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"Are we taking the southern road to Ashcombe Park?"

"A shorter way, miss," he called back. "There was a cart overturned near the main turning. Best avoid the delay."

"Did someone tell you so at the inn?"

"Yes, miss. The road will be clear in a mile or two."

Mrs. Ashby frowned. "There was no mention of an overturned cart when I spoke to the innkeeper."

"Perhaps it occurred afterward," Elizabeth said, though the explanation sat uneasily with her.

She knocked again. "I should prefer the route Lord Saye recommended. Please turn back when you can do so safely."

Pike did not answer at once. The carriage rolled several more yards, and then he shouted that there was no place to turn until they reached the next field gate. Elizabeth settled back, dissatisfied but unwilling to make the horses attempt an impossible movement upon a narrow lane.

A few minutes later they met a farmer driving a slow wagon in the opposite direction. Pike drew aside and exchanged words too low for the passengers to hear. Elizabeth watched the farmer stare after their carriage with a perplexed expression.

"You see?" Mrs. Ashby said. "Even the local people do not expect visitors by this road."

Elizabeth opened the window and leaned slightly forward, as far as propriety and safety permitted. Beyond the next bend she saw broken ground and an uneven descent. The road appeared badly washed near a ditch. She knew nothing of carriage construction, but she knew how difficult it could be to control a team upon a poor surface.

"Driver," she called, "slow the horses, if you please."

He gave no answer. For a moment she thought he had not heard. Then the carriage began to move faster.

Mrs. Ashby looked up from her work. "What is he doing?"

"I do not know." Elizabeth closed the window and called more loudly. "Mr. Pike, I insist you stop!"

There was a jerk as one horse turned its head. The groom beside the driver shouted something. The carriage swayed, corrected itself, and then struck an uneven place with such force that Mrs. Ashby's workbasket flew from her lap.

Elizabeth caught the edge of the seat with one hand. She heard the groom cry out again. A wheel dropped, the carriage lurched sideways, and the world tilted.

"Hold fast!" she shouted.

There was no time for another word. Wood cracked. Glass broke. Elizabeth was thrown against the padded side panel as the carriage rolled onto its flank. Her shoulder struck hard; something cut across her brow; the noise of the horses and the grinding frame drowned every thought. Then the movement stopped with a violence that made the silence afterward seem impossible.

For several seconds she could neither move nor understand why she was lying at such an angle. The air smelled of dust, wet earth, and broken leather. Mrs. Ashby was calling her name from somewhere beneath the slanting roof.

"I am here," Elizabeth said, though her voice was strange to her own ears. "Are you hurt?"

"My ankle. I believe—I cannot move it."

Elizabeth tried to rise and discovered that her left shoulder would not tolerate the attempt. She clenched her teeth and braced herself with her other arm. Blood ran warm down the side of her face. The maid, Betsey, was trapped partly beneath a collapsed cushion but conscious and frightened.

"Betsey, look at me," Elizabeth said. "Can you move your hands?"

"Yes, miss. Oh, Miss Bennet, are we to die?"

"Not if I can help it. We must first find the door."

The door above them had jammed. The other lay against the earth. Elizabeth could see a patch of light through the shattered window, but broken glass barred their escape. She pulled a shawl around her good hand and began moving the smaller fragments aside, careful not to deepen the cut already stinging on her forehead.

Outside, a horse cried in distress. The groom was calling for assistance. She heard a man's feet on the road and thought the driver had returned, but the footsteps receded rapidly.

"Mr. Pike!" she called. "We require help!"

No answer came.