Maggie meant to scream—would have—but a powerful hand pressed over her mouth through the sacking, hard enough to choke her. She could scarcely breathe. In the next instant, she was dragged off her feet, her captor’s arm clamped tight around her as he bore her away.
She struggled, but it was useless. All she heard was the man’s heavy breathing and the rustle of branches. They were moving through the wood—but to where?
The answer came sooner than she expected. The rustling gave way to the crunch of gravel; rusty hinges squealed. A gate, perhaps—one of the many in Burenwood’s garden wall. Beyond lay the lanes.
Dim light filtered through the weave of the sack. Maggie strained to listen. No sound of Emma. Had they been separated? Or was the poor child paralysed with fear?
Then, with a leaping heart, Maggie heard the squeak and jingle of a horse’s harnesses. A door creaked, a spring groaned.
A carriage! Is somebody nearby?
The hand lifted its pressure off her mouth. Could she scream? She would have to choose her moment wisely, as she’d likely only get one chance to cry for help.
Then, without warning, the light vanished, and Maggie found herself thrust into a cool, dark interior, deposited roughly on what felt like a carriage seat. The vehicle creaked and bounced around her, and she felt the small figure of Emma pushed in beside her.
Sniffling, Emma pressed against her, and Maggie wished she could move her hands so as to squeeze the little girl’s as reassuringly as she could.
The door closed with a slam, leaving them in silence.
Are we alone?Maggie wondered.
Once again, her answer came more quickly than she’d imagined.
“My dear Maggie,” came a cool, icy voice. “How I have missed you.”
Cold fear rushed down Maggie’s spine. She found herself unable to sit up, crushed and tied up as she was. But she breathed in deeply, turning her head in the direction where she believed he sat.
“Victor,” she responded, more calmly than she would have thought possible. “I wish I could say the same.”
***
Jenny regained consciousness in a jolting rush—and almost wished she had not. Her head throbbed as though it had been cleaved in two. She raised a trembling hand, soft as jelly, wishing the pain was worse than the hurt itself.
She realised that she was sprawled out on the ground, half on the muddy lawn and half in the undergrowth. The whole awful event came rushing back—the men with cudgels, the talk of taking Emma and Maggie to their ‘master’, the blow coming down on her head with agonising force—and she fought the urge to retch.
A fine, misting rain had begun to fall, seeping steadily through her layers of clothing. When she dared open her eyes, she found herself twisted awkwardly, her hip pressed into the earth while her shoulders faced upward, the raindrops pattering through the branches to strike her face.
What was it they said, when they took the others?she wondered hazily.For insurance, they called it. But what did that mean?
How long have I been lying here? How much time have they had to get away?
She forced herself to move each one of her limbs in turn. To her relief, nothing seemed broken. When she touched her forehead, her fingers came away streaked with blood, thinned by the rain. Head wounds bled frightfully, she knew, though they often looked worse than they were.
No matter how long I delay, it will hurt to rise,she thought wryly.Best to get it over with.
With a groan, she rolled onto all fours. The world swam; pain clouded her vision. Gritting her teeth, she pushed upward and managed, miraculously, to stand.
Her sight lurched. The pain in her skull doubled. She squeezed her eyes shut, but now was not the time for weakness.
Thank goodness we did not go far from the house,she thought.
The realisation chilled her. Maggie and Emma had been taken almost within the very bounds of safety. But there was no use dwelling on that. What mattered now was getting help.
Jenny was a country girl, through and through. She had seen her share of nasty knocks to the head. She knew she might have only minutes—perhaps less—before darkness claimed her again. Blood trickled from her hairline, stinging her eyes. She wiped it away with a shaking hand and took an unsteady step forward.
The raked gravel of the courtyard crunched beneath her shoes. It shifted treacherously, throwing her off balance. She gasped, reaching for something to steady herself—there was nothing—and she fell forward, landing hard on her hands and knees.
A fresh surge of pain wracked her body, sharp in her palms and knees, blinding in her head.
