Free A Pocket Full of Shells by Jean Reinhardt Page B

the side of her face from the rough wood she had landed on. 
         “Are you about to swoon, my dear?” he asked.
    Mary looked up into the eyes of a tall, stocky man in his late thirties. 
         “I do feel a little strange, sir,” she said, “But I will be fine in a moment or two.” 
    She held onto the barrel to steady herself, embarrassed by the stares of the crowd gathering around them.
         “Alexander, offer the poor girl a seat in our carriage,” the soft voice urged from inside the cab.
    The gentleman insisted that Mary sit up beside the driver, at least until they were clear of the crowded docks. Anxious to escape from the onlookers surrounding her, she allowed herself to be steered towards the coach and pulled up onto the seat by a strong pair of hands.
         “Driver, watch that she doesn’t have a fainting spell and fall off. Stop somewhere less crowded and clear of the docks.”
         The young lady was upset that her husband had not brought Mary inside the carriage.
         “Emma, you are so sweet and caring, it’s what I loved about you from the moment we met. Do you remember what you were doing when your father first brought me to your home?”
         “Of course I do, my parents still scold me over it even though it was so long ago.”
    When her father first introduced Alexander to his family, Emma was cradling in her arms a dead robin, wrapped in a piece of muslin.
         “I was convinced that if I held the poor thing for long enough and nursed it, that it would recover,” she laughed, “I had even kept it in my bed the night before, unbeknownst to my mother.”
         The memory brought a smile to her face. Alexander Somerville, as a young man, had been invited to the Biggs’ home in London when Emma was a child. As soon as she was old enough, they married.
         “You grew more loving as the years went by. Even now, as a wife and mother, you still have the sweetest nature,” Alexander kissed the back of her gloved hand.
         “You are becoming soft in your old age,” Emma was referring to the age gap between them, “But obviously not soft enough to let that young girl ride in the carriage with us.” She was no longer smiling.
    Alexander also became serious and his wife could hear it in his tone.
         “That young woman may have been on one of the boats arriving from Ireland. She could have typhus or some other disease. It’s not so long ago I was sick with a fever in Dublin and almost died. Do you think I want to risk you catching something like that – and what about our children, are they to be left motherless?”
    Emma knew he was right and felt grateful for his concern. There was no need to answer his question, a slight nod of her head was enough to let Alexander know that she understood.
         Soon the horses came to a halt and the driver opened the carriage door.
         “I hope you haven’t been too frightened up there, young lady,” Alexander said, looking up at Mary.
         “No sir, I have been on top of hay carts much higher than this,” Mary hoped she didn’t sound too cheeky.
    The driver offered a hand to the young woman to help her down, but Alexander stopped him.
         “Stay seated for a moment, my dear. Tell me, what is your destination?”
         “I am on my way to Sunderland. My husband has pneumonia and I want to be with him.”
    Alexander questioned Mary about her health and where she had travelled from, then signalled the driver to help her climb down. Asking her to wait while he spoke with his wife, he disappeared back into the coach. 
         They both agreed that Mary did not seem to have any sign of illness and they should offer her assistance. Emma’s reason being her kind nature and that it was their fault that Mary had been injured. Alexander on the other hand, being a writer and a journalist, was more interested in her story. The door of the carriage opened and a small,