shadows rather than to any hypothetical ghost. Advancing upon the curtain, he pulled it aside, finding nothing within. No draught, and no sign of mice.
Feeling like a superstitious fool, he fetched the matches and lit the lamp, stubbornly ignoring the way that the shadows crept and clutched at the his ankles.
The lamplight did much to reassure him, and Mr. Cullen arrived only moments later with the tea.
Putting Jasper and the ghosts both from his mind, Algernon sat down to reply to Mr. Sutton’s letter. As he wrote, he left the map of the intended railway route laying nearby, and his eyes kept creeping back to it.
Jasper had said that the railway plans would cut through some of the estate’s best land and leave at least three families homeless.
Algernon turned the map face down. The railway had an Act of Parliament. He must sell, and the railway must be built. All he could do was try his best to be a good leader for the people of Wilston during the inevitable upheaval.
Chapter Eight
Jasper
J asper left before dawn for Cairkby.
Far to the east, a thin line of red and gold had begun to edge up from the horizon, but he still had an hour to sunrise.
Striding across the moors to the Cairkby road, Jasper paused only briefly to glance back at the manor. There was a single light on in a lower window—servants up early, he expected. Algernon tended to sleep in.
He turned away and quickened his pace. He had a train to catch, and no time to delay in unnecessary thoughts.
If Algernon could be deposed, then he would simply go back to London and resume whatever life had been his before this whole nonsense started. And once he was gone Jasper would still need to find some way to stop the encroaching railway development.
It was just past sunrise when he crested the hill to Cairkby. There was a train waiting, and the new, unused train tracks in the direction of Wilston stretched out, glinting, in the morning sun.
The formerly sleepy village of Cairkby had changed so much as to be nearly unrecognisable. New construction was going up in at least three areas, including what looked like a boarding-house and a new brick building for shops. Carriages crowded the muddy streets, and new plank sidewalks had been built along the shopfronts.
“Here, now, sir, what’s your hurry?” a young woman asked him. He stopped in surprise at being so accosted, blinking at her. She took the opportunity to stride forward and smile at him. Though she wasn’t unattractive and she had an excellent smile, she looked thin and sick. “I’ve a room, if you like, or there’s the alleyway—”
Jasper coloured to the tips of his ears, suddenly understanding that she was a prostitute. “No, thank you.”
Stepping around her, he continued very quickly along his way.
He felt ill at ease. In another year, if the railway had its way, Wilston would look just this way. Rich and fat with new industry and commerce, with an underbelly of new poverty and corruption. The trains brought new factory-made goods from halfway across Britain, and the local artisans were reduced to idleness and alcoholism. Cairkby no longer traded with Wilston—it had little need for Wilston’s goods if there were cheaper goods to be bought from the new shops in Cairkby. Wilston’s potter could no longer sell his wares even in Wilston, and in their place Jasper kept seeing more and more copies of factory-made teapots in Wilston homes.
Paying his train fare, Jasper climbed into the carriage and claimed a seat. He was glad for the cheap accommodation of the Parliamentary train, but his eyes lingered upon the almost unrecognisable village of Cairkby.
There wasn’t long to wait before the train lurched into motion with deafening whistles and thick, choking billows of black smoke from the engine. Jasper set his jaw. The train would take him south to Lincoln, where he could catch another train west to Nottingham, where he would be able to access the supposed marriage records of Mrs.
Feeling like a superstitious fool, he fetched the matches and lit the lamp, stubbornly ignoring the way that the shadows crept and clutched at the his ankles.
The lamplight did much to reassure him, and Mr. Cullen arrived only moments later with the tea.
Putting Jasper and the ghosts both from his mind, Algernon sat down to reply to Mr. Sutton’s letter. As he wrote, he left the map of the intended railway route laying nearby, and his eyes kept creeping back to it.
Jasper had said that the railway plans would cut through some of the estate’s best land and leave at least three families homeless.
Algernon turned the map face down. The railway had an Act of Parliament. He must sell, and the railway must be built. All he could do was try his best to be a good leader for the people of Wilston during the inevitable upheaval.
Chapter Eight
Jasper
J asper left before dawn for Cairkby.
Far to the east, a thin line of red and gold had begun to edge up from the horizon, but he still had an hour to sunrise.
Striding across the moors to the Cairkby road, Jasper paused only briefly to glance back at the manor. There was a single light on in a lower window—servants up early, he expected. Algernon tended to sleep in.
He turned away and quickened his pace. He had a train to catch, and no time to delay in unnecessary thoughts.
If Algernon could be deposed, then he would simply go back to London and resume whatever life had been his before this whole nonsense started. And once he was gone Jasper would still need to find some way to stop the encroaching railway development.
It was just past sunrise when he crested the hill to Cairkby. There was a train waiting, and the new, unused train tracks in the direction of Wilston stretched out, glinting, in the morning sun.
The formerly sleepy village of Cairkby had changed so much as to be nearly unrecognisable. New construction was going up in at least three areas, including what looked like a boarding-house and a new brick building for shops. Carriages crowded the muddy streets, and new plank sidewalks had been built along the shopfronts.
“Here, now, sir, what’s your hurry?” a young woman asked him. He stopped in surprise at being so accosted, blinking at her. She took the opportunity to stride forward and smile at him. Though she wasn’t unattractive and she had an excellent smile, she looked thin and sick. “I’ve a room, if you like, or there’s the alleyway—”
Jasper coloured to the tips of his ears, suddenly understanding that she was a prostitute. “No, thank you.”
Stepping around her, he continued very quickly along his way.
He felt ill at ease. In another year, if the railway had its way, Wilston would look just this way. Rich and fat with new industry and commerce, with an underbelly of new poverty and corruption. The trains brought new factory-made goods from halfway across Britain, and the local artisans were reduced to idleness and alcoholism. Cairkby no longer traded with Wilston—it had little need for Wilston’s goods if there were cheaper goods to be bought from the new shops in Cairkby. Wilston’s potter could no longer sell his wares even in Wilston, and in their place Jasper kept seeing more and more copies of factory-made teapots in Wilston homes.
Paying his train fare, Jasper climbed into the carriage and claimed a seat. He was glad for the cheap accommodation of the Parliamentary train, but his eyes lingered upon the almost unrecognisable village of Cairkby.
There wasn’t long to wait before the train lurched into motion with deafening whistles and thick, choking billows of black smoke from the engine. Jasper set his jaw. The train would take him south to Lincoln, where he could catch another train west to Nottingham, where he would be able to access the supposed marriage records of Mrs.
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