The Gentle Wind's Caress Read Online Free

eat at the farm. Fresh eggs, milk, hams and cheese.’
    Hughie groaned and rubbed his stomach. ‘Remember how grandfather used to have two eggs every morning after prayers? We’re lucky to get one egg a week!’
    Warm memories flowed as she remembered the pleasant times of living with their grandfather; his gentle voice reading to them at night in front of the fire, the long walks on Saturday afternoons, and the Christmas festivities he enjoyed so much.
    He took them in when Aaron Gibson, her father, abandoned them. Life had been good at the vicarage until a sudden seizure took their darling grandfather from them. With no home or income of their own they had no option but to take the charity of Peacock’s Private Workhouse.
    In good faith, her mother gave Matron all her jewellery to help towards their keep. But once their mother died, the Matron’s true nature emerged and her false benevolence turned to coldness. Since then, only Sally’s sweet nature kept up the pretence of civility.
    ‘Does Mr Farrell have family?’
    Isabelle frowned. ‘Not sure. He mentioned his mother died a few years ago. That’s all I know. I imagine he has workers. A farm needs men to run it.’
    She paused and gazed at the elderly men toiling in the vegetable gardens. By the far wall two women, old before their time, sat on stools knitting or sewing surrounded by numerous children. Everything and everyone was colourless, dreary, desperate and sad. This wasn’t her fate, to be left existing behind a high, stone wall, shut away from the world, of that she was certain. She hated each moment she spent here.
    ‘Will you marry him then?’
    She looked at Hughie and reached for his hand. ‘I think I might. I haven’t decided. I wanted to speak to you about it first.’
    ‘Have there been any other men you’d might want to marry instead?’
    ‘No. None. I guess I could ask Mr Thwaite, the grocer in Nelson Street. He always smiled at me whenever Sally and I used to pass by. He’s widowed.’
    ‘And old, too.’ Hughie laughed. ‘His daughter was as old as Mother.’
    Isabelle sighed, too anxious to share in the jest. Something had to be done. A chance must be taken. She wouldn’t be trapped here with the years stretching out before her in a never-ending drudge of work and evading Neville. Her youth would be gone, stolen by Matron’s harsh demands and Neville’s malicious attacks.
    Hughie peeked up from under his lashes. ‘Matron said I’m to go down the pit.’
    ‘You aren’t! I promised mother.’ Isabelle pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples. The pressure built within and she couldn’t control it, couldn’t escape it. Too many decisions. Too many uncertainties. But what choices did she have? What should she do?
    ‘Can’t we just run away? Now Sally has gone, we can do it. Just you and me. I’m old enough, nearly thirteen!’
    She shook her head slowly, sadly. ‘I can’t risk it. If something was to happen to you, I’d never forgive myself. And if something happened to me, you’d be alone.’
    ‘Anything is better than rotting in here.’
    ‘Dying by the side of the road isn’t.’
    He nodded but Mildred, another workhouse inmate, took their attention as she ran towards them. ‘Isabelle! This just arrived for you.’ She held out a brown box.
    ‘For me?’ Surprised, Isabelle stood and took the box from her.
    ‘Let me know what’s in it later. I must get back. Matron is doing her inspections.’ Mildred ran off towards the kitchens before Isabelle could thank her.
    Intrigued, Hughie jumped up to stand beside her. ‘What is it, Belle?’
    ‘It must be from Mr Farrell. How lovely.’ Opening the box, Isabelle pulled back the brown paper inside and gasped. Several withered pink roses dipped in black ink lay at the bottom of the box.
    Hughie stepped back in disgust. ‘Eww, that’s awful! If that Farrell sent you this as a gift I’d not marry him, Belle.’
    Isabelle swallowed and found it difficult to speak.