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“Give him up! Give him up!”

Pomona was trapped next to a building by the crowd. One moment West was right next to her. The next, he was being carried ahead of her. “West!”

But he didn’t hear her. He was being swept along by people who were running in the same direction. Torches waved above the heads of the crowd. Her heart began to pound. She had no idea where she was, and she'd been separated from the grooms and stableboys who'd come with them. “West!”

He couldn’t be far from her. She just couldn't see him, that was all. She was being absurd. Yes, this situation was unpleasant—and perhaps a little dangerous—but there was no need to panic. There was no need for this sudden feeling of dread, either. West would calm the situation, people would be rational, and the worst that would happen would be that they would have a rather late night.

So why did she feel that something terrible was about to happen? She forced herself to take a deep breath, and coaxed her horse forward. Just ahead, the road led into a small square. On the opposite side of the square was what must be the public house and inn, judging by the fact that it had a second story of shuttered windows and a signboard above its door. The crowd’s attention was on the inn.

The chant was growing louder. “Give him up! Give him up!” The crowd fell back and then surged forward again. Her frightened mare tried to rear. “Woah. Woah!” She patted the poor creature’s neck, but it was already skittering along with the crowd, turned half sideways. It was like being caught in a current of water. She was carried into the cobblestoned square.

She looked around desperately for West—and saw a line of mounted dragoons entering the square on the opposite side. Several had drawn their swords. Her eyes seemed caught by tiny details: The orange gleam of torchlight flickering on metal. Hands on the butts of rifles.

The crowd fell back again, while her mount, eager to get away from the people crowding her, danced forward. Pomona found herself facing the soldiers across a short stretch of cobblestones.

A man rode out of a side street. It was Colonel Brown. There was a disturbance in the line of mounted dragoons. Two soldiers appeared on foot from the direction of the inn, holding a struggling man between them.

No. Not a man. A boy. When he lifted his head she saw that one of his eyes was swollen almost shut. There was an ugly bruise and cut next to his mouth. Someone had struck him hard across the face—more than once.

They had mistreated him. For a moment she was so overcome with fury that she didn't know how she could pretend to be calm. But that would do the boy no good. She must find a way to keep him here until West could come. “Why, Colonel Brown!” she heard her own voice cry. “How delightful to see you again! Did you take a wrong turning in the dark? Heavens! I should have thought that you would be in Oswestry by now!”

The colonel jerked his horse to a halt. She saw the muscles in his jaw clench, as though the very sound of her voice made him wince. He turned. “Good evening, your grace.” He seemed to have to force the words out. He inclined his head in the barest of bows.

“My goodness, colonel! You and your men do look very grim indeed! What has happened here? This poor boy! I do hope that you have caught whoever assaulted him! Are you helping him home?”

"No, your grace.” Colonel Brown’s voice was stiff. “I regret to inform you that this miscreant is being taken to the gaol at Oswestry.”

“Miscreant! Surely not!”

“I have been given information that he was one of the rioters in Manchester.”

She forced herself to trill another laugh. “How very ridiculous! He has been here the entire time, after being injured in a mine collapse! Look at him! Why, he is but a boy! Surely your men are a good deal more stalwart than that!”

Colonel Brown looked uneasy. “Well, I am certain that an investigation will get to the bottom of it, your grace.”

She had a sudden flash of intuition: This was not the colonel’s idea. He, too, doubted the basis for arresting the boy. She might not have weapons or know anyone here… but she had her wits. And her wits were telling her that. And also, her wits had written her heroines out of tighter situations than this one. “But why? It is already plain that he cannot be a suspect. And look at him. Someone has struck him in the face. It is shocking!” She tsked. “He must be seen by a doctor immediately. Do you know my brother—Viscount Alford?”

The colonel did a double take at this sudden change of subject. “No, your grace. As I have already told you, I do not have the honor of knowing any of your family.”

“Well! Then I shall explain. My brother is quite a boxer. And he has told me more than once that blows to the head are very dangerous. I implore you to allow me to help, colonel!” She clasped her hands theatrically. “The welfare of our tenants is my responsibility. I am, after all, the lady of the manor!”

The boy lifted his head and glared at her. Even from this distance she could see his good eye burning with rage and contempt for the apparently emptyheaded aristocrat before him. She didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was stalling until West could get here.

“Lady March.” The colonel stopped himself and took a breath. “Lady March. I do not pretend to know what you are doing here on your own, at night, without the duke. But this does not concern you. If you do not go home at once, I cannot be responsible for your safety.”

“Does not concern me? I beg your pardon! Dear colonel, this is exactly the sort of thing that does concern me.” She laughed to make it seem as though she were being playful. “And I am certain that you cannot mean to suggest that your own men are a threat to the peace.”

The pink ribbons on her hat fluttered into her face. She brushed them back. Behind her, the angry mutter of the crowd was growing louder. She wasn’t certain how much longer fluttering ribbons and an affectation of brainlessness would keep the situation from becoming violent. All it would take would be one person to throw a rock, or one nervous soldier… And just then, the boy slumped between the men who were holding him. He seemed to have fainted. There was a collective gasp from the crowd.

The colonel's face was red with fury. “This—this lawless mob is the threat, your grace. Now, you are interfering with”—

“Lawless mob?” She forced another laugh. “Goodness me! There can be no need for such language! You cannot mean my tenants, surely! These good people"—she swept a hand behind her—"are merely anxious for the poor lad's welfare. Why, he is insensible! Now, in the morning you may take statements from our steward and the duke about the boy’s injuries in the mine collapse. He certainly was in no condition to go anywhere—let alone Manchester! In the meantime, I shall take the child to the doctor myself. That will give us all time to go home, rest and avoid any regrettable incidents.”

The soldiers holding the boy looked uncertainly at the colonel. Plainly they weren’t looking forward to trying to drag him away through this angry crowd.

The colonel’s eyes narrowed and his lips thinned as he studied her... and the crowd. Then he jerked his head at the men. “Very well. Let him go.”

The soldiers let go of the boy. Several of the villagers rushed past her to catch him as he sagged to the cobblestones.