Arabella clung to a tree. She knew it wasn’t a good idea, because she’d been told never to take shelter under a tree during a thunderstorm.
Only if it was a beech. Then it might be safe. Never an oak. These you should avoid. Or was it the other way around?
She prayed that she stood under the right tree. Otherwise, heaven help her.
Death by storm.
Arabella gave a hollow laugh. She’d always assumed her final demise would be in a canopied, down-feathered bed in an elegant mansion, surrounded by her grandchildren. She’d raise her wrinkled hand in a final blessing and then close her eyes as she’d peacefully slumber off into the afterlife.
Instead, she was going to perish under an unidentifiable tree somewhere in Cornwall. Struck by lightning or drowning in a torrential downpour.
She could see the headline in the morning paper: ‘Nameless Woman tragically dies in the storm’. Her brother would read it and never know it was her.
That thought filled her with sadness. Poor Ash. She’d never even said good-bye to him.
The rain came down harder. Her dress was plastered to her body within seconds. Arabella could barely see her hand in front of her eyes. Her teeth chattered, and she clung to her satchel as it was the only thing left in this miserable world that she could hold on to.
Did she hear the clatter of horse hooves underneath the din? She peered through the curtain of rain, but the branches kept whipping into her face and hindering her view.
“Blast it, woman, I knew you were going to be idiotic enough to stand under a tree,” a baritone voice roared, which sounded like it belonged to Philip Merivale.
Her heart leapt in an absurd manner.
“Where else am I supposed to be taking shelter? In the ditch?” she shouted back.
A tall figure cut through the grey sheet of water. He grabbed her by the arm, and they stumbled to the road, where a horse and cart stood.
“I calculated the probability of you taking this road and the chance of you rushing over to that tree as soon as the storm broke. I was correct in both instances. Didn’t you know trees are excellent conductors for lightning and that it can be fatal to stand under a tree? Every child knows that.” Her thoroughly soaked leather boot slipped in the wet mud. Philip caught her and hauled her up into the seat. “Sit up here and pull this over your head. There.” He pulled an oilskin over her that smelled like mildew, but it kept some of the rain off.
“That’s why I tried to stand under a beech!” Arabella had to raise her voice to make herself heard. “Lightning doesn’t strike beeches.”
“Old wives’ tale!” He picked up the reins, and the horse trotted uneasily down the road. “Besides, that’s not a beech, but an elm. Hiya, my good Hector, home as quickly as you can before we all drown in this miserable weather.”
A crack of thunder exploded right above them. Philip swore and dropped the ribbons. The horse came to a standstill.
“Mr Merivale?” Arabella cast him a worried look. What was wrong with him? He sat there stiff and frozen and stared into the distance. He did not blink as the water rolled down his cheeks. “Sir?” She shook his arm.
“I–”
“What’s the matter?” Arabella shouted into his ear. “Let’s go!”
“It’s so — loud.”
“Yes. That’s because it’s a thunderstorm. It’s only the air moving into the vacuum that creates the noise,” Arabella shouted.
He gave a hollow laugh. “Who told you that?”
“I learned it in Mr Keating’s Natural Science class at Miss Hilversham’s Seminary.”
“You are a woman full of mysteries, Miss Weston.” His teeth chattered, and he shivered.
Arabella looked at him surprised, then pulled herself together. She had made it this far. She refused to die now. She took the ribbons from his hands and flicked them. “Hiya, Hector,” she imitated him. The horse started moving. Thank goodness. She was driving a cart!
“I — Thank you. I don’t like thunder, you see,” he said gruffly. “Sometimes it reminds me of — you know.” He looked away. Rain kept drumming on their heads, but it didn’t matter now. Arabella waited patiently.
“The war,” he mumbled.
“Oh!” A rush of understanding filled Arabella. “Of course. Beastly war. There is no reason whatsoever to be ashamed of being afraid of thunder. We’re all afraid of something. I myself can’t abide —” she cut off mid-sentence.
