But . . . was this in fact the road to Dover? At least they’d gotten an early start if they were lost.
And then she realized what had awakened her: the carriage was slowing.
And then... oh dear...
It came to a halt.
She opened the door to find Mr. Malloy’s worried face peering in.
“Miss Wylde, I’d like to have a look at the shoe on one of our ’orses, if ye dinna mind. I’ve a bad feelin’ about it...” He shook his head and clucked.
“Oh dear. Poor thing! Very well. I suppose if we must.”
He helped her down from the hack onto the side of the road, and next to what appeared to be the beginning of another long road, perhaps leading to a house.
She turned about. Heavens, it was quiet. There were ruts on the main road, but they looked old, as though they’d been made long ago. It didn’t seem as though the road was often used.
She didn’t know where she was. Only if she were to describe heaven, it would look a good deal like this. Pink and white blossoms ruffling in the trees; tiny star-shaped yellow and white flowers trimming the hedgerows. Thumb-sized birds with peeping calls darting between the greenery.
A sky like a sheet of blue china.
Above her, a single cloud, like a dollop of cream, spreading softly.
The warmth.
The quiet.
The quiet was a caress.
She worried that in quiet moments, she was always going to be bound to weep, because quiet moments made her soft.
Quiet moments belonged to James.
She hated to interrupt the quiet, but it needed to be said.
“But Mr. Malloy, are you certain this is the way to Dover?”
“Well, that’s the other thing, Miss Wylde.” He removed his cap to scratch his head. “I thought so, but I may have taken a wrong turn a few miles back. I’ll just have a look at me map, won’t I?”
He reached into his coat and retrieved what looked like a sheet of parchment folded in thirds. He fanned it open.
“Well, I’ve a map right here, but it’s in another language. I must have brought the wrong one. I canna make no sense of it, Miss. Would you have a look?”
She took it from him, gingerly. Her heart lurched in dread. Honestly, she could do with one or two uneventful hours in her life. A bit of a pause between caprices of fate.
She heaved a sigh, unfolded it, and had a look.
“Oh dear! Mr. Malloy! This isn’t even a map! It’s a... it’s a...”
She stopped breathing.
Goose bumps spangled her arms.
It was a deed.
She stared at it.
“Oh . . . my . . . God,” she breathed.
