Matthew said without a word of a lie, “I have no idea.”
His uncle nodded, for once believing him immediately. “No matter. We have enough to go on. I shall return, nephew.”
By now Matthew’s throat was so parched, he felt as though he’d swallowed the Sahara. And he desperately wanted to rinse the repulsive taste of stale vomit from his mouth. “You’re just leaving me?”
“For the moment,” Lord John said with obvious indifference. “Filey, you have your instructions.”
They closed the door behind them, abandoning him to an airless room and a heart brimming with guilt and futile rage. There was nothing he could do for Wolfram. There was nothing he could do for Grace. There was nothing he could do for himself.
He was so damned helpless, he wished to hell he were dead.
Dusk had fallen and Grace still hadn’t met anybody by the time the narrow track joined three roads. She looked up at the signpost marking the crossroads, squinting to read the words.
Slowly, she made out the faded lettering. And nearly shouted aloud for joy.
Matthew had always been vague about the estate’s location and she’d been unconscious when she arrived. But it turned out she knew exactly where she was. Or at least where she went.
Marked clearly on one arm of the signpost was a village a few miles away whose name was almost as familiar as her own.
Purdy St. Margaret’s.
Her cousin, the Reverend Vere Marlow, was vicar at Purdy St. Margaret’s.
For the first time in months, since well before Josiah fell sick, her heart leapt with genuine hope. She forgot her weariness and her blistered feet and the way her heavy dress irritated her sticky skin.
If she reached Vere, she was safe. If she reached Vere, she could find help for Matthew.
A joyful bark behind her made her turn in surprise. She squinted into the sun and raised one hand to her eyes to shield them from the dazzling light.
A huge brindle shape hurtled up
the track toward her.
Wolfram?
What was he doing here? How had he escaped?
Then she remembered that the gate had been open for the cart to depart. Perhaps his jailers’ panic over Matthew’s illness meant they’d been too distracted to shut it again. Either that or he’d escaped when Monks had ridden in pursuit. He must have followed the scent of the wagon or of Monks’s mount, then picked up her trail from where she’d climbed down.
What if he’d caught up with her at that moment? Her belly clenched with horror as she imagined what could have happened if he’d run up when she’d hidden in the woods. Her bid for freedom would have been over before it had begun.
“Wolfram! Good boy,” she said, crouching and stroking his shaggy coat. He licked her face and butted her with his blunt head and whimpered with delight. He was dusty and panting and almost pathetically happy to see her. The rope she’d tied to his collar still dangled from his neck.
“Good…What’s this?” Wolfram flinched as her fingers brushed a wet patch of hair near his haunches. When she lifted her hand, it was sticky with drying blood.
“Wolfram?” Heavens, what had happened after she left? Had there been some kind of brawl? Had Matthew been injured? Killed? He’d promised her that his uncle would do anything to keep him alive. But who knew what could happen in a crisis?
No, she had to believe he was still in this world. Or she couldn’t bear to go on.
Very gently, she explored Wolfram’s injury. From what she could see, the graze wasn’t serious. There wasn’t even a lot of blood. Wolfram whined and pressed his trembling body closer to her. She automatically put her arms around him.
“You poor darling. We’ll get you help. Don’t worry.” She spoke to comfort herself as much as the wolfhound.
Her heart lurched with a sudden pang of yearning for Matthew. She’d give anything for one last chance to feel his embrace and to hear his deep voice whispering her name. Missing him had been a constant sharp ache in her heart from the moment she’d said goodbye. But crouched on this lonely road, the stark reality of his absence stabbed at her like a steel blade.
Bending her head, she buried her face in Wolfram’s coarse coat. She didn’t cry. She’d cried so much already and tears had done her no good. For a long time, she knelt there, praying for her lover’s safety, praying for strength, praying for her own survival so that she could accomplish the impossible task ahead of her.
Finally, she drew in a deep breath and stood on legs that quivered with exhaustion. She straightened her backbone, gripped the rope attached to Wolfram’s collar and lifted her chin to the east as if daring life to defy her.