‘No, I must go today, I’ve urgent business. And besides, the quicker I get a horse bought, the better it is for me. Once I’ve eaten this porridge I’ll be on my way. Could you see to my bedroom? It needs a good clean, as it’s not been touched since I moved in, and the spiders seem to think they have free run of the room, the way they are hanging down from the beams in their intricate webs.’ Adam sat back and pulled on his boots, leaving half of his breakfast uneaten. He had to get to Keighley, come hell or high water, to visit the apothecary for something less potent than the Black Drop, which he could all too easily become too dependent upon.
‘You’ll take care, won’t you, sir? Have you got my list of what you need? Although if you are to buy a horse today, I can manage without some of the things upon it, as I know old Mr Gaine will natter you to death. He can talk for England, folk say.’ Lucy watched as Adam put on his jerkin and headed for the door.
‘I’ll be back before dusk, Lucy, hopefully with a four-legged friend and whatever provisions you have requested. Will you be alright until I get back?’
Lucy stood at the farm’s doorway and looked up at Adam. ‘I’m sure I’ll manage. Those spiders will have had to find new homes by the time you are back. Take care, sir, and watch your wallet – there’s a lot of light-fingered pickpockets down there, who would rob you of your last penny.’ She smiled.
‘Don’t you worry about me. I can hold my own. I didn’t serve in the Queen’s army for nothing.’ Adam looked down at Lucy, who looked a little wan and worried. ‘Now, make sure you get something to eat while I’m away, and I’ll be back for my supper.’
Adam watched as she closed the door, feeling concerned that he was leaving her on her own and that she seemed beset with worries. Although he hardly knew her, he still couldn’t stop himself worrying about her, as the life at home that she had disclosed to him was not a happy one and Lucy seemed obsessed with the fact that her mother was with child again. It was probably as she said – her mother and father falling out over the unwanted baby, and nothing more.
He walked briskly down the cobbled road from Denholme, leaving the wild bleak moors, making his way down the Halifax road into the busy town of Keighley. He stopped only to rest his aching leg outside a row of smoke-blackened mill cottages called Hermit Hole, and looked down the steep sides of the Aire valley towards the town of Keighley. Along the busy River Aire’s banks stood worsted mills and ironworks, and between the mills and works were cottages filled with wool-combers working in their own bedrooms, making a meagre living. In the far distance he could hear the whistle of a steam engine from the recently built railway station that now connected Keighley to other industrial towns of Yorkshire.
His mind went back to the days when he was a young man, full of dreams and hope for the future, and when he had patrolled the dark, dank wool town as a young peeler. How stupid he had been, judging people by the way they lived their lives. He hadn’t realized how cruel life’s hand could be, and that not everyone had a decent home to go to, with food on the table. All that had changed with the death of Mary. His life had been left in tatters by the worthless pickpocket that fateful afternoon, spiralling into an abyss of self-loathing and hate, filling his emptiness and sleeplessness by taking laudanum nearly every day, even before his injury. Until, in an effort to put himself out of his misery, he’d accepted his old friend Captain Linton Simmons’s offer of a position in the godforsaken Crimea. He’d gone partly with the hope that some brutal Russian in the Balkans would put him out of his misery and kill him. But when he had looked death in the face, he had fought for his life, and now he knew that life was a most precious gift.
The reason for his trip today called Adam back to his senses. He hated his dependence on laudanum, but it brought relief from his pain, and a drop of a night helped him sleep and was not as strong as the Black Drop. Along with his need for a horse, he had to visit Keighley now, whether he was feeling like it or not.
He patted his pocket, making sure his letter to his dear friend Ivy was still safely inside it. Ivy Thwaite had been Mary’s and his own closest friend, and she was a link between him and Mary in the world that lay between them. Ivy gave him the hope of everlasting life and showed him that one day he would be with Mary again, through the seances that she held with him, before he went to do his duty in the Crimea. He’d written asking that Ivy come and visit him and reignite their friendship, so that he could speak to Mary through Ivy and tell her of his new life back home. Although he knew that plenty of people thought of seances as a fanciful notion, and one that no sensible person would give the time of day to, sensible people had not seen or dreamed the things that he had, after the death of his beloved Mary. He was convinced that there was more to
