When Time Runs Out Large Print Paperback

Tensions are rising but Harriet refuses to back down…

As Mr Wetherby’s wealth and power increase, he won’t tolerate interference in his affairs...

From anyone.

But Harriet isn’t ‘just anyone’ and when she sees him involved in a serious incident, she stores the information away. Maybe one day she can use it to get the future Mr Wetherby is intent on denying them.

Biding her time, she finally gets her chance. But facing the wrath of Mr Wetherby, she soon discovers she has more to worry about than her own ambitions…

Birmingham, Warwickshire. January 1876

With the light fading, Mr Wetherby leaned forward on the edge of his seat and peered through the window of the carriage. He let his eyes run along a row of terraced houses as they came into view, but the one he was looking for was in darkness. She has to be here. Where else can we look if she’s not?


As the carriage pulled up outside the house, his stepson, William, broke the silence of their journey.


“There doesn’t appear to be anyone at home,” he said. “I can’t see any light from the window.”


Without waiting for the coachman, Mr Wetherby pushed on the door and jumped out. “I hope you’re wrong. If she’s not here, we’ve no idea where she might be.”


“I don’t know why she would come here in the first place,” Mr Wetherby’s son, William Junior, said as he prepared to follow William from the carriage. “Aunt Alice hasn’t lived here for months and from what I can gather, all her possessions are in Handsworth. If Mother had wanted a memento of her sister, she’d have been better off at Aunt Susannah’s.”


“None of us here are in a position to understand how a woman’s mind works.” Mr Wetherby checked his pocket watch. “Now, let’s see if she’s here before we decide what to do next.”


With William and William Junior beside him, Mr Wetherby opened the front door and stepped inside. The small room was almost dark and William lit a candle in the middle of the table. “Shall I go upstairs and see if she’s there?”


“No, I’ll go.” Mr Wetherby took the candle from the table, but as he approached the bottom step he heard a noise. “Mary, is that you?” He strained his neck as he called up the stairs. “Mary … speak to me.” When he got no response he started up the stairs, but as he approached the top the bedroom door creaked open and Mary gazed down at him, her eyes wide with horror.


“What are you doing here?” She squeezed around the door, pulling it closed behind her. 


“What are we doing here?” Mr Wetherby’s mouth fell open. “I could ask you the same thing. The last time we saw you we were at your sister’s funeral but when we came back from the grave you’d disappeared.”