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hesitated, then told herself there could be nothing wrong with going out for some fresh air. She needn’t go far, but was bursting with curiosity about the town.
    Outside she paused for a moment, deciding that even the air tasted strange here—sharp and invigorating, but with a hint of soot and other odours she couldn’t identify. The people looked different too, striding along briskly as if they hadn’t a moment to spare, which was very different from the slower pace of the villagers in Woodbourne. These folk also called out cheerfully when they met an acquaintance, their voices louder than she was used to in public.
    The breeze was invigorating after the stuffiness of the carriage and she decided to go and inspect the church on the other side of the square. It was surely one of the ugliest she had ever seen, for it was topped by a stubby spire out of all proportion to the rest of the building and was surrounded by sagging gravestones. So engrossed was she in studying the peculiarities of its architecture and in controlling the wild flapping of her cloak and bonnet strings that she didn’t pay attention to where she was going and collided with someone.
    The encounter knocked the man’s hat sideways over one ear and made him drop the hand he had been using to hold it on, upon which the wind whipped the hat right off and sent it bowling across the square. As he steadied Martha, he let out an angry exclamation and once he was sure she wasn’t going to fall, he stepped back to watch the progress of his hat. Her reticule had been knocked from her hand, scattering its contents in the mud, but he didn’t seem to notice that. A Woodbourne gentleman would have ignored the hat and picked her things up, regardless of whose fault it was.
    This man yelled, “You, boy, get that hat!” to an urchin loitering on the corner.
    “Yessir!” The lad set off at a run.
    Not until he had seen the hat retrieved did the gentleman turn his attention back to Martha, who was picking up the last of her things.
    “Why didn't you look where you were going?” he demanded. “My hat’ll be covered in mud now.”
    “I could ask you the same thing, sir!” Her anger grew at being addressed so rudely. “And if you have such difficulty with your hat, I would suggest you either carry it in your hand or purchase a better-fitting one.”
    He looked as if he were about to snap back at her, but the boy came up with the offending article at that moment and by the time the man had dropped a penny into the child’s grubby paw, Martha had stuffed her things back into her reticule anyhow and was walking away.
    “Hoy!” bellowed a voice behind her, but she ignored it. Who did he think he was, shouting at her like that?
    Footsteps pounded after her and she quickened her pace, made nervous by the pursuit. When he grabbed her arm she cried out in shock as she was pulled forcibly to a halt. Heart pounding, she swung round to face her pursuer and for a moment they stood staring at one another, so close they were separated by only a few inches.
    She was tall and used to being on a level with, or taller than, other people. But he was taller by several inches, with broad shoulders and a general air of strength and vigour. His hair was dark and wavy, and the wind had sent it into tangles. His eyes were stormy, as if he was angry about something—not their encounter, surely? That wouldn’t generate so much anger. The breath caught in her throat and for a moment she couldn’t speak, only stare back at him.
    He let go of her arm and stepped back. “Didn't you hear me calling?”
    “I’m not in the habit of answering to shouts of ‘Hoy!’ from complete strangers.”
    “What are you in the habit of doing, then? Throwing your purse away?” He brandished it in her face.
    “Oh.” Flushing with annoyance at being caught in the wrong, she took it from him and tried to frame an apology.
    But he interrupted her to say, “I’d advise you to watch where you’re