He would take care. He must learn from his mistakes in the past and guard against repeating them, for John and the army of workers who relied upon the estate for food, shelter, and work all depended upon him. He must restrict himself to the status of a solitary widower. He would not risk making another foray into marriage, for his judgment had failed him before. He would throw himself into his responsibilities. Perhaps, by subduing selfish frustrations and engaging all his energies in duties, he could begin to find some kind of peace.

Chapter Four

The enormous breakfast of bacon and sausages lay reassuringly in Philomena’s stomach, floating in a sea of hot chocolate. She would sit here for just a while longer, enjoy a hot bath and then beg for a ride back to the station to continue the interrupted journey to the West Country. Her purse held sufficient for another ticket to Bristol. All would be well.

Automatically, Philomena felt for the purse in the pocket of Joseph’s trousers. She gasped. It had gone. Struggling to stay calm, she tried again, wriggling her fingers into the corner of the pocket. Perhaps she had misremembered. The purse must be in the other side. She tried the other pocket. Her fingers went straight through a hole, deep in the pocket on the right side of the trousers. Philomena felt sick. The purse was gone, and with it the only sovereign she owned. “Oh no,” she cried, forgetting in her panic to disguise her voice. “All my money’s gone!”

The cook, kneading bread nearby, raised her head and glared. “Well, no one here’s been anywhere near your money, so don’t you go accusing us.”

“No, no, I’m sure no one here has touched it.” Dread constricted Philomena’s throat. The missing purse meant all the money was gone, and with it, her only chance of a future. Her plans crumbled once more. She swallowed hard, her lips trembling. “I must have dropped the purse in the cutting. It’s all I have. Everything. I must go back at once.” She leapt to her feet, ready to run out of the kitchen.

Mrs. Rivers, the housekeeper, raised her hand. “Now, then.” She could be sympathetic so long as no servant was in trouble. “You rest a while before running back there. Wait a bit, and we’ll inform the master. Maybe he will send the coachman to look for it.”

Philomena was in no mood to wait. She shook Mrs. Rivers’ hand off her arm. “You don’t know what it means! It’s all I have. How will I get to Bristol without it?” She fled from the kitchen, deaf to the pleas from Mrs. Bramble and Mrs. Rivers as they promised assistance from half a dozen members of the household.

Oblivious to the ache of weariness in her body and forgetting her longing for a hot bath, Philomena scurried outside, heading for the path that led back to the railway cutting. Her tired legs could hardly support her. She gasped for air as panic took hold. Every plan was going wrong. She should be in Bristol by now, finding lodgings, not stranded here without a penny to her name and only a set of Joseph’s clothes to wear. Sobs rose in her throat, threatening to overwhelm her. She tried to keep running, but the gravel slowed her progress. She stumbled to a stop, legs shaking with weariness. Tears of despair prickled her eyes.