There was a lot of garbled shouting and it was clear the drivers were wary of Monks. Which spoke volumes for their
intelligence.
Matthew’s guttural groan made her jerk her head around. He staggered out of the line of trees, clutching his chest as if his
heart pained him. She suppressed a horrified gasp. He looked so ill.
For the first time, she really understood what he meant when he said he had a violent physical reaction to certain herbs.
He doubled over and she heard his painful retching from where she hid.
If she’d known what he’d go through, she wouldn’t have fallen in with his plan. She dug her nails into her palms to stop
herself running to help him.
This was a charade. He was doing this so she could escape.
The words sounded hollow and unconvincing when she stood in impotent grief and watched her lover in such agony, he
contorted with pain.
Wolfram whined softly. “Stay, Wolfram,” she said quietly.
The big body under her restraining hand quivered with tension and his attention fixed on where Matthew struggled to
stay upright. She couldn’t blame the dog. Her stomach lurched with revulsion that she left Matthew in this state.
“Help me!” Matthew gasped, falling. Even at this distance, she saw he shook as though he suffered a fit. “Help me, for
God’s sake!”
“Shit!” Monks turned to see what was wrong. “Filey! His sodding lordship looks right to die!”
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ABC Amber LIT Converter http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
All four men raced across to where Matthew writhed on the ground.
It cut Grace to the bone to see that long, lean body twisting and trembling. Had his madness been like this? No wonder he
lived in perpetual fear of his illness returning.
He went through this for her. She owed it to him to see he didn’t suffer in vain. She owed it to him to escape so she could
set him free. Inside these polished white walls, she could do nothing but share his burden.
“Come on, Wolfram. Let’s go.”
The dog whined and turned his head toward his master. He didn’t move when she pulled the rope.
“Wolfram!” she said in her best imitation of Matthew.
She tugged the rope again. All attention focused on Matthew. He sounded in excruciating pain. Each strangled groan
froze the blood in her veins to ice.
Wolfram barked sharply then bounded away through the trees.
She just stopped herself calling after him. If she alerted Lord John’s henchmen to her location, the game was up before it
started. Her heart thudded with foreboding. Already, the carefully plotted escape unraveled.
The huge dog ran up and began licking Matthew about the face. Monks and Filey tried to shove the shaggy beast away
but to no avail. Chaos reigned on the grass.
She clutched her makeshift bundle tightly against her breast where her heart pounded like a crazy drum. She whispered a
confused prayer for Matthew’s safety and dragged in a deep breath.
Now, Grace. Now.
She picked up her skirts in fingers that were stiff with terror and dashed across the cleared area. She was so frightened,
she noticed nothing but the bulk of the wagon in front of her. Breathlessly, she dived into its shadow.
Her chest heaving with fear, she crouched there. Had anyone noted her flight? She didn’t think so. Nobody paid any heed
to the wagon. Monks swore loud and long. Filey fought off Wolfram. The only people who tried to help the sick man were
the drivers.
One had Matthew propped in his arms and the other wiped his face with the faded scarf he’d tugged from his neck. Yet
again, guilt clawed at her that she left an ill man with brutes who had no idea how to treat him.
Goodbye, my love, she whispered in her heart.God keep you safe until I return.
Surely it was her imagination, but she thought she saw Matthew’s head tilt in her direction. Just for an instant. She was
too far away to see the molten gold of his eyes. But in her heart she did. Then he groaned and collapsed upon the younger
driver’s shoulder in shivering unconsciousness.
There was nothing more she could do for him here. It was time to discover what she could do for him in the world
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ABC Amber LIT Converter http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
outside.
Slowly, she turned around to face the gates.
And came face to face with Mrs. Filey.
Grace staggered back against the rough wood of the wagon and stifled a scream. With trembling hands, she raised her
bundle before her like a shield.
How had she been so fatally stupid? Why hadn’t she checked where Mrs. Filey was?
“Please…” she stammered. Then she remembered Mrs. Filey couldn’t hear.
For a long appalled moment, Grace stared into Mrs. Filey’s dull brown eyes. The woman’s face was worn and wrinkled
and impassive. She stood about a foot away, her arms full of household linen.
Grace was lightheaded from lack of air. She dragged in a shuddering breath while blood thundered in her ears. She forced
her terrified mind to work past her visions of what Monks and Filey would do when they discovered her.
Still Mrs. Filey didn’t speak.
Could Grace have found an unlikely ally? Mrs. Filey had never indicated she cared a jot about Grace’s plight. Why
should she risk her husband’s wrath now?
The woman gave a tiny jerk of her head toward the wagon. Grace frowned, not understanding.
Again that gesture that almost wasn’t a movement.
Grace looked at the tray of the cart. It was empty apart from a few handfuls of hay which had cushioned the more delicate
goods in transit.
Mrs. Filey shrugged as if she could do no more. She shoved the pile of dirty washing onto the wagon, then stumped
inside to fetch more. She always walked as though life had defeated her, Grace thought, not for the first time.
Then she realized what had just happened.
Mrs. Filey must know what she and Matthew plotted. And she hadn’t raised the alarm.
Grace considered the pile of laundry. It would cover her until she reached a village. Hurriedly, she flung her bundle onto
the tray and scrambled up to hide herself under the sheets. They were the fine monogrammed linen from Matthew’s bed.
Immediately, the scent of their lovemaking surrounded her. Stale but unmistakable.
Her stomach still twisting with fear, she huddled down as Mrs. Filey pitched more laundry over her. Horses would take
her further and faster than her own feet. Unless Monks and Filey realized she was missing before she got away. Unless
they thought to check the wagon when it passed through the gates. Unless Mrs. Filey merely waited to point her husband
ABC Amber LIT Converter http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
ABC Amber LIT Converter http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
to Grace’s hiding place.
She held her breath while her heart hammered a terrified tattoo. She heard Mrs. Filey approach, then flinched as more
washing covered her.
How was Matthew? Dear Lord, let him come through this. Gaps between the wagon’s timbers allowed air to enter, but
sounds from outside were muffled. Monks was still shouting. For once, she heard an uncertain note in his bluster. Usually
he was imperturbable and confident. Matthew’s sudden attack must have rattled him. Filey made increasingly desperate
suggestions about what to do.
“Reckon we should take him to the house.” She didn’t recognize the slow, Somerset-accented voice.
“Aye,” Monks said. “Aye, we’ll take him to the house.” Then more loudly, “Woman! Shift your scrawny arse. Filey, you
grab his legs.”
“He’s in a right taking,” Filey said. “I seen nowt like this since he was a lad.”
“Shut your gob, man,” Monks snarled. “What is that halfwit bitch doing? Woman!”
“Eh, you know she hears nowt.”
“Aye, fucking useless cow. Go and fetch the dozy jade.”
Grace held her breath as she waited for Filey to come for his wife. Another pile of washing landed over her and she
barely managed to smother a gasp of terror.
What if Filey became suspicious about the size of the load of laundry? What if he decided to check it?
“Monks wants you, Maggie.” Filey spoke slowly so his wife could read his lips.
Grace hadn’t been this close to him since he’d tried to rape her. The memory of Filey’s reeking body pinning her to the
ground rose like a miasma and she closed her throat against the urge to gag. If he dangled one of those thick hands over
the edge of the wagon, he’d touch her. And Matthew wouldn’t be able to save her this time.
“Aye, I’m a-comin’,” Mrs. Filey said in a curiously flat voice. It was the first time Grace had ever heard her speak. “I got
another lot of washing to get oot first.”
“Eh, that’s nowt to worry about. His sodding lordship’s taken a right bad turn. Happen the laundry can bide till next
time.”
Grace struggled to stop herself shivering. Every muscle tensed to the edge of pain as she waited for them to go.
Or for Filey to reach down and toss back the sheets.
Filey and his wife moved away after what felt like an eternity. Only when they’d gone did Grace snatch a shallow breath
into her air-starved lungs. The sick dizziness receded. Carefully, she relaxed each cramped muscle.
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ABC Amber LIT Converter http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Could she chance one last look to see if Matthew was all right? No, the risk was too great. Every beat of her heart was a
frantic prayer for him to live. To live so she could save him from this hell.
“Should we stay and aid ’ee?” the unknown man, obviously one of the drivers, asked from near the front of the cart. “The
nags don’t like to stand so long in the sun.”
“No, there’s nowt more you can do,” Monks said. “Happen we’ll see you next week.”
“Arr, well, I be off then. Is all loaded?”
“Fuck the laundry. His lordship can sleep in dirty sheets for the nonce. Mad bugger won’t notice the difference.”
“He don’t look mad to I,” the voice said. “Though he don’t look blooming ayther.”
“Arr, he b’aint well,” another Somerset voice said very slowly.
“Aye, well, you’re no sawbones, Banks,” Monks snapped. “I’ll take the quack’s word over yourn any day. Now be off.
Lord John doesn’t pay you good brass to blather here.”
Grace curled up in taut stillness as she heard the men approach the wagon. Would they check the laundry? She began to
wish she’d followed the original plan and sneaked away to find cover in the surrounding area. But it was too late to
change her reckless decision.
Her heart skipped a beat as the wagon lurched. Then she realized the cart moved because the two men took their places
on the bench. Someone clicked their tongue to the horses and the cart jolted into motion.
She was on her way. Pray God next time she saw this cursed estate, she came to set her lover free.
“I want a piss real bad, nipper. How ’bout ’ee?” The older, more talkative driver spoke in a slurred voice.
Grace, who had fallen into a strange trance under the stifling weight of the laundry, stirred to full alertness. She wasn’t
surprised their bladders needed emptying. They’d swigged steadily since leaving the estate hours ago. Even from her
hiding place, she could smell the sickly cider fumes in the hot afternoon air. Thank goodness, the horses seemed to know
where they went because the drivers became more intoxicated with every mile.
“Arr.” She’d already noticed that the younger man never said much.
The wagon juddered to a stop then shook as the two climbed down. She heard the older man’s voice fade as he walked
away from the cart.
Perhaps she should steal this chance to sneak out of the wagon. Very slowly, she raised one edge of the sheets so she
could see. The drivers had their backs to her and faced the trees lining the road. Luckily, they were near the horses’ heads.
With trembling hands, she grabbed her bundle and slid to the edge of the cart furthest from the men. Then she took a deep
breath and climbed to the ground, keeping her head low so the wagon hid her.
ABC Amber LIT Converter http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
ABC Amber LIT Converter http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Thick trees beckoned on either side of the narrow track. It hardly justified the nameroad . But of course, Lord John had
chosen the estate for its isolation, hadn’t he? He wouldn’t want a highway running past the front gate.
She heard splashing on the ground and an acrid smell filled the air. She had to make a break while they concentrated on
other things.
Silently, she dashed into the woods and crouched behind a moss-covered rock well back from the road. Her stiff legs
protested the sudden movement, but she ignored the discomfort.
The older man turned and clapped the younger on the shoulder. “God, that Monks be a miserable bastard.”
“Arr,” said the younger, taciturn as ever. He faced the wagon and did up his rough trousers. Now she could see them, it
was clear they were father and son.
“And speak of the Devil.”
Through her heart’s terrified pounding, Grace heard a horse approach. Dear God, they knew of her escape. Why else
would Monks gallop in such a lather after the supply cart? Thank heaven the drivers had stopped and she’d taken the
chance to leave the wagon. Otherwise, her fate would be sealed. The horrible thought chilled her blood to ice.
The wood burgeoned with late spring growth. She prayed it was thick enough to conceal her. Her fingers tensed into