‘I’ve taken a private parlour. We have an hour, and you,’ he addressed Isabel, ‘don’t even think of crying out.’
He twitched back the fold of his cloak to reveal the pistol trained on her. As she climbed down, he took her by the waist, and the muzzle of the pistol pressed against her ribs.
‘Lean ean on me as if you are faint. That’s it.’
In such close proximity, he smelled rank and she wondered if it was the scent of fear. Holding her close, Freddy marched her into the inn and upstairs to a small, private parlour where a breakfast of bread, cheese, bacon, and small beer had been set for them.
‘Eat up, ladies. It may be a while before we get a chance to eat again.’
Isabel complied. She recognised that nothing would be served by a refusal to eat. She needed all her strength to keep her wits about her. Fanny, however, picked at the food, prompting an angry outburst from her brother that reduced the girl to tears.
‘Finish it, Fanny,’ Isabel urged in a low voice as Freddy strode across to the window.
Fanny raised her head and turned her miserable face on Isabel. Isabel smiled encouragingly. Fanny’s faith in her brothermust have been sorely shaken by the events of the previous night, and she could see the girl was genuinely frightened. If she could win Fanny’s confidence, there was a faint hope that, between the two of them, they might be able to overcome their tormentor.
But Freddy, no doubt instinctively alert to the danger of letting the two women have any time alone together, ensured that they were not afforded an opportunity for conversation, even escorting Isabel to the privy. After an hour’s respite, they were back in the coach.
Isabel noticed that the bays were still hitched to the coach, their heads drooping with exhaustion. Even if Freddy could have changed them, leaving two such recognisable horses would make their tracks easier to follow, but their progress from here would be slow. That gave her hope
In the coach, Freddy tied her hands, this time in front of her, leaving her feet free.
‘Where are we going?’ Isabel asked as he fastened the knot.
Freddy cast an irritated glance. ‘Suffice to say, I know of a small harbour and a friendly fisherman who’ll not ask too many questions.’
In the gloom of the curtained coach, Isabel sat back and considered this intelligence. Freddy had not appeared to be in possession of it before their stop, so it could only have been gleaned from someone at the inn. If anyone was in search of her, which by now they would surely be, Freddy had left a considerable clue. He would be hoping they could make good their escape before his pursuers caught up with them.
She closed her eyes. Like food, she needed rest if she were to keep her wits about her. The coach moved at a walking pace, and she closed her eyes. Visions of Sebastian lying dead in the burning stable and her own possible death at the hands of this monster kept her from sleep. She choked back the threat of tears.
I cannot show any weakness,she thought.
A sharp, frustrated cry from Freddy, accompanied by a rapping on the roof, startled her into full consciousness.
‘Get on, you fool. We need to reach the coast by the turn of the tide.’
Isabel peered around the curtain. It had begun to rain, no doubt turning the road to mud. She thought of the two beautiful bays, labouring to pull the coach.
‘Freddy, you’ll kill the horses,’ she protested.
‘Do you think I care about horses?’ he snapped. ‘It’s my neck or theirs.’
The coachman’s whip snapped and the coach creaked into a faster pace, lurching from side to side. Isabel, with her hands bound, could not prevent herself from being flung against Freddy, seated on the opposite seat. He caught her by her forearms and leered into her face.
‘I’ve wondered what it would be like to kiss you, and here you are throwing yourself at me,’ he said.
She squirmed in his grasp but could do nothing when he kissed her on the lips, a wet, grasping coupling, accompanied by his tongue, which he tried to force between her tightly clenched teeth. When he broke away, laughing, she spat in his face. He rewarded her by slapping her across the face and throwing her back in the corner of the coach.
‘Bitch!’
‘Freddy, please,’ Fanny said.
Freddy laughed.
The momentum of the coach seemed to be getting stronger. Isabel braced herself as the coach lurched to the right. She heard a sickening crack from the rear axle and a loud, animalistic cry from the driver. A horse screamed as the coach began to topple onto its side, but the momentum did not cease. The panicked horses, still attached by the traces, must have broken into a wild gallop, dragging the stricken coach, now fully on its side.
The occupants churned inside the broken coach as if caught in a river in spate. As she scrambled to get a finger hold onsomething, anything, to stop her wild tumble, Isabel heard Fanny screaming.
This was it. She was going to die.
