The Iron Master Read Online Free Page B

well as I could. My mother has thrown up her hands, and cried that her children cast away their opportunities … ’
    ‘An understandable reaction, Mr Howarth!’
    ‘ … but I shall become the blacksmith of Flawnes Green.’
    ‘You place your friend’s wishes above your own ambition? That is most laudable, but not, in the world’s terms, prudent, my friend.’
    ‘I have transferred my ambition from Somer Court to Flawnes Green, sir.’
    ‘Somer Court being … ?’
    ‘The ironmaster’s residence, and a small domestic heaven upon earth, sir. Some day, God willing. I shall have a Somer Court of my own.’
    ‘Well, I hope you do, Mr Howarth, for you seem to be an excellent young man, and have made a considerable sacrifice for your friend!’
    And he shook his head at the wildness of that gesture.
    Mr Sorrowcole made such rapid progress that they arrived at Derby one minute before time. Again the ostlers were waiting with a fresh team, and set about their task straightaway, while the landlady of The Cat and Bells had the table laid and a hot breakfast before them in moments. The lady traveller then adjourned to find a chamber-pot, and the three men to a field. At a quarter to eleven o’clock precisely, the mail and parcels loaded and his timepiece checked, Mr Walters gave the order to start, and they were off again. Now William dozed fitfully. At the top of every steep hill the guard applied the iron shoebrake, and took it off again at the bottom. Fine carriages, rough wagons, and solitary horsemen, all gave way to the bustling Mail. They flew past turnpikes with an arrogant snarl of the horn. Occasionally, bogged down by mud, the passengers dismounted and helped to push the coach on to drier ground. Once or twice they got out and walked uphill, while Mr Sorrowcole urged on his patient team. But on the whole a rattling, jouncing speed was maintained.
    At Leicester Parson Peplow shook hands with William, and gave him final encouragement and advice.
    ‘My dear young friend, I shall be praying for you and all your dear ones. You have made this journey most memorable and most pleasant for me. Permit me, sir, to offer a suggestion. Festina lente my ardent young friend. Make haste slowly. I feel you will go far in life. Go not too far, be not too hasty. And God be with you, sir.’
    Then, catching sight of a short stout lady with grey hair, who looked like Parson Peplow in skirts, he cried, ‘Dorothy, here I am!’ and was enveloped in a tearful embrace.
    William dined briefly but well at The Three Tuns, and slept most of the afternoon as they rattled through Leicestershire. Another passenger had been taken on in Parson Peplow’s place, but he appeared to find so much in common with the married couple that William was left to his own thoughts. Evening was drawing in, bringing fresh gusts of wind and rain and a cruel coldness to the air, as they crossed Northamptonshire. At six o’clock he swallowed a mouthful of brandy to warm himself, and thought of the two men perched outside on the box. He could not find it in his heart to blame the coachman for an addiction to spirits.
    As the weather worsened the roads became quagmires, and at one point were so badly flooded that they seemed forced to find an alternative route. Again, Mr Sorrowcole’s experience won the day. He drove his team through the rising waters and safely out to the other side. But these delays cost them their supper at Northampton. Frozen and famished, their appetites sharpened by the smell of hot beefsteak, the passengers had to content themselves with bread and cheese, and William shared what was left in his wicker basket.
    The night stretched before them interminably. William drank from his flask, feeling that he would never be warm again. It was impossible to sleep properly, and every bone in his body had a separate ache. He almost welcomed interruptions on the hills: scrambling stiffly out to help Mr Walters, while the coachman sat bulky and