unlike the word ‘Rise’, looked rather amateurishly carved, and more deeply inscribed as though whatever had been there before had been chiselled away and the new name added by a less skilled craftsman. William pushed open the metal gate and walked up the wide driveway to the front door, his feet crunching on gravel. It was only now he was up close that he was able to fully appreciate the sheer size of the house. It towered above him, three storeys high, a great dark edifice of grey stone, its black windows staring blindly down at this puny newcomer as if challenging him to come closer. He got the impression that the house was very old, that it had stood here for generations, watching its inhabitants come and go.

William climbed the flight of lichen-encrusted steps to the front door. A length of metal chain hung alongside it so he reached out and gave it a tug. A bell clanged somewhere deep in the bowels of the house and he waited, wondering how late it was. Perhaps everybody had gone to bed. After a short while, however, the door creaked slowly open and a woman’s face peered out at him: a haggard, disapproving face with ragged black eyebrows and a thin downturned mouth, above which the faint outline of a moustache was evident. She was holding an oil lamp, the dim light giving her lined features a distinctly ominous look.

She said something then, or rather she growled it in a language he didn’t understand and he stared back at her helplessly. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t—’

‘I asked you what you want at this time of the night!’ snapped the woman, in a strong Welsh accent. ‘What’s the matter with you, boy? Don’t you speak God’s own language? I took you for a local lad.’ She sounded to be in bad humour.

‘If you please, ma’am, I’m … I’m here to s-see my uncle Seth,’ stammered William. ‘I believe he’s expecting me.’

‘Is he indeed? Well, he hasn’t said anything to me about it.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’re saying that you’re a Jessop?’ she asked incredulously. ‘Mr Jessop’s nephew?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said.

The woman seemed astounded by this information. ‘Wait yure,’ she said, and the door slammed shut in William’s face. He stood on the step for what seemed a very long time. Growing bored of waiting, he turned and looked back along the drive to the stone arch. Beyond it lay the rugged stretch of the clifftop, framed against that restless sky. This seemed such a remote place, so different from the narrow bustling streets of Northwich where he had grown up. There was a terrible sense of loneliness here, the feeling that whoever chose to live in such a house was shunning the rest of the world. This was a place for people who liked their own company.

William turned back as the door creaked open again and the same woman looked sullenly out at him.

‘It seems you are expected,’ she muttered, as though she had anticipated being told otherwise. ‘Why nobody ever bothers to inform me of such happenings is a mystery to me.’ She sighed. ‘Well, I suppose you’d better come inside,’ she added. ‘And make sure you wipe those boots before you go stepping on my clean floors.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ William did as he was told and found himself in a large, dimly lit hallway. He could see the woman better now. She was short and dumpy, wearing an odd frilly white cap and a shapeless black dress. A thick woollen shawl hung around her shoulders. She watched in silence as he wiped his boots on the doormat until she was satisfied that they were spotless.

‘I am Mrs Craddock,’ she told him. ‘The housekeeper at “the Rise”. Mr Jessop has just told me that I’m to treat you like everyone else yure and that you’re to do as I tell you. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said William.

‘Good. This way.’ He followed the bobbing light of her lantern along a narrow hallway. He had a fleeting impression of large paintings on the walls to either side of him and they passed a tall mirror, which briefly reflected the glow of the lamp in all directions. Then Mrs Craddock pushed open a door and ushered William into what appeared to be a large dining room. He was expecting her to follow him in, but she closed the door behind him and he found himself standing facing the room’s occupants, a man and a youth, who were sitting at a huge table, eating by lantern light. A generous log fire blazing in a marble hearth added to the light in the room, and William noticed that there were two large, scruffy wolfhounds stretched out in front of it. The room stank of their cloying, musky odour.

William returned his gaze to the diners. The man was a lithe, muscular-looking fellow with straight black hair, centre-parted and hanging to his shoulders. He studied William with keen dark eyes as the boy approached the table. His craggy face was ruggedly handsome, dominated by a long, sharp nose, but his chin was covered by thick stubble and his clothes looked grubby as though they hadn’t been changed in a long time. The other diner was perhaps only a few years older than William, heavy-set with pale, chubby features under a thatch of unruly blond hair. He was much more smartly dressed than his companion. His eyes too appraised William, but without much interest. The youth seemed far more concerned with his supper.

The man took a chicken leg from a serving dish and took a huge bite from the flesh, an action that made William’s empty stomach lurch. The man chewed noisily, studying William the whole time. Then he wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket and flung the remains of the drumstick across the room to the dogs. It was snatched up by the nearest of them and devoured in one noisy snap.

‘So,’ said the man, ‘you’re here at last.’ The strong Welsh accent reminded William of the way his father used to speak, but unlike him, this man’s demeanour was cold and aloof. His lips curled upwards into an unpleasant sneer. ‘I was expecting you days ago. What took you so long?’

William was taken aback by the question and it took him a moment to find the words to frame an answer. Finally he managed to reply.

‘Sir, I … I had to walk.’

‘From Northwich?’ The man seemed to find this incredibly amusing. He leaned back his head and laughed at the very idea of it. ‘But that’s more than eighty miles! Did nobody at the workhouse think to supply you with the coach fare?’

William shook his head. ‘No, sir, they did not.’

‘Who would believe it?’ He waved a hand. ‘Well, no matter, you’re here now and that’s the main thing. Mrs Craddock tells me you don’t have any Welsh. Is that right?’

‘It is, sir,’ said William. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

‘And you born not a stone’s throw from here! That’s a sorry state of affairs, isn’t it?’

‘Well, you see, sir, my father never—’

Uncle Seth waved a hand. ‘It’s of no consequence,’ he said. ‘We all speak English here. I am married to an Englishwoman, you see. That hulking specimen sitting beside me is my stepson, Toby. He can barely string a sentence together in the local tongue, though I’ve tried hard enough to teach him.’ The blond boy grunted but said nothing, so the man continued. ‘Half of the workforce up at the quarry are from Liverpool or Manchester, and if you tried speaking Welsh to them you’d get some pretty blank looks in return. The way things are going, the language will be dead and gone within fifty years.’ He shrugged, as if to indicate that it wouldn’t take much skin off his nose if that happened. ‘I expect you’re exhausted,’ he said. He noticed the intensity with which William was studying the plates of food on the table and added, ‘Hungry too, I’ll wager. Well, come along, boy – don’t stand on ceremony. As you can see, we do not bother with etiquette here.’ He indicated an empty chair beside him. ‘Sit down, grab a plate, help yourself to some food.’

William needed no second bidding. Within moments he had thrown down his bundle and was tucking into a large sausage and a hunk of bread. The man watched him for a moment in apparent amusement. ‘See how you’re wolfing that down!’ he exclaimed. ‘When did you last eat?’

‘Two days ago,’ said William, through a mouthful of bread and sausage. ‘A woman on the road gave me a piece of mutton pie.’

‘Hear that, Toby?’ the man asked. ‘Two days without food! I’d like to see you go that long without taking sustenance. Two hours would be your limit!’

Toby grunted again as if to suggest that he didn’t much care what the man thought and helped himself to a pork chop from a heaped platter in front of him. The man grinned and turned back to William. ‘As you have no doubt realised, I am your uncle Seth.’

‘I’m very pleased to meet you,’ said William. He held out a hand to shake, but Seth ignored the gesture.

‘We have met before,’ he said.

‘Er… really?’

‘Oh, it was a very long time ago. Of course you won’t remember it.’ He pointed his knife at William. ‘So you are Matthew’s lad. You have the look of him, I’d say, in as much as I can remember him. How old are you, boy?’

‘I’m fourteen, sir.’

Seth nodded. ‘Four years younger than Toby here,’ he observed. He looked again at his stepson, though his expression showed no sign of pride. If anything, he seemed irritated. ‘Well, come along, lad, have you nothing to say to your poor orphaned cousin?’

Toby looked up from his plate with evident reluctance and deigned to throw a look in William’s direction. ‘Hullo,’ he said.

William nodded back, but for the moment was too eager to swallow mouthfuls of that succulent meat to make anything in the way of conversation. He reached out and grabbed another sausage from the platter.

Seth looked from one to the other of them, amused by their silence. ‘Yes, well, hopefully you’ll feel more like conversation when your bellies are full,’ he observed. He lifted a glass of wine and took a generous swallow, then studied William again, as if wondering what to say next. ‘So, Matthew is dead,’ he said, setting the glass down, and the way he said it made William stop eating. There was no tone of regret in the voice. If anything, it sounded almost as though he was gloating. ‘I understand there was some kind of … an accident?’

William swallowed hard. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘He … he was crushed by machinery. At the cotton mill where he worked.’

Seth nodded. ‘Oh, now there’s bad luck. But … I was under the impression that he was a foreman there?’

‘He was, sir. He … he was trying to help another man who was caught up in the same equipment. They… both died.’

Seth shook his head. ‘That’s doubly unfortunate. What’s the point of being a foreman if you’re going to wade in with the underlings? Mind you, he always was the sentimental sort, your father.’ He stared at William intently. ‘Tell me, boy, was it quick? Or did he … linger?’

William put down the hunk of bread he’d been holding. He could feel fresh tears coming and his voice wavered as he struggled to hold them at bay. ‘He … he lasted two days in the hospital,’ he murmured. ‘He fought with everything he had, but … his chest was crushed, you see, and …’ William’s voice gave out and he wept, uncomfortably aware that the two of them were watching him with unwholesome interest. After a few moments he lifted an arm and wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his coat. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, as though he had done something wrong.

‘Don’t trouble yourself,’ said Seth, waving a hand. ‘Of course it’s upsetting. You’re an orphan now, what with your mother gone all those years ago. You must have been only a few years old when that happened.’

William nodded silently.

‘Cholera, wasn’t it? Ah well, that’s what comes of living in towns, you see. They are not healthy places. Breeding grounds for germs and contagion.’ He sighed, shrugging his shoulders. ‘I knew your mother, William. When we were young, Sian and I were … close friends. But then of course your father romanced her and eventually married her. He always seemed to take the things that I wanted.’ He looked distracted for a moment as though remembering. ‘And a year or so later he whisked her off to Northwich to start their new life together.’ He smiled, but his eyes seemed to flash with resentment. ‘Mind you, I know all about loss. My poor sweet Audrina – Toby’s mother – has been gone just a little more than a year.’

He pointed towards the fireplace with a knife, indicating a large oil painting that hung above the mantle. It was the portrait of a lady, a thin, aristocratic-looking woman with intense blue eyes, her long fair hair elegantly braided and hanging onto her shoulders. She was smiling, but her expression was not really one of happiness, William thought. She looked uneasy, brooding, as though she had not felt comfortable sitting for the portrait.

‘I’m sorry to hear it,’ said William. He felt puzzled. Hadn’t Uncle Seth just told him that he was still married? ‘What … what happened to her?’

Uncle Seth gave him a strange look. ‘Nobody’s entirely sure,’ he said. He gave an odd little smile and then seemed to make an effort to change the subject. ‘I wonder, William, do you remember your grandfather at all?’ He pointed to another painting on the opposite wall. This depicted a fierce-looking old man with white hair and a bristling moustache. He was dressed in black clothes and glared down as though he resented the diners being here.

William shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not,’ he said.

‘Well, why would you? You would have been no more than two or three years old when you last set eyes upon him. But I distinctly remember how he made such a great fuss of you! Of course, this was long before I met Audrina. I had no prospect of marriage then, and here was your father, the older brother, already married and with a young son to show off. The old man could barely contain his pride.’ He scowled. ‘Of course, he always favoured Matthew over me.’

‘I … I didn’t know that,’ said William.

‘Oh yes, absolutely! There was quite a rivalry between us, if I’m honest. Ever since we were little boys. It quite broke the old man’s heart when your father decided to head to England to pursue his interests in King Cotton. Our father wanted him to take over the slate quarry, where the Jessops have always prospered. He thought me far too headstrong for the role.’

‘Oh, I’m sure that—’

‘Don’t interrupt, boy.’ Seth looked momentarily annoyed, but seemed to make an attempt to shrug his bad humour off. ‘I remember very clearly Matthew’s last visit to see my father,’ he continued. ‘The old man made him an offer that day: ownership of the family business, something that would have made him a wealthy man, but one that he politely declined.’ Seth shook his head as though he still couldn’t quite believe it, even after all this time. ‘But that was Matthew for you. Proud, independent … beholden to no man.’ Uncle Seth took another mouthful of wine, gulping it noisily. ‘I stayed put of course and bided my time. I knew that persistence would eventually pay off, and this proved to be the case. The old man finally saw sense and made me his heir. When he became too infirm to continue, I inherited the quarry and then, of course, I met Audrina and married into her family, acquiring Toby as my stepson. And I came to live here in the Ransome family home. Even brought your grandfather here towards the end of his life, so he could live out the rest of his days like a proper gentleman. Now look at me! I’m the most prosperous man in the county.’

He chuckled, as though amused by his own good fortune.

‘And, you know, your father could have had it all on a plate.’ He tapped his own platter with the tip of a knife as if to emphasise the point. ‘He could have owned the quarry. He could have had me at his beck and call. He only had to say the word. But no, he preferred to follow his own course, and look where that ambition led him. To a slow and painful death on a factory floor, while I …’ He reached out a hand and plucked a plum from a bowl in front of him. ‘I have everything that could have been his. Including, it would seem, his son.’

The remark was so spiteful it made William flinch.

Seth lifted the plum to his mouth and chewed thoughtfully for a moment, before spitting the stone onto his plate. Then he studied William again. ‘So, now you are finally here, what are we to do with you?’ he asked.

‘Do with me?’

‘“The devil makes work for idle hands.” I’m sure you’ve heard that expression. And you do not strike me as an idle boy. After all, you’ve just walked eighty miles!’

‘Would I … be able to resume my studies?’ asked William, recovering himself.

Uncle Seth smirked. ‘Your studies?’

‘Yes, I was attending school in Northwich, before … before Father…’

Seth shook his head. ‘Oh, we haven’t much respect for book-learning in these parts,’ he said. He glanced at his stepson. ‘What do I always say, Toby?’

Toby recited the words as though he had been made to learn them by heart. ‘Life is the keenest teacher,’ he said tonelessly.

‘Well remembered.’ Seth looked sharply at William. ‘And, you’ll want to earn your keep, won’t you?’

‘Er… well, I …’

‘I have been thinking of late that there’s something Toby is in sore need of: a valet.’ At this Toby looked up, appearing interested for the first time.

‘A … valet, sir?’ asked William.

‘Yes. You know what that is, don’t you? Somebody to tend to him, help him to dress, wash, fetch his things and generally pick up after him. Well, he’s a young gentlemen now, and when he comes of age he’ll be the heir to a considerable fortune. Of course, I could appoint a professional to the task, but wouldn’t it be so much nicer if it were somebody in the family line? Somebody he could actually be friends with. So when I heard about Matthew’s death, I thought to myself, why not let his son enjoy the privilege?’

‘But, sir, I … I have no experience of—’

‘Well then, look at this as a perfect opportunity to learn a new set of skills!’ Seth spread his hands. ‘And when all is said and done, how difficult can it be? There’s no better training than first-hand experience. You shall make a start in the morning.’

‘Oh, but …’

Uncle Seth’s expression hardened. ‘I feel sure you’ll prefer living here to whatever it was you got up to at the workhouse. You’ll have decent meals and a warm, dry place to sleep. Who knows, if you do well, you may actually come to enjoy the work.’

‘But you see, I—’

‘The only other option I could offer you is to work down in the slate quarry… oh, but that’s a hard slog for a young lad. Back-breaking work it is – you’d be old before your time.’ He seemed to think for a moment. ‘I suppose there is one other possibility…’

William leaned forward slightly. ‘What’s that?’ he asked.

‘If you feel that the post of valet to my stepson is … beneath you, then you could always return to Mrs Selby and tell her that things haven’t worked out between us …’ Seth smiled with exaggerated innocence and William realised he had little choice but to agree to his uncle’s terms.

‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘Of course, I’ll do my best. Thank you, sir.’

‘That’s all settled then.’ Seth leaned back in his seat and smiled contentedly. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I expect you must be feeling tired after your long journey. Toby –’ he snapped his gaze sideways – ‘if you’ve quite finished stuffing your face with food, perhaps you’d like to take young William here and show him where he’ll be sleeping? Just for tonight you can wait on him, and from tomorrow it shall be the other way around.’

‘Can’t Mrs Craddock take him?’ complained Toby.

‘No, she cannot,’ growled Uncle Seth. ‘You’ll do it with a glad heart or I’ll box your ears for you.’

Toby was still chewing on what was left of the chop, but when he realised that his stepfather was glaring at him, he gave a weary sigh and flung the bone to the dogs. Once again it was wolfed down by the nearest of them with a loud snap. Toby wiped his hands and mouth on a linen napkin and got to his feet.

‘This way,’ he said wearily.

William would have liked to eat some more, but Seth seemed to have dismissed him, so he stood up from the table, collected his bundle and followed his cousin obediently out of the room.

CHAPTER THREE
AND SO TO BED

In the hallway, Toby picked up an oil lamp from a sideboard. He led William to a rather grand wooden staircase and started climbing it. William was obliged to follow close on his cousin’s heels in order to stay within range of the meagre glow.

‘You really walked all that way?’ asked Toby, without turning his head. William could hear now that Seth had been right; there was no trace of a Welsh accent in Toby’s voice. ‘You actually walked for eighty miles?’

William tried not to sound surprised. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It took me the best part of five days.’

‘Only an idiot would walk that far,’ observed Toby. ‘An idiot or a pauper.’

‘Well, there was no other choice,’ William told him. ‘I had no money.’

‘What? Did your father not leave you anything?’

‘I don’t know. Any cash there might have been went to the workhouse for my upkeep. Mrs Selby would have made short work of that.’ William didn’t like to dwell on such miserable things. ‘How… how long have you lived here?’ he asked.