The Lady of Bolton Hill Read Online Free PDF Page A

Clara had made a careful study of the ages of the workers being used in the coal mines, convinced that children as young as twelve were being used to cart wagons of coal through passages too narrow for a fully grown man to crawl in. When Clara began publishing her findings in The Times , she set off a firestorm of controversy.
    Not that she ever had any such intentions of journalistic fame when she arrived in England as a confused and lonely sixteen-year-old girl. No one here knew the real reason Clara’s father had sent her to England, and it was certainly not the kind of story she cared to circulate.
    “I’ve already arranged for your things to be delivered to the Portsmouth dock,” Mr. Townsend said. “Your clothing and personal belongings should all be there. I don’t think it would be safe for you to return to your lodgings.”
    “Are they serious about my need to leave the country by sundown?”
    “Do you really want to test their patience?” Mr. Townsend asked.
    A nervous laugh escaped her lips. “I suppose not.”
    So this would prove to be her last carriage ride in England. Her gaze strayed out the window to look at the country she had come to love. She was twenty-eight years old and had spent almost half of her life in London. She had become a woman here, finally learning to stand up to her father. It was here that her broken heart had mended and her dream of becoming a writer had been fulfilled. And for a few short years she had been given the opportunity to be a foot soldier for the Lord through her work in the press. Her articles had gained her acclaim as well as a fair share of enemies, but throughout it all, she had the satisfaction of knowing she was doing good work.
    And yet, she was still a failure. The notes documenting her discoveries in the coal mines had been confiscated and destroyed. Without that proof, all of her work amounted to nothing more than a load of sound and fury. No children had been rescued; no mine owner had been punished. It was as if she had never come to London. She had failed.
    “What will you do once you return to America?” Mr. Townsend asked.
    Did she even have any choice? Clara looked him in the eyes. “I’ve had a taste of what it means to make a difference in the world, and I can’t stop now. I will write for my father’s newspaper in Baltimore.” Reverend Lloyd Endicott was a well-known minister, and his weekly newspaper, The Christian Crusade, had a loyal readership even beyond the city of Baltimore. It only seemed natural she would write for her father’s publication. If the Lord wanted to silence her, she would be sitting in jail for a ten-year sentence.
    The seed of resolve had taken root and was nourishing her with a new sense of buoyancy. Clara had been conquered, convicted, and was still wearing stained clothes, but she had been blessed with the gift of freedom, and she would not let that go to waste.

    “Have there always been that many stars in the sky, or have I merely failed to notice?” Clara asked.
    Clyde leaned against the side of the ship, looking at her rather than at the night sky. “The same number as always. Aren’t you ready to go below yet? It is freezing out here.”
    But Clara merely leaned into the wind, savoring the feel of the crisp ocean air against her face, the roar of the ship slicing through the waves below. Tiny droplets of cold seawater dotted her face and evaporated in the brisk wind. The thought of returning to her enclosed cabin was unthinkable when the sky, spattered with a thousand blazing stars, stretched out above her. The dark radiance was enthralling. “I can’t go down below just yet,” she said. “I’m still afraid that I am dreaming and that when I awake I will be back in that cell. I want to savor as much of this night as possible.”
    Clyde turned to look out into the ocean. “Fair enough.” From inside his coat he pulled a pocketknife and a small block of wood, which he began whittling. One of Clyde’s