Laura had to walk at a trot to keep up with Fordham's long strides. His knife pricked just below her ribs, and he twisted her collar tight enough to choke. The tears dried on Laura's face, and she tried to think how she might get away. If she ran, he would catch her, probably stab her, possibly kill her. If she didn't run — well he would rape her, she thought, that must be what he planned, and if she didn't struggle, maybe it wouldn't hurt much.

She stumbled over a rut and he dragged her upright by her collar. The knife pricked against her skin, and Laura felt the sting of broken flesh.

"What are you going to do with me?" she asked, trying to hold herself further away from the knife.

He laughed. "What do you think?"

"Rape me I suppose," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

"I thought about it," Fordham said casually. "Maybe I will."

That was somehow more frightening than if he had said he would. Laura thought of screaming for help, but the wood was silent and empty. Again, she considered running, and again, she decided it was too risky. It was better to stay quiet for now, and wait for her chance to escape. She knew that the road through the woods ended not far from the village. If she could get away from Fordham then, she might be able to reach the safety of other people before he caught her.

But they didn't go that far. After a mile or so, they came to the clearing where the gamekeeper's cottage stood. Fordham dragged her through the yard, overgrown with weeds, and towards the back of the house. Laura's heart seemed to freeze over, and she jerked away on reflex. He twisted the back of her collar until she choked.

"You run, and I'll kill you."

She couldn't run anyway. He had twisted her collar so tight she could barely breathe. All she could do was stumble blindly where he led, her head spinning, her hands grasping at her neck.

Around the back of the house were several outhouses and a flagstone-paved yard, all coming up with weeds. Fordham dragged her towards the smallest outhouse, made of stone and set halfway down in the earth. For a moment, the knife left her side as he pulled up the latch. The door was stuck and he had to wrench to get it open. His grip at the back of her neck loosened just long enough for Laura to think perhaps she could escape. Then Fordham had the door open, and she was shoved inside.

Her feet caught on a stone ledge, and then on nothing at all, and she found herself stumbling down a flight of stairs into darkness. She turned her ankle on a broken step and fell the last few, landing hard on her side on a packed dirt floor below. For a moment, she was too winded to move or speak, and terrified she'd hurt the baby. Then Fordham was upon her again, this time without the knife. He grabbed her by her neck and lifted her, shoving her against the wall. Cold, sharp stone scratched her back. She choked for air. His hands tightened, and bright spots danced in her vision. In the dim light coming through the door, she could see his expression, distorted in fury: eyes showing the whites, lips pressed tight, veins bulging at the temples.

He wasn't going to rape her. He was going to kill her.

She tried to raise her arms to fight him off, but she was already too weak. Then suddenly he released her, and she fell gasping to the floor. She sprawled there, heaving for air. Slowly, her vision stopped dancing and feeling came back into her limbs. Above her, Fordham was breathing heavily too, his hands crab-clawing at his sides.

Laura got to her hands and knees and started crawling for the stairs. She'd barely got one step before Fordham kicked her onto her back again, put his boot flat against her sternum, and pressed, pinning her to the floor.

"Don't move," Fordham said.

She couldn't move anyway. With his boot pressing down, she could barely breathe again. But she didn't think he meant to hurt her this time. There was a wild, almost confused expression in his eyes. He stared at her.

"You can— let me go—" she managed to gasp. "I won't— tell—"

The boot pressed down hard. "Shut up!"

She squirmed beneath him, her vision blurring into blackness, with one bright rectangle in the centre — the open door at the top of the stairs, seeming very far away.

"I'm not going to let you go. I'm going to kill you, and that bastard Albroke will be blamed. They have to find your body, and blame him, so you have to die."

It didn't make any sense to Laura. And her sight was fading. The blurry blackness seemed blacker, and the rectangle of light was mottled over with a dark, moving shape.

The shape yelled something, and moved very fast down the stairs, and then the pressure on Laura's ribcage was gone. At first, she could not understand what had happened. She was lying very still and the floor was spinning. It started to slow, and she heard swearing and scuffling, and then saw in the dim light that Fordham was wrestling with the moving shape on the floor. Then they were apart again, getting to their feet. Fordham got there first. He kicked the shape while it was still getting up, sending it crashing against a wall, and then turned and scrambled up the stairs to the doorway. The door slammed shut and the hut fell into blackness.

Laura took aching breaths of muddy-smelling air. Behind her, against the wall, the shape staggered to its feet, swearing. She recognized him then and was no less confused for it. Neil was there. Well, after Fordham that was almost a pleasure.

She blinked and spun dizzily in the darkness.

* * *

Verity stared at Richard. "Would he hurt Neil?"

"I don't know. He'll hurt Laura." Possibly even kill her. Richard remembered the brutality of Fordham's fists upon him. "If he touches her, I'll kill him."

How he would do that, Richard didn't quite know, but he would.

"I did think he seemed a very odd man," Mr French said apologetically. "I take it he is of the privileged classes, and of course, when one insists on such purity of blood—"

"Shut up," said Richard.

Mr French shut up.

"Who's the local sheriff?" Richard asked. "We need to search the country for them. Fordham's got an indictment waiting for him in London. He can be arrested immediately."

"Paxton," Verity said. "From the village. The magistrate will have to be notified too — he's over in Greater Hough."

"Send a footman to each of them. Ask for any men they can spare to help search." Richard turned to Mr French. "Where did you see Fordham?"

"In the woods, by the gate to the garden."

"Then I'm going to go and look for them."

"No you won't," Verity said. "We'll send some grooms out to look, and then wait for the sheriff and the magistrate."

Richard ignored her and limped to the door. Verity got there first and blocked it, her jaw set. Richard clenched his fists against a sudden surge of anger.

"I'm not going to wait here and do nothing."

"Fordham hates you more than anyone else. If you go out alone you've as good a chance of leaving Laura a widow as finding her."

Richard hesitated; last time he and Fordham had met alone, he might well have died. But he couldn't stand to stay and wait for someone else to rescue Laura. They might be too late already.

Verity took his shoulders in her hands. "Neil must be with her. He'll do whatever he can to protect her." Her voice quavered. "I'm sure he'll make sure they're both safe."

Richard bowed his head and shut his eyes. He felt sick.

"I won't go alone," he said. "Find me a man, lend me a rifle, two horses."

"Richard, just wait an hour—"

"—No." He interrupted her without heat. "It will be dark in two. They might be in the woods still. I'll start there. And—" He turned to Mr French, who had started surreptitiously scribbling with a pencil in a small leather-bound notebook. "You."

Mr French looked up, his expression guilty. "Me?"

"You're coming with me." Richard turned to Verity. "Now I'm not alone. Are you satisfied?"

Her lower lip trembled but she nodded. "If you find Neil—"

Richard pulled her into a brief, one-armed hug. "Yes." He broke away. "Now where does Neil keep his rifles?"