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The journey inland felt interminable and not just because every burst of the whistle made his head feel as though there were a swarm of bees living inside it. Lance stared out of the window, willing the miles away as the train steamed through the moors, stopping at what seemed to be every station in existence, before entering the flatter expanse of the Vale of York and finally rolling into the city itself. He jumped down from the carriage before the locomotive had even come to a halt, earning himself a remonstrative whistle from the guard, as well as a warning twinge in his leg. He ignored both. All he wanted was to find Violet and make things right again.
If he could make things right again. His stomach clenched at the if. He didn’t want to think about that.
‘Captain Amberton
?’
A small figure blocked his way as he reached the end of the platform, bringing him to a surprised halt as he looked down into the bright, sparkling eyes of a white-haired woman swathed almost entirely in pink lace, wearing what appeared to be an Elizabethan-style ruff around her neck.
‘Ma’am?’ He tipped his hat enquiringly.
‘Oh, it is you.’ The vision in pink beamed. ‘I only saw you once before in person, but some faces are memorable. I’m Sophoria Gibbs.’
‘Ianthe’s aunt?’ He lifted an eyebrow dubiously. It was hard to imagine a greater contrast to the niece.
‘The very same and delighted to meet you, although I suppose you’re far more interested in seeing your wife. Come along, then.’
She didn’t wait for him to offer his arm, tucking her hand into his elbow and leading him determinedly towards the station exit.
‘I don’t understand.’ Lance peered down at her. ‘Were you waiting for me?’
‘Oh, yes, dear. I found out when the next train was due and came back to find you. I told Violet I was going to the tearoom, but it was only a tiny white lie since I did have a cup of tea while I waited. Of course, she has no idea that you’re coming, but then, she thinks you don’t want her.’ She reached over and patted his arm as if they were old friends. ‘But I knew otherwise.’
‘You did?’
‘Of course!’ The old woman nodded vigorously. ‘I’m starting to think I’m far more romantic than any of you young people.’
‘But where is she?’
‘Up there.’ She stopped just outside the station, gesturing up at the tall, grey line of the city walls. ‘She didn’t feel quite ready to visit her aunt yet so we had some lunch, or at least I did, and then took a walk. I think she’s feeling a little lost, dear. Why don’t you go up there and find her?’
‘Thank you.’ He scooped her hand up and kissed the back of it. ‘Sophoria. That’s a beautiful name. May I call you it?’
‘I absolutely insist upon it, dear.’
‘Then if I can persuade my wife to come back with me, I promise to name our first daughter after you.’
‘Well, in that case you must succeed. Now, there’s a staircase over there. Do you think you can manage it?’
‘Nothing’s going to stop me.’
‘That’s the spirit, dear.’ The small face nodded approvingly. ‘I should think so, too.’
* * *
Violet leaned against one of the stone embrasures of the medieval town wall, looking out over the slated rooftops of the city to the horizon beyond. It was all so horribly ironic. She’d wanted to visit York for almost as long as she could remember, ever since she’d flicked through the pages of her mother’s old picture book, and yet now she was here, all she could do was look back the way that she’d come, towards the moors, towards Amberton Castle and Lance.
She had her aunt’s address in her bag, but she seemed unable to advance another step in the direction of her house, as if doing so would be a final admission that her marriage was over and she was moving on. Would Lance know that she’d left by now? Would he be relieved or would he only care about the money? Either way, it didn’t matter. She’d made the decision to leave and she wouldn’t go back, not to a husband who didn’t love her.
‘Violet?’
She tensed at the sound of his voice, though she didn’t turn around. For a moment she thought she was imagining things, yet deep down she knew that she wasn’t. She could sense him behind her, could tell by the way that her heart leapt first and then started to thud erratically against her ribcage. She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down, at least enough to hear herself think over the sound of her body’s increasingly frantic reaction. He’d come after her! And yet she already knew that he wasn’t there for her. Just like the first time she’d run away, he’d only come after her for the money. He’d made his feelings about that perfectly clear that morning. He was probably only there to persuade her to come back and marry his brother—to tell her that it was for the best.
She ran her hands over the wall, smoothing her fingers over the cold, hard stone. The city walls had stood for over seven hundred years and the Roman walls beneath were even older. For a fleeting moment, she wished she could turn to stone herself. A statue couldn’t hear, couldn’t feel, couldn’t be hurt. She kept her face fixed straight ahead. Statues couldn’t see either, and if she turned to look at him, she was afraid she might be hurt even more.
‘How did you find me?’ She was surprised at how expressionless her voice sounded.
‘Your friend Ianthe decided to give me a last chance and her aunt claims to have been expecting me. She was in the station, waiting.’
