‘That will give my father something to read over breakfast,’ she said. ‘I wonder what his precious Lincolnshire cousins and the House of Bishop at Lambeth Palace will say, too.’
‘I know he’s your father, Charlotte, but as far as I’m concerned,’ said Josiah, ‘whatever befalls your father, and both your brothers for that matter, is far less than any of them deserve after the way they treated you.’ He kissed her again. ‘But we can put that all behind us and look to the future.’
‘Where are we going?’ Charlotte asked, snuggling into him.
‘Nowhere, for three days at least,’ he kissed her hair. ‘Mrs McMurphy insists we stay as her guests and I suspect we will both be half a stone heavier when we leave.’
Charlotte laughed. ‘Well, I for one would welcome some home cooking after a week of coaching inn food.’
He smiled, and Charlotte smiled back.
There was a light knock at the door before it opened and Mrs McMurphy walked in carrying a tray.
‘Sorry to disturb but I thought you might like a bite to eat, Mrs Martyn,’ she said, setting the tray on the bedside table. ‘And I’ve brought you another cup of tea for you, too, Mr Martyn.’
‘Thank you,’ said Charlotte. ‘And for your kindness in offering us the hospitality of your house.’
The minister’s wife’s round face lifted in a motherly smile. ‘Say nothing of it as it is my pleasure. We’ll be having our dinner a little after midday but as you’ve had a long journey and have been up all night I’ll leave you both to rest before then. If you need anything I’m just downstairs.’
Giving them both another fond look, she left.
Josiah stood up and, after rearranging the pillow behind Charlotte, he handed her the bowl of porridge and a spoon.
He yawned.
‘You ought to do as Mr McMurphy said and rest up,’ said Charlotte, patting the space beside her on the bed.
‘I think I just might,’ he said, yawning again.
Charlotte took a mouthful of oats and watched as Josiah stripped down to his trousers and long-sleeved vest. He hung his jacket and waistcoat on the back of the chair and set his boots beneath.
The mattress shifted as he climbed in beside her.
‘Oh my goodness,’ he sighed, resting back on the pillows and stretching out. ‘A bed. I’ve almost forgotten what one feels like. I could sleep for a month.’
Charlotte laughed. ‘Well you’d better not or you’ll miss dinner.’
‘And we’ll have to head back south in a few days,’ he replied.
Putting her bowl aside, Charlotte picked up the mug of hot milk. ‘So, Husband, where are we going?’
There was no reply.
Charlotte turned and looked at her husband of just three hours.
Josiah was lying next to her with his eyes closed and, with a small smile lifting his lips, fast asleep.
Taking a sip of her drink, Charlotte’s eyes ran over the strong cheekbones and square jaw then down to the springy chest hair visible between the open front of his vest, then down to his bare feet crossed at the ankle and resting just a few inches from the mahogany footboard. Her gaze moved back again to the face she loved. Watching Josiah sleeping peacefully beside her, Charlotte drank the rest of her milk then, placing the empty cup on the bedside table, she snuggled down.
Josiah murmured, and his arms encircled her.
Tucking herself into his embrace, Charlotte rested her head on his shoulder and, placing her hands on his stomach, she closed her eyes. She was tired, very tired, but she couldn’t recall ever being happier.
Of course she didn’t know where they were going and when they got there they probably only had enough money to keep them for a week or two, but it didn’t matter. In fact, nothing mattered because, having overcome all the odds, Charlotte knew that she and Josiah would be able to face whatever the future held together.
Acknowledgements
I would like to mention a few books and authors, to whom I am particularly indebted.
Firstly, for much of the details of the building of the Thames tunnel I used David Lampe’s The Tunnel and Marc Isambard Brunel by Paul Clements. For Charlotte’s management of St Mary’s rectory, I referred to The Complete Servant and Mrs Beeton’s Book of Household Management.
Many of Charlotte and Mrs Palmer’s outfits were taken from Ackermann’s Costume Plates while I gleaned the coaching information from Coaching Days and Coaching Ways and Stagecoach Travel. Thanks to Life in Old Northampton, I was able to recreate an 1820s coaching hub that was based in Northampton.
I used several photographic books of old Rotherhithe such as Southwark in Old Photographs and Bermondsey and Rotherhithe, plus The A to Z of Victorian London.
As ever, I’d like to thank my husband Kelvin and my three daughters, Janet, Fiona and Amy, for their unwavering support. Also, my lovely agent, Laura Longrigg, whose encouragement and incisive editorial mind helped me see the wood for the trees. Lastly, but by no means least, a big thank-you once again to the lovely team at Atlantic Books, especially Susannah Hamilton, my editor, and Sara O’Keeffe, the editorial director, for once again turning my 400+ pages into a beautiful novel.
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