Ismay's wounds were not so deep, only embarrassing. Long scrapes crisscrossed her palms and knees. Her dress could be mended, but it looked awful. Until she saw Mr. Underhill's startlement at the state of her hands, she had not considered that her bizarre and unkempt appearance might be more unsettling than an explainable delay, and she tried to laugh the injuries off. The man ignored her, provided rags and ointment, and prepared a tray of tea while she bandaged herself together again in the sitting room. Ismay beheld her new home, considering ways to convince Mr. Underhill she had not gone mad. Books lined the walls, and all about the floor deciduous leaves were sparsely scattered. He either had not noticed or did not mind.

"I'm so sorry I missed you at the station," Ismay said as he set a strainer over her teacup and poured.

His thick eyebrows shot up, a little tea splashing into the saucer. "Not at all. They sent word about the train. You shouldn't—I had no idea you would try to make it anyway. Very brave. Intrepid, and in the dark!"

"We agreed I'd arrive today, and I didn't want to be late. I take punctuality very seriously."

Mr. Underhill's large spectacles slid down his nose, and he watched her over them. The wrinkles in his forehead belied some imperceptible middle age, and from the manner in which his graying blond hair stood up in every direction, Ismay inferred at least a minor degree of eccentricity.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked. "You're not hurt badly?"

"I'm absolutely fine." Ismay held her teacup close against her chest. After clearing her throat, she kept talking, filling the space. "Thrilled to be here. Er... I only—your directions were clear enough. I did underestimate the hill somewhat. The oak at the edge of the village is magnificent. Rather enchanting, isn't it? Remind me the name?"

He dipped his chin. "The Maiden Tree."

"Of course, that's it. The namesake. Anyway..." She sipped, trying not to let her mind wander back to stories and legends. "I didn't want to inconvenience you any more than necessary. I heard these delays happen often. There was a Ms. Rennie in my carriage and a Mr....well, a man who mentioned there's some interest in extending the line all the way to the village. That would be more convenient, wouldn't it?" Safer, she thought, as her palms stung.

The man uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. "You met Caroline? How wonderful. She is a very old friend. You must have given her a shock. I didn't have a chance to tell her you were coming. Everything happened so quickly."

"Did it?" Ismay asked, as if she had not been the one to send her letters first class and suggest she start immediately, to give the man no time to change his mind, to flee Skerry as soon as possible.

"As for the extension," he said, "nobody wants that. It's not so hard to get back and forth if you're not on a bicycle in the middle of the night. The trains usually make it to the station within a few minutes. This was rather unfortunate all around."

"I still don't understand the problem with the tracks. Besides, it was moonbright enough tonight. Full, I think."

"Just gone. Waning now. Did you not bring anything with you?"

"My trunk is being sent on in the morning. Ms. Rennie was kind enough to manage that for me."

A lull arose between them, and Ismay frantically sought something interesting and normal to say, but she managed only to chase the ideas further away as she stalked them. For months, she had thought of very little beyond the Montrose sisters' Gothic romance novels, for she could not go out of the house without drawing stares and scornful glances. With nothing else at hand, she sighed loudly.

"Are you always so unusual, Ismay?" Mr. Underhill asked.

"Why, sir?" Don't panic, she reminded herself.

"I don't know many who would have believed there was any reasonable way to get here other than to wait until morning."

"They must not have bicycles."

Diarmid frowned, and Ismay's heart sank. This was not the appropriate response. The derisions of all her former employers returned to scratch at her skin: too flighty, too strange, too unwilling to listen for the sake of listening, too incapable of letting things go. Then, louder, the voice of her most recent head teacher rang in her ears: Heedless, ridiculous, irresponsible Ismay. Reckless Ismay.

She pulled the scraps of herself together. "To be honest, sir, I don't know what came over me. You're quite right that tonight has been out of the ordinary, in all sorts of ways. It's been a very long journey. I must have gone a bit silly from exhaustion. Won't happen again."

"Diarmid," he insisted. "Ah well, you're here now. Next time, try to stay upright. We have a doctor in Glenmaidens, but there's not much she can do about a broken neck."