‘Give me the reins.’

‘You sound frightened, Henry,’ said Amelia, feigning concern. ‘Where is my charming, confident Henry now? Has he scuttled back to Margaret?’ Henry reached for the reins but she jerked them away. The gelding startled and raised its head suddenly, but did not move forward. ‘I lied to protect you. I betrayed those I loved . . . and it was all for nothing.’ She tilted her head to the side, as she stared at him. ‘How do you think that makes me feel, Henry?’

Henry grasped the reins in her hands. ‘I don’t care how you feel.’ He tugged, but Amelia did not let go.

‘You don’t deserve to have a happy life after all the pain you have caused.’

‘And how are you going to stop me? By riding this trap off the cliff so I will become a cripple like you! There is a difference between us, Amelia. I’m willing to better my life and take chances, whereas you don’t have much of a life left to live.’

Henry pulled at the reins again. Amelia’s body jolted violently towards him. She could smell his fear and it gave her strength.

‘The difference between us, Henry, is you want to live . . . and today I do not.’

A shadow of fear crossed Henry’s face as Amelia loosened her grip. He snatched the reins from her, but his triumph was short-lived. Her piercing scream had already begun to slice into the air, startling both the horse and the scattered gulls perched on the rocky ledges below the cliff. The white and grey birds rose in the air as the horse bolted, surrounding them with their panicked mewing as the grass topped cliff suddenly disappeared beneath the horse’s pedalling hooves.

Amelia and Henry jolted backwards, as the trap tilted vertical, their soft bodies jarring against the unforgiving seat. Gravity’s cruel hand pulled the horse and trap downwards as the gelding continued to gallop in mid-air. Amelia watched the poor beast as it fell, its body twisting, its hooves cycling, its thick neck arching as if embodied by a mythical creature taking flight.

She searched for Henry who was not far behind. He had been tossed free to fall unhindered by trap or reins, his arms and legs thrashing helplessly as he desperately yelled in fear. He was still alive — but not for long.

Amelia, by contrast, was not frightened at all. The clear blue sky above, and the serene waters breathing below, soothed away any fears. She felt at peace, unhurried and relaxed as if she, herself, was a long summer’s day. As she fell, she looked down at her body and watched her legs straighten. They stretched long and strong, moving gently in the air as if she was a dancer, pirouetting in the cobalt coloured sky. The sight of them moving enthralled her. She was free. No wheelchair, with its harsh edges and cumbersome size that helped to shackle her to her cage of immobility. She was able to move as she was born to do. She began to laugh as tears of joy ran down her cheeks. Her laughter lifted the gulls still higher, their white wings beating as they rode on a current of rising sea air. They were the last thing she saw, but her thoughts were on her dear brother who she was leaving behind.

Chapter Twenty-One

Grace placed the modest hat on her head and stared back at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair had grown several inches since she had cut it. Combs, pins and her favourite green bonnet now gave the illusion that underneath her bonnet she had styled it high upon her head. She looked like her old self again, vibrant and confident, but appearances can be deceptive. Only those that knew her well could see the deep sadness in her eyes. She thought of the cause. Talek. The man was rarely from her thoughts and, for the umpteenth time that morning, she wondered what he was doing now. Did he ever think of her or had he been more successful at erasing her from his life than she had been with him? He certainly wanted nothing to do with her, and she could not blame him.

Her mother’s voice called to her from the bottom of the stairs. She straightened her tight-fitting jacket, which matched her dress, and reached for her gloves and purse. Today she was going to accompany her mother to the morning church service, something she had avoided attending since returning home. The memory of being so publicly exposed there had stopped her until now, but the villagers could not be avoided forever. She pinched colour into her cheeks, braced her shoulders and walked briskly down the stairs.

Her mother smiled as she approached, pride glinting in her eyes. Grace smiled back and attempted to put on her gloves.

‘Let me.’ Her mother took them from her and slipped each glove onto her hands. ‘Gloves have a way of fighting back when your hands are trembling.’ She gave them a little squeeze. ‘Don’t be nervous. I will be with you.’

They touched foreheads in solidarity. ‘It is the first time I will face the villagers. How did you do it so soon after it had happened?’

‘We have a home and a business here. I had no choice.’

‘I should have stayed and we could have faced them together.’

Her mother hugged her. ‘You were upset with us and understandably so.’

Grace savoured her mother’s warm hug, before breaking away. ‘I suspect every family in the village has some kind of secret. No one is perfect.’

Her mother glanced in the mirror and straightened her own hat. ‘It is what makes us human. We survive our battles and life goes on. Each battle teaches us something about the world and about ourselves and we are the richer for it.’ Their eyes met in the reflection in the mirror. Her mother’s loving gaze reached out to her. ‘You were a fighter from the very beginning, Grace. No one believed you would survive being born, but you did. You are stronger than you look. The villagers will be surprised when you walk in, they may even say you are brazen to do so, but it will blow over.’ She turned and threaded her arm through Grace’s as they walked to the door. ‘Your father hasn’t stepped inside a church since your baptism, but he is going to today. He wants them all to know how proud he is to be your father, no matter how that role came about.’

True to his word, Daniel Kellow was waiting for them at the end of the garden gate. He stood proud, dressed in his best suit that rarely saw the light of day. Her brother and sister were waiting for her too. The corner of her father’s lip twitched as they approached. He rarely smiled, as it was not his way, but she could see from the tilt of his jaw and the rise of his chest, that he was proud of her and liked what he saw. He offered her the crook of his left arm.

‘Molly and David have gone ahead, but your sister and brother refused to go with them. They wanted to walk with you.’

Grace was grateful for their support and told them so.

‘Are you nervous about facing the people here again?’ asked Ann.

Grace drew her shoulders back. ‘No. Not any more. Not with my family beside me.’

The walk to the village was soon filled with banter and laughter born from a strong family bond. Their arrival at the granite church went largely unnoticed as most of the congregation was already inside. Aunt Molly, Uncle David and her pregnant sister, Mary, were waiting for them by the open oak door. After welcoming her with a hug, Daniel indicated, with a nod of his head, for Molly and David to lead the way into the church. They did so, with the Kellow family following close behind them.

The church was much cooler inside, its large stone walls absorbing any heat of the day. Heads lifted and turned in their direction. As Grace and her family walked up the central aisle they were accompanied by a ripple of whispers. They took their seats, but the whispers continued. Grace felt their eyes upon her but resisted looking back, however she could not avoid hearing what they were saying and her heart began to race. Shortly after she had come home, she had returned to work at Kellow Dairy. Her father’s employees had accepted her far easier than she had expected, but sitting here, amongst those who did not depend on her family for employment, was a different matter. As if he had heard her worried thoughts, her father patted her hand to offer comfort. And his simple gesture of reassurance did, filling her with the strength to distance herself from their gossip. She had expected to feel humiliated, but surrounded by the love of her family gave her strength. The whispers finally died away as the vicar walked in.

Reverend William Smith had been part of the village for as long as she could remember. He had cultured a fine reputation for empathy, sound advice and common sense. Rumour had it he liked a tipple now and then, and was once escorted home a little worse for wear from the village’s only remaining public house. However this weakness only endeared him into the community and where he led, others followed. He made a point of smiling at Grace and her mother. Grace was grateful as, without uttering a word, he had given his approval to her presence and shown that it did not matter how she came into the world. She was accepted by him and, in turn, should be accepted by the village.

Grace heard another whisper behind her. It was fevered and hurried and Grace had to concentrate to catch every word. She began to smile. She had been afraid of how others may see her, but in truth their opinion did not matter at all. Gossip was fickle and would always burn itself out in the end. Already it had passed from her appearance today, to the colour of her green hat. It seemed that it was much admired and the woman wondered where she had bought it.

* * *

The service passed quickly and it was not long before they were stepping outside into the bright daylight. The breeze had grown stronger in their absence, so although they did stay for some minutes to talk, few lingered as long as they would if the weather had remained fine. As they were leaving, the vicar approached, his ministerial robes blowing widely in the wind.

He addressed her father. ‘Daniel . . . this is a special day. I can’t recall the last time I saw you inside my church. Will you be coming again next Sunday?’

Her father took his teasing in good humour. He shook the vicar’s hand. ‘You know me well enough to know the answer to that.’

The vicar laughed and turned to Grace. ‘It is good to see you again, my dear. I heard you had taken up a position as a companion to Miss Danning. I assume it is due to the tragedy you have returned to Trehale.’

Her father answered before the words sunk in. ‘Tragedy? We know of no tragedy.’

The vicar grew concerned. ‘I’m sorry.’ His eyes darted from one to another. ‘I thought you must already know about Miss Danning’s accident. It was in the newspaper.’

‘What accident?’ asked Grace as she felt her father’s hand beneath her elbow to tell her that he was near should she need him.

The vicar showed them the door of the church. ‘Perhaps we should step back inside for a moment.’

Her father agreed, but Grace resisted. ‘I have a feeling that the stone walls won’t soften the news. Please, tell me now.’

The vicar looked to her mother for guidance. ‘Please, Reverend Smith. My daughter would like to know.’

The vicar relented. ‘The horse pulling their trap bolted off a cliff. The bodies were found later that day. I’m so sorry to be the bearer of such news.’

Grace tried to reply but found she could not speak. Words in response to such shocking news seemed inadequate somehow. Even the act of breathing seemed impossible. It was as if by doing so would make her worst fear come true. He had spoken of bodies. Not Talek. Please not Talek. Instinctively, her brother and sister drew nearer as if protecting her from those around them.

She heard her mother’s reassuring voice, yet strangely it seemed so far away. ‘We are glad it was you who told us, vicar. You spoke of bodies? Who was the other occupant?’

‘Mr Henry Ward. I believe he was in business with her brother. I understand Miss Danning’s funeral will be held tomorrow.’

Grace finally gasped for breath, but it was too late. Her knees buckled, the church tilted and the vibrant green grass of the graveyard dimmed to charcoal black and blocked out the sun.

* * *

Clay miners and their families lined the road to the nearby cemetery. Miss Amelia Danning, who had become reclusive since her accident, had begun to slowly re-emerge. She had been spotted out on several occasions: a carriage ride or two escorted by her brother and her new companion; or more recently in the company of the late Mr Henry Ward. She had even attended the village celebrations that finally laid the rumour to rest and proved it to be true — the accident had severely crippled her and she was wheelchair bound. And now this, her life cut tragically short by the same horse.

The miners and their families waited patiently for her cortege to appear and take her to her final resting place. Everyone had a memory of her to share as they waited, because before her accident she was often seen and her cheerful disposition and kindness had firmly found a place in all their hearts. The crowd fell silent as the cortege came into view. Some of the miners had come straight from the pit, their clothes still caked in clay, while others had walked from the village. Hats were removed, gazes lowered and children hushed as the hearse passed by. Only the occasional sob or prayer broke the sombre silence of the waiting crowd paying their respects.