3. Chapter 3-Lily
Lily desperately wished that the story she’d told Rebecca was true, that there had been a magic yellow balloon waiting to whisk her off on a grand adventure.
She set her heavy carpetbag in the muck at her feet and paused to catch her breath, bracing her hands against the rough brocade of her gown at the knees.
Since the moment she’d arrived, Lily had thought Northumberland one of the most beautiful places she’d ever seen. Dark thatches of woods interspersed the landscape, breaking up vivid green fields and the muted purple of the wild heather that grew along the rocks jutting from the soggy moor.
It was an ever-changing scenery, and not just because of the temperamental weather, though that certainly was remarkable.
If the Northumberland sky was a stage, it rarely offered the same show from week to week.
The sky itself seemed larger here, with great swells of blue-grey clouds that often rolled violently in and swirled and tumbled as if fighting each other.
Other days were perfectly clear and blue.
Lily couldn’t help but wish that today had been one of those rare days of sunshine. Instead, the weather reflected her current circumstances perfectly—grey clouds roiled and writhed. A cold, misty wind tugged strands loose from her low bun and flicked her limp bonnet ribbons into her face.
Lily had sent more than a dozen prayers winging upward that it would not rain.
Not yet, at least. Even so, mud already caked her sturdy boots up to her ankle.
The left one was soaked through from when she’d stepped into a boggy puddle.
Her cloak was wicking moisture upwards, wetting her skirts and weighing her down, but it was too cold to remove it.
Though there was an excellent sturdy road between Ballam Hall and the town of Blyth, Lily hadn’t dared take it.
Her absence would be noted soon, if it hadn’t been already.
Rebecca always napped after a bath and a tea tray—she wouldn’t be asking for Lily for a while yet.
It was the girl’s father who would be the problem.
It was Lord Hayes’s threat of arrest that dictated Lily strike a path where there weren’t any paths at all—down through the back field, using the hedgerow for cover so she wouldn’t be spotted from the house—then through a forest that was far more prickly thicket than anything else.
Now, she hefted her carpetbag and plodded up and down the hillsides, heading due east. Thank heavens for the compass William had brought her the last time he’d been in London, years ago.
Thank goodness that sentiment hadn’t let her sell it in a secondhand shop the way she and her sisters had done to everything else not nailed down in their once-grand home.
Blyth, she knew, was slightly northeast of Ballam Hall, but if Lily headed due east, she would hit the village of Stannington. From there one could follow the road into Blyth. Her brother’s man was presumably already there in that port town, waiting at the Cask and Crowne Inn.
Blyth was not a short distance, however.
Travelling by road, it was approximately twenty miles.
The distance was shortened by a negligible amount when one walked a straight line as the crow flies, but it became a much longer journey for skipping the solid surface of roadway.
Even now, the wind picked up, alternately plastering her wet cloak against her and sending it billowing dramatically behind.
Despite the less than ideal conditions, Lily thought she could make it to Stannington by sundown.
It was only seven miles. It was a very small hamlet, but one in possession of an inn.
She would use her last month’s wages to secure a room and send a messenger to Blyth, requesting that her brother’s steward collect her there instead.
“There will be a fire and stew once I arrive,” she promised herself aloud. “And a warm fire.”
Her stomach sounded a long, low lament in response.
She’d missed lunch and now tea, and was heartily regretting both.
Perhaps she could have nipped into the kitchens to take a loaf of bread before she’d left.
Her back straightened at the errant thought.
She was not a thief. And despite Lord Hayes’s understandable umbrage, Lily didn’t believe she’d done anything worthy of arrest.
Misrepresenting who she was had been wrong, certainly, but she’d done so with excellent intentions. Besides, her contrition for lying had prodded her into becoming the best governess possible to Rebecca. In that quarter at least, Lily had no guilt whatsoever.
As she slogged up the next muddy hill, her boots slipping in the slick clay, she prayed that Lord Hayes would reconsider. If that weren’t possible, she hoped she’d at least reach the safety of Stannington before anyone realized she’d fled.