Emily Goes to Exeter

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Hannah Pym stood by the drawing-room window of Thornton Hall and waited for the stage-coach to go by.

Thornton Hall was a large square building, rather like a huge doll’s house, with a drive that led down to the Kensington Road. There were no formal gardens or trees at the front, only lawns cropped short by sheep, with the arrow-straight drive running down to tall wrought-iron gates flanked by stone gateposts topped with stone eagles.

It was six o’clock on a winter’s morning and a low moon was shining. During the night, the wind had blown a light fall of snow into scalloped shapes across the lawns.

Hannah tugged open one of the long windows which led out on to a shelf of a balcony guarded by a wrought-iron railing. She walked out, and listened.

Then she heard it, the thud of hooves, and hung on to the rail and peered down the drive.

‘Here she comes,’ she whispered.

And bowling along the Kensington Road came the stage-coach, the Flying Machine, pulled by six powerful horses. She felt that breathless excitement which the sight of the stage-coach always gave her and lifted her hand and waved. The groom raised the yard of tin and blew a merry salute. The passengers on the roof were clutching their hats. How loud the horses’ hooves were on the hard ground. What speed! And then the stage-coach was gone, taking life and adventure away into the darkness and leaving behind the bleak winter scene.

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