scarcelya hardship. There was no shortage of personnel to see to her every need, and Mrs. Hudson—off to spend a fortnight with her sister and recover from the explosion—had gone with her as far as York before turning off for Scarborough.
The last leg of the journey found Evelina in the company of a middle-aged woman, a wheezing pug in a wicker cage, and a plump man in a brown suit. The woman was engrossed in a novel and the man was engrossed with Evelina.
“My dear,” he said, edging closer to the lip of the worn velvet seat opposite her. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mr. Jeremy.”
She rearranged her skirts so that they did not brush his knees. The woman looked up from her book, giving the man a hard stare. Gentlemen did not introduce themselves to young ladies journeying alone. “A pleasure, sir,” Evelina said in cool tones—not impolite, but not inviting further conversation. That seemed to shut him down, and then the only sound in the carriage was the pug snuffling against the bars of its cage.
The train slowed as it passed a miserable smudge of a town, choked with coal dust and overcrowding. Seeing it made her chest hurt, as if a fist had closed around her heart. Now Evelina drew back from the window, needing that extra few inches between her and the poverty. Women dragged children away from the tracks, their arms so thin their elbows looked like knots in a rope. Dogs sniffed hopelessly for food, their ribs stark beneath patchy fur. Evelina’s life had never been that dire, but some winters had come close enough that sometimes she still had trouble leaving food on her plate, or throwing a garment away before it was completely worn to bits.
“Pathetic creatures,” said Mr. Jeremy.
She didn’t answer. He’d probably never done a day’s manual labor in his life, much less in one of the steam barons’ foundries—for she was fairly sure that was what they were seeing. Crates of gears and giant spools of chain sat on the platform, waiting for the barons’ own trains to whisk them away to their gas plants or railways, manufactories or perhaps one of the great steam boilers that heated entire neighborhoodsthrough underground pipes. Supplies like these weren’t for the ordinary citizen to buy—just to die of the black lung making them.
He leaned forward, his knuckles brushing her knee. “I am sorry such a beautiful young lady is obliged to see such a sight.”
She again snapped her skirts back out of his reach. “Better than that I remain in ignorance.” She regretted the words the moment she spoke, because speaking had given him an opening for further conversation. He opened his mouth, ready to take advantage of the fact.
“Sir,” said the lady with the pug. Her voice said she’d been a schoolmistress at some point in her past. “Pray leave the young lady in peace or I shall call the conductor and have him escort you to another car.”
Red faced, the man settled back with a muttered complaint about aging harridans. Evelina shot the woman a grateful look. After that, the train was quiet except for the wheezing of the dog and the rattle of the wheels.
Evelina fell into a kind of fretful daydream, imagining what she’d find when she got to Maggor’s Close. Scene after scene played itself out in her mind, reinforcing her anxiety. She still wasn’t sure how she was going to face Tobias.
It shouldn’t matter now. He is engaged. He’s beyond my reach
. And yet some part of her wouldn’t let him go.
She had been poised to fall in love, like a swimmer in a fast-flowing river with just one hand clinging to the bank. She had been so eager to let go and surrender herself, had only been waiting for one last sign that everything could work. And then he had declared his love—but withdrawn it almost at once.
Now she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to feel. Tobias had shot Uncle Sherlock, but he had been defending his mother and sisters from ruin. Could she despise him for doing a
The last leg of the journey found Evelina in the company of a middle-aged woman, a wheezing pug in a wicker cage, and a plump man in a brown suit. The woman was engrossed in a novel and the man was engrossed with Evelina.
“My dear,” he said, edging closer to the lip of the worn velvet seat opposite her. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mr. Jeremy.”
She rearranged her skirts so that they did not brush his knees. The woman looked up from her book, giving the man a hard stare. Gentlemen did not introduce themselves to young ladies journeying alone. “A pleasure, sir,” Evelina said in cool tones—not impolite, but not inviting further conversation. That seemed to shut him down, and then the only sound in the carriage was the pug snuffling against the bars of its cage.
The train slowed as it passed a miserable smudge of a town, choked with coal dust and overcrowding. Seeing it made her chest hurt, as if a fist had closed around her heart. Now Evelina drew back from the window, needing that extra few inches between her and the poverty. Women dragged children away from the tracks, their arms so thin their elbows looked like knots in a rope. Dogs sniffed hopelessly for food, their ribs stark beneath patchy fur. Evelina’s life had never been that dire, but some winters had come close enough that sometimes she still had trouble leaving food on her plate, or throwing a garment away before it was completely worn to bits.
“Pathetic creatures,” said Mr. Jeremy.
She didn’t answer. He’d probably never done a day’s manual labor in his life, much less in one of the steam barons’ foundries—for she was fairly sure that was what they were seeing. Crates of gears and giant spools of chain sat on the platform, waiting for the barons’ own trains to whisk them away to their gas plants or railways, manufactories or perhaps one of the great steam boilers that heated entire neighborhoodsthrough underground pipes. Supplies like these weren’t for the ordinary citizen to buy—just to die of the black lung making them.
He leaned forward, his knuckles brushing her knee. “I am sorry such a beautiful young lady is obliged to see such a sight.”
She again snapped her skirts back out of his reach. “Better than that I remain in ignorance.” She regretted the words the moment she spoke, because speaking had given him an opening for further conversation. He opened his mouth, ready to take advantage of the fact.
“Sir,” said the lady with the pug. Her voice said she’d been a schoolmistress at some point in her past. “Pray leave the young lady in peace or I shall call the conductor and have him escort you to another car.”
Red faced, the man settled back with a muttered complaint about aging harridans. Evelina shot the woman a grateful look. After that, the train was quiet except for the wheezing of the dog and the rattle of the wheels.
Evelina fell into a kind of fretful daydream, imagining what she’d find when she got to Maggor’s Close. Scene after scene played itself out in her mind, reinforcing her anxiety. She still wasn’t sure how she was going to face Tobias.
It shouldn’t matter now. He is engaged. He’s beyond my reach
. And yet some part of her wouldn’t let him go.
She had been poised to fall in love, like a swimmer in a fast-flowing river with just one hand clinging to the bank. She had been so eager to let go and surrender herself, had only been waiting for one last sign that everything could work. And then he had declared his love—but withdrawn it almost at once.
Now she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to feel. Tobias had shot Uncle Sherlock, but he had been defending his mother and sisters from ruin. Could she despise him for doing a
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