Melinda Hammond Read Online Free Page A

darkening landscape with foreboding: perhaps it was the grey cloud, but the land looked so much gloomier, even the walls were darker than the whitish-grey stone she had known in Derbyshire. She watched from the shelter of the carriage as Mr Bannerman conferred with the coachman and as he climbed in beside her she gave him an anxious, questioning glance.
     'We will press on.' Rafe Bannerman answered her unspoken question. 'There are no reports of snow ahead yet, but I have decided we should take the upland road rather than the valley route through Derringden. The road is steep and a little rough, but it will save us at least two hours' driving. Don't worry, Miss Shore. You must not let the prospect of a little snow daunt you. Besides, it may not come until morning.'
     Verity pulled her cloak about her and glanced up at the lowering sky.
     'I hope you are right sir.'
     As they travelled north the weather grew steadily colder and the first flakes of snow began to fall. Verity watched with growing unease as the road wound its way through a steep-sided valley, and the light faded to a gloomy dusk. Soon the coach pulled off the toll road and began a steady climb.
     'We are on the direct road to Highclough.' Rafe Bannerman's voice cut through the darkness. 'There is little more than a mile to go now.'
     As they left the shelter of the valley the wind began to buffet the carriage, and the snow became finer, until it was hard, icy particles that rattled against the sides of the coach with each new gust of wind. Verity huddled into her cloak, listening to the storm. She tried to peer out of the window, but could see nothing in the near darkness. The road grew steeper and the coach groaned on its back springs as the horses struggled to drag it upwards. To Verity the journey seemed interminable. She had no idea how fast they were travelling but just as she had decided that they must be climbing a mountain rather than a hill, the carriage came to a halt.
     'Wait here.' Rafe Bannerman jumped out, slamming the door behind him to keep out the storm. Verity sat alone in the darkness. She could just make out the sound of voices raised against the wind, then the door jerked open and she was obliged to hold her cloak tightly against the sudden icy blast. Mr Bannerman leaned in.
     'John Driver says the horses can get the coach no further. The house is less than half a mile from here – do you think you can walk?'
     'Of course.'
     'Let me see your shoes.'
     She pulled one foot from the snug sheepskin and put it forward for inspection, wrinkling her nose at the well-worn leather.
     'One of the advantages of a life of a governess,' she said, a laugh in her voice, 'one's footwear is always serviceable!'
    * * * *
    Mr Bannerman helped her out of the carriage, one hand clasping the brim of his hat as he shouted over his shoulder to the coachman.
     'Leave it here, no-one is likely to be coming this way tonight. Get the horses to Highclough, then have some of the lads come back with the sledge for the baggage.' He turned to Verity. 'Are you ready?'
     'Yes.'
     She looked down at her feet: the snow was so fine there was very little on the ground, but it was building up at the sides of the road, and she could feel the icy surface beneath her boots. They set off along a rough lane. The light was nearly gone, but she could just make out the high dry-stone walls on each side. The wind swirled about, tugging at Verity's thick cloak. The lane carried on upwards, and as they crested the highest point they were suddenly exposed to the full force of the wind, and Verity gasped as the icy rain hit her cheeks like dozens of tiny blades. She gripped her hood, pulling it tightly around her face and trudged on, her head bent into the wind. The storm howled about her and she found her feet slipping on the uneven surface. Unable to look forward, she kept her eyes on the ground, just visible in the fading light, gritting her teeth against the biting cold and