Emma’s voice—thin, wavering, and wrong somehow.
Maggie froze. All thought of her own troubles vanished in an instant. She met Jenny’s eyes; her friend was already on her feet.
“By the wood,” Jenny whispered, her tone tight with fear.
Maggie nodded once, lifting her skirts. “Come—this way.”
Without waiting for a reply, Maggie lifted her skirts and ran, crossing the lawn at speed. She heard the rustle of Jenny’s petticoats and the quick thud of her steps behind her.
They reached the patch of flowers where Emma had last been seen. Maggie’s heart pounded sickeningly. A handful of blooms lay crushed in the grass, and the turf nearby was trampled—but of Emma there was no sign.
“Emma?” Maggie called, her voice rising with panic. “Emma, my love, where are you?”
A rustle in the trees—and a man stepped from the shadows, silent as a ghost. He held Emma in his arms, one great hand clamped over her pale little face. Only her eyes showed—wide and terrified.
Maggie’s heart seemed to drop to her stomach. The man was tall and broad, his face heavy and coarse, his moustache like a smudge across his upper lip. He grinned.
“Remember me, Miss Camden?” he drawled.
It was as if Maggie’s limbs had turned to stone. She could not move, could not breathe.
What have I done?she thought, clear and cold.This is all my fault.
Jenny, however, was not frozen.
“Let her go at once, you brute!” she cried, and hurled herself forward, fists flying.
The man barely glanced her way. Still holding Emma fast, he swung out and struck Jenny a glancing blow across the cheek. She fell hard, sprawling upon the ground with a cry of pain.
Two more men emerged from the trees—each as large as the first. The last carried a cudgel, thick and ugly.
The sight jolted Maggie back to life. She stepped in front of Jenny at once, lifting her chin.
“I remember you,” she said, her voice cold and steady. “It is me you are here for. Take me. I will come quietly, without protest, if you let the child and my friend go unharmed. You have nothing to do with them.”
“No, no, Maggie!” Jenny gasped, dragging herself upright. “You must not go with them!”
“You may scream if you like,” the man said coolly, his gaze flicking toward Jenny. “No one will hear. We chose our moment well. Very good, Miss Camden—stand still while my comrade binds your wrists, and we shall have no trouble.”
Maggie’s pulse thundered. She forced herself to stand motionless as one of the men approached, a length of coarse rope in hand.
Jenny made to step forward, but Maggie shook her head, meeting her eyes in silent warning.
You can tell them what happened to me,she hoped her gaze conveyed.It’s a slim chance, but perhaps… perhaps they can come after me. If we fight, they might kill us all. This is a sensible choice.
Even so, it took every inch of her nerves to keep her standing still, every fibre inside her screaming to struggle or run as her wrists were tied roughly together. The rope was thick and coarse, scratching her skin. The man grinned at her, all yellow teeth and terrible breath, and tightened the rope until she fought back a wince.
“There now,” the first man said with a grin. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”
He shifted his hold on Emma—and Maggie saw that the child’s hands, too, were bound.
In a rush, she understood.
“No,” she gasped. “No! Jenny—they mean to take Emma as well!”
It was already too late. Emma gave a strangled little scream before it was muffled. A burlap sack came down over Maggie’s head. Darkness swallowed her. The last thing she saw was Jenny lunging for the man who held Emma—and the man with the cudgel stepping forward to strike.
The blow landed with a sickening crack. Jenny crumpled like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Then all went black.
