before hurrying out.
Matron stopped mid-stride, startled by her flight. Her gaze narrowed as she swept it from Isabelle to the linen room door.
Wordlessly, Isabelle shook her head and darted away. Her heart pounded, threatening to explode in her chest. The echoes of her running footsteps bouncing off the walls sounded loud in her ears. She had to leave this place!
Chapter Two
The cold wind outside tried to wheedle its way into the corridors of the workhouse as Isabelle rushed to the matron’s office to meet with her intended husband. For a split second she baulked at the prospect, but knowing her desire to leave here rested on this meeting, she quelled her nerves and hurried on.
The draughts whistled around her ankles and a quick glance out the small windows she passed showed another grey gloomy day heralding winter. Summer had only just finished yet she missed it all ready. The thought of spending another winter inside these frigid walls spiralled her into a mood of gloom.
She should be thankful she lived in a private workhouse and not a parish one, but still the conditions were primitive, the future bleak unless she took some chances. Living this way had taken her mother and sister. Their gentleness left them unable to cope once outside the safety of the vicarage. Still, her mother always said she, Isabelle, was the strongest in the family. The idealist. The one to weather the harsh demands of a world devoid of compassion. She would show them all that her mother was right. Her family might have fallen lower than the low but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t do all in her power to claw them back to their rightful place.
Within a week of speaking of her desire to be married, to have a home of her own, Mr Beale had arranged it for his cousin to visit. It had been a week of hiding from Neville.
After the incident in the linen room, he had given her a few days reprieve before hounding her unmercifully. He hid in corners and loomed out of shadows. He watched from windows and sent her peculiar notes. She became distressed when he struck up an interest in Hughie, which included giving him little presents.
Two nights ago, she had gone to bed and found a dead kitten under the blankets. Frightened and not sure what to do, she had stayed up all night with only her umbrella as protection. From then on, Isabelle lived in fear of Neville. She caught scraps of sleep during the day when she could, knowing that each night would see her maintain her vigil watching her bedroom door and window.
And this morning, a note was pushed under the door. Neville had written exactly what he was going to do with her when he caught her and that she would never marry anyone but him.
Thankfully, after breakfast, Matron had sent him off to visit family in Leeds and for this Isabelle had sent a prayer of thanks heavenward.
The office door opened before she could lift her hand to knock and Mr Beale ushered her in. ‘You’re late.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She puffed. ‘I was helping in the kitchens.’
Matron, all congeniality, beckoned with a tight smile. ‘Come in girl and present yourself to Mr Farrell.’
Isabelle stepped further into the room and looked at the man who might be her husband shortly.
Her heart hammered against her ribs as she took in his ruddy complexion, sharp blue eyes and black hair. She knew him to be thirty-eight, but he looked ten years older. Once, he would have been a good-looking man, powerfully built. Only now, his muscle had run to heaviness. She felt he would still be strong as the width of his arms strained his coat sleeves and she knew her hands couldn’t span his thick bull neck.
‘Miss Gibson.’ He held out his wide hand, looking uncomfortable in his suit too small for him, but his shy smile calmed her a little.
‘Good day, Mr Farrell.’ She barely touched his fingers before she withdrew her hand to hide it behind her back. ‘Thank you for coming to see me.’
‘I heard yer were in the need for a
Matron stopped mid-stride, startled by her flight. Her gaze narrowed as she swept it from Isabelle to the linen room door.
Wordlessly, Isabelle shook her head and darted away. Her heart pounded, threatening to explode in her chest. The echoes of her running footsteps bouncing off the walls sounded loud in her ears. She had to leave this place!
Chapter Two
The cold wind outside tried to wheedle its way into the corridors of the workhouse as Isabelle rushed to the matron’s office to meet with her intended husband. For a split second she baulked at the prospect, but knowing her desire to leave here rested on this meeting, she quelled her nerves and hurried on.
The draughts whistled around her ankles and a quick glance out the small windows she passed showed another grey gloomy day heralding winter. Summer had only just finished yet she missed it all ready. The thought of spending another winter inside these frigid walls spiralled her into a mood of gloom.
She should be thankful she lived in a private workhouse and not a parish one, but still the conditions were primitive, the future bleak unless she took some chances. Living this way had taken her mother and sister. Their gentleness left them unable to cope once outside the safety of the vicarage. Still, her mother always said she, Isabelle, was the strongest in the family. The idealist. The one to weather the harsh demands of a world devoid of compassion. She would show them all that her mother was right. Her family might have fallen lower than the low but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t do all in her power to claw them back to their rightful place.
Within a week of speaking of her desire to be married, to have a home of her own, Mr Beale had arranged it for his cousin to visit. It had been a week of hiding from Neville.
After the incident in the linen room, he had given her a few days reprieve before hounding her unmercifully. He hid in corners and loomed out of shadows. He watched from windows and sent her peculiar notes. She became distressed when he struck up an interest in Hughie, which included giving him little presents.
Two nights ago, she had gone to bed and found a dead kitten under the blankets. Frightened and not sure what to do, she had stayed up all night with only her umbrella as protection. From then on, Isabelle lived in fear of Neville. She caught scraps of sleep during the day when she could, knowing that each night would see her maintain her vigil watching her bedroom door and window.
And this morning, a note was pushed under the door. Neville had written exactly what he was going to do with her when he caught her and that she would never marry anyone but him.
Thankfully, after breakfast, Matron had sent him off to visit family in Leeds and for this Isabelle had sent a prayer of thanks heavenward.
The office door opened before she could lift her hand to knock and Mr Beale ushered her in. ‘You’re late.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She puffed. ‘I was helping in the kitchens.’
Matron, all congeniality, beckoned with a tight smile. ‘Come in girl and present yourself to Mr Farrell.’
Isabelle stepped further into the room and looked at the man who might be her husband shortly.
Her heart hammered against her ribs as she took in his ruddy complexion, sharp blue eyes and black hair. She knew him to be thirty-eight, but he looked ten years older. Once, he would have been a good-looking man, powerfully built. Only now, his muscle had run to heaviness. She felt he would still be strong as the width of his arms strained his coat sleeves and she knew her hands couldn’t span his thick bull neck.
‘Miss Gibson.’ He held out his wide hand, looking uncomfortable in his suit too small for him, but his shy smile calmed her a little.
‘Good day, Mr Farrell.’ She barely touched his fingers before she withdrew her hand to hide it behind her back. ‘Thank you for coming to see me.’
‘I heard yer were in the need for a
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