‘Fair to middling.’
‘Then shall we show these gentlemen how it’s done? At this rate we won’t make it to the fort before late afternoon.’
‘Are you by any chance attempting to increase your attractions for the gentlemen by riding like a Valkyrie?’
‘I prefer that to sedate promenades with my parasol in the park displaying my figure to advantage as my mother would have me do.’
Dora looked up the road. At the top was a withered thorn.
‘First one to the tree wins?’
‘Wins what?’
‘I don’t know– everything? Nothing?’
The lady laughed. ‘You’re on. On the count of three!’
Dora didn’t wait. She was on a hired hack whereas Lady Alice was on her own mount: that was handicap enough.
‘Three!’ called Lady Alice from behind, but she was laughing as she urged her horse to follow. They galloped through the startled gentlemen, scattering viscounts and lords to the side of the road. ‘Make way!’
‘Ladies first!’ shouted Dora.
And away they went.
It didn’t matter in the end who reached the tree first– it was the pure joy of breaking out of the constraints. Lady Alice reached out and seized Dora’s hand as they slowed once past the tree. A thrill ran through Dora, and she felt that Alice likely shared it. It was like a kiss.
‘Excellently done,’ said Alice, recovering first from their moment. ‘Shall we ride on?’
Dora looked behind to see the gentlemen increasing their pace to catch up. ‘Oh, yes.’
‘Do you know the way?’
‘I saw a map.’
‘Then let us go ahead and blaze our own trail. We so rarely get the chance.’
ChapterEighteen
Hardknott Roman Fort
The weather was closing in, the clouds descending to blank out the hills and create a little pocket around the fort high up on Hardknott Pass. Having noticed her absence from the party, Jacob discovered Dora had clambered to the top of the hill and was looking down on what could still be glimpsed of the valley from the highest wall of the Roman fort, her skirt flapping in the breeze, her scarlet redingote standing out against the clouds. She looked dazzling– Minerva come to visit the troops. Solid beneath her boots, the wall was constructed from squared blocks of greystone, flecked with lime-green circles of the local lichen. The embankments of the fort had been set in squares, a sign that the Romans had left their geometric stamp on this locality where native walls tended to follow the meandering contours of the ground and the sheepfolds were often circular.
He hopped up beside her. In the lower court of the fort, under the awning of a white tent, Lady Alice was surrounded by the gentlemen of the party. Langhorne hovered at her elbow to ensure she had every morsel, every drink she wished, hercavalier servente. The two lords had their heads together, probably plotting some government intrigue. The servants were packing the remnants of the picnic onto the wagon that had transported it there at dawn.
‘Enjoying yourself?’ he asked.
‘I am. It’s impressive that this survived the centuries.’ She folded her arms and shivered. ‘Poor legionaries. It’s the height of summer and yet it feels wintry. I’d wager they pined for Rome and dreamed of sipping wine in the Forum and cheering on the gladiators in the Colosseum.’
He smiled at the picture she painted. ‘No doubt. Did you learn anything from our friends?’
‘I learned that Moss despises Knotte. Whether that is snobbery, a difference of literary opinions or suspicion of something darker, I couldn’t tell. He stuck close by him on the ride up.’
‘I’ve noticed that no one has mentioned Barton today.’
‘Perhaps they’ve agreed to avoid the subject as there is little more to be done other than speculate? He’ll turn up one way or another.’ She grimaced, clearly not liking the next thing she was to say. ‘Barton spoke to me of a mother. We could write to her and ask if her son has contacted her recently.’
‘And someone should tell her he is thought to be missing, in case he is dead.’
