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‘You’re thinking about him again.’ Winnie’s voice was soft on the late afternoon air. ‘Aren’t you?’
‘Forgive me. I rarely stop.’
‘You could write to him.’
‘I wouldn’t know what to say.’
‘You could go to him now. I would lend you the carriage in a heartbeat. Mother and Father already know not to tell any one of your comings and goings.’
‘Winnie, I--’
‘Or you could return to the cave, if you think you know its location. You could wait for him there.’ Winnie’s eyes shone with excitement. ‘That would be dreadfully romantic.’
‘Not if he never returns and I starve to death.’
‘You could catch rabbits and roast them.’
‘I don’t think I could ever do something so terrible to a defenceless creature. Even though I happily eat pork joints and beef on Sundays.’ Abigail shook her head, trying to keep her tone light even though her heart was heavy. ‘You shall have to do the impetuous rabbit hunting.’
‘I wouldn’t stop at rabbits. I’m sure I’d grow skilled enough to catch fish from the streams with my bare hands.’ Winnie laughed, but quickly grew breathless. ‘Although I would have to find a gentleman worthy of such a life.’
‘Alas, I didn’t. But I hope you do.’ Abigail paused. ‘Although he needs to be someone who can take care of you.’
‘I don’t need a nursemaid. I fully intend to lead a scandalous life, with a scandalous gentleman.’ Winnie’s upturned face in the setting sun was beautiful and painful to look at, all at the same time. ‘I will have adventures, Abigail, just as you have.’
‘I’ve only had one adventure, Winnie. And it didn’t end well.’
‘At least you’ve had one.’ Winnie turned to Abigail, smiling. The blue shadows beneath her eyes had faded since that last time Abigail had seen her, but they were still all too present. ‘I’m afraid I shall have to wait for mine.’
‘Not long. I’m sure of it.’
‘Good.’ Winnie paused. ‘Because sometimes, in my darker moments, I fear I don’t have long enough to wait.’
All Abigail could do was take Winnie’s hand and squeeze it. Winnie had lived with the shadow of impending death since childhood, her lungs a constant source of worry—and even now, with the country air doing wonders, her health still seemed a desperately fragile thing.
'What is that?'
'What?'
'That sound.' Winnie turned to look behind her; Abigail did the same, a nameless tension beginning to knot in her chest. 'It sounds like...'
'Like what?'
'Hoofbeats.'
What was she talking about? Any horses around these parts were placid old beasts taking their equally placid old owners to cattle fairs or to bed, not stallions capable of making the road thunder. But as Abigail stood silently next to Winnie, her chest now very tight indeed, she heard it.
It was like a rumble of distant thunder. Then closer thunder, as if the storm was about to break over their heads. Abigail turned to Winnie, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. 'Whoever could be in such a terrible hurry?’
‘I don’t know.’ Winnie sounded frightened. ‘We may have to jump into a hedge, lest we be trampled.’
Abigail nodded, fuming. Whoever was riding so irresponsibly around these parts would definitely feel the sharp edge of her tongue if at all possible, especially for making her delicate friend take refuge in a hedge. As she and Winnie clambered up the steep bank that led to the hawthorn hedges, trampling wildflowers underfoot and muddying the hems of their gowns, the hoofbeats grew abominably loud.
The whinny of a horse split the air. Abigail closed her eyes tightly as Winnie flinched; as Winnie covered her own eyes, Abigail hugged her friend close.
Surely the horse would gallop by them at any moment. But as Abigail stood awkwardly on the grassy bank, Winnie shivering in her arms, the hoofbeats came to an abrupt stop.
Whatever was happening, she didn't like it. Abigail bit her lip hard, trying to find the courage to open her eyes and demand the horse's rider why on earth he was using the local countryside paths as his private racing ground.
