Hortence drifted by on the arm of her beau. On her other arm was a reticule decorated like a stuffed pineapple. *Blundering about in the dance like some common farmer's wife, you appear to have forgotten all that my sister and I taught you about comportment. You would do well to acquire the pride of blood and wealth; otherwise you will find that you are not well spoken of by anyone.'

Genevieve longed to shut off from them, their unkind words and acid looks. Even though she told herself they could not wound her with their unkind remarks it hurt to know that she was thought of as an oddity. The image of the wild creatures she had once seen at the fair came to her mind. She felt like them, stared at as though she existed behind bars. Her beautiful dress and her practised etiquette, none of these things could bestow upon her what she was not. She was neither one of the rich nor one of the poor. Conscious of her loneliness she sat on, alone, a forlorn wallflower, the muscles in her face aching from a wooden smile.

She was startled by the unexpected appearance of Captain Catesby at her side.

*May I?' He took his place beside her.

Seeing her otherwise occupied Gabriel, who was returning with refreshments, turned about and roamed amongst the guests, not wishing to be accused of dereliction of his duties.

Catesby's fringe had fallen into his eyes. He swept it aside. *I see you are taking an interval to gaze upon the gentlemen in the dance.'

*Not at all,' she answered, startled by the absurd idea.

*Many are handsome and vigorous.'

*And vain.'

He ignored the gibe. *As a woman of affluence your thoughts will, no doubt, turn to acquiring a husband of wealth and title?' Laughing, he added, *Or perhaps your heart might be given to a colonel of the yeomanry?'

*I know enough of high society to appreciate that it is improper of you to ask such questions of me.'

*You must admit that I am better looking than most of the gentlemen in this room?'

*That much I grant you,' she answered, keeping her gazed averted.

*Far wittier.'

*I would not know.'

*I will have to convince you.'

*I would not care to trouble you on my account.'

To add to the mood of gaiety some men servants were dressed as half-beasts, their tails trailing along the floor. A beast approached, offering drinks, which Catesby accepted, passing a glass to Genevieve. She left it on a side table.

Aware of Lady Wexcombe and Sir Biggins casting them inquisitive glances, Catesby's tone became formal. *As your first experience of socialising with genial aristocracy how does the Assembly please you?'

*If truth be told I am sickened by the trivial conversations.'

He dipped into his snuff box. *What subjects would be more to your liking: trade and commerce, politics, or perhaps religion?'

*Do not mock. I believe that there are more important issues to discuss than the latest play in London or the value of one's jewels.'

*Like what?'

*Is it true that your soldiers fired on starving men, women and children who broke into a warehouse in Malstowe in search of food?'

He grimaced, showing his unwillingness to discuss this tedious subject. *It is true. Many escaped, others were sent to the gallows. An example needed to be made of them.'

She sought to curb her agitation. *It has always been my firm belief that sentences should match the crime and not be unduly brutal. A starving child is punished with the same severity as if he or she had murdered a whole family. Do you not think it better to seek out the root of the problem, a problem which is founded in the harsh inequalities in society, so that the poor in their desperation and hunger would not need to take such drastic measures as stealing food?'

*As a woman you have no conception of the ways of the world. The number of crimes is escalating. Public executions are a necessary deterrent. They frighten people into keeping the law.'

*Mass hangings do not work. Not only are unwarranted punishments dangerous, they might trigger a revolution.'

*Genevieve, let us stop this bickering. You must know how ardently I love you. Granted, I come from a humble background, my father being a silversmith, but it will be a marriage founded on companionship.'

So stunned was she by his declaration that she could find no answer. Instead, she stared at a fly crawling over his buckled shoes.

*You make no response?'

She shook herself, trying to fight off the effects of the wine. *It is a great honour you do me, sir,' she said, distressed by his overbearing attitude. *However, it is impossible for me to do other than decline your proposal.'

His expression hardened. *Do not leave me without a reason.'

A misty look came into her eyes and she spoke quietly. *I am hopeful that, one day, another offer of marriage may be made to me.'

*Might I be enlightened as to the name of the gentleman?'

*Dawkin Scattergood.'

*A murderer and a fugitive? I question your principles, my lady.'

*Dawkin did not kill Squire Bulwar, and well you know it. Besides, I have grown suspicious of your so-called polite society. I am not without fortune and I can hardly believe you find me a beauty in any respect.'

*So this gentleman, as you call him, if found innocent of the crime of murder, is the person who will claim your heart. For all your feigned innocence, I can see through you, Lady Genevieve. Affluent women always crave more riches, so it is desirable that the hand they seek holds wealth of its own. Scattergood is heir to a grand estate. That is the only reason you choose him above me.'

In her anger she felt a rush of blood to her cheeks. *I don't love Dawkin for his money. You have no conception of the depth of my devotion to him.'

A glass of cognac to hand, Sir Biggins blundered through the crowd towards them, swaying slightly. *Who would have thought of my meeting a former mill hand at this Assembly?'

Distraught by his words and seeing no reason to remain at this frightful ball a moment longer, Genevieve fled.

In the Swan Chamber the music sounded unduly loud, throbbing through the floorboards.

Moaning in despair, she tore off her long gloves and threw herself onto the bed.

The butler thumped his staff upon the floor. *Ladies and gentlemen, supper is served.'

The music dwindled, ending on a long chord.

She pictured the ball-goers. On a wave of babble and laughter they would proceed in well-mannered merriment to the feast, each on the arm of the person with whom they had last danced.

Voices rang in her head: *Granted you are not handsome,' Lady Wexcombe had said confidingly, shortly before the ball, *you have no conversation of significance, little taste and certainly no style. Nevertheless, you will have a fine dowry to take into a marriage.'

*Grr!' Ramming a pillow over her head, she promptly slept.

When Genevieve awoke, a hush had settled. The house hardly breathed. Owls were silent, not even the rustle of a mouse disturbed the utter stillness.

Having groped her way along the dark hallway and down the staircase, she peered into the dining hall. The glimmer from an oil lantern fell upon half-eaten food: wilted salads, side dishes, assorted breads set amongst venison, red mullet, plovers' eggs in aspic, pies and puddings. Frowning, she fingered the tail feathers of a roast pheasant, wondering what could have happened to make the guests leave in such a hurry.

Seeking answers, she made her way below stairs. Though it must be well before dawn, Mrs Bellows sat in an armchair before the range, the glow from the fire lighting her face. She looked as pale as parchment.

*It's so quiet. Is everyone abed?' Genevieve asked, plucking out one of the remaining flowers with which she had decorated her hair the previous evening.

*They've gone.'

*Everyone? All the guests? What about those staying overnight?'

*Bolted, every last girdle an' gaiter of *em,' Mrs Bellows said, slipping into the countrified voice of her childhood days.

*Even Lady Wexcombe and her daughters?'

*Even them.'

*Why so sudden?'

*That I cannot begin to imagine. There was a big to-do with folk in an uproar. Permelia was distraught. It's a wonder you never heard her. Shortly after everyone left, his lordship barricaded himself in the Brown Room.'

Creeping to the study door, Genevieve knocked softly. *Gabriel? What's up?' She tried the handle. In despair, she slumped to the floor, her back against the locked the door. *I hate this place! I really HATE this place!

CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE.

THE DREADFUL AVENGER.

Time and again Genevieve returned to the Brown Room and whispered Gabriel's name, all to no avail. Food and drink were left at his door. Here it remained. Mrs Bellows cajoled. Hannah sang uplifting psalms. Still he did not emerge.

At Genevieve's command the remaining food from the dance was distributed to the poor of Little Lubbock.

*We should never have allowed Hortence to encourage us to hold the ball in the first place,' she grumbled to Mrs Bellows. *It was such an unnecessary expense.'

The second day wore on. Eventually, she could stand the tension no longer. Abandoning her bonnet on the garden bench, she sprinted upstairs and hammered on the door with her fists. *Right, Gabriel. This is it. You've had your chance. I ain't taking no more!'

She ran through the house and outside, to the wood store.

Returning, she shouted, *If you don't open up this minute, I'm gonna bludgeon you down.'

Grasping the hefty implement she wielded it over her shoulder and was about to splinter the wood when the door opened, slowly.

She wanted to laugh out loud with relief at setting eyes on him, exclaim merrily that the axe almost sliced open his head. She could not, for her heart went out to him in pity. All the flesh seemed gone from his face. His torn and twisted hair was in his eyes, eyes so inflamed it was as though he had cried tears of blood.

He spoke quietly. *I think it's time we talked.'

Even now, when she could gain admittance, she lingered on the threshold, wary that something of immense importance would be said, unwilling for his words to be uttered. The room smelt rank from spilt wine, the table littered with glass shards where he had smashed the owl bell jar. The crocodile lay upside down on the rug as though, in his rage, he had fought with it, and left it high and dry on a riverbank.

Quietly, she crept in and took her place beside him on the couch. He sat with a hand upon each knee, gazing intently into the cold hearth. He did not move.

Only the chime of the hour from the long case broke the silence of the room.

Eventually, he turned to her and spoke gravely. *During dinner, after the ball, malicious gossip spread amongst our guests. Hortence said she suspected that we are not brother and sister.'

*Don't be daft. What else could we be?'

*She referred to you as my mistress.'

Genevieve sat up abruptly. *That's a load of hogwash, no mistake. Why would anyone want to say such a wicked thing?'

*I suppose people see what they want to see. What they saw was you and I throwing ourselves at one another in the dance.'

*I know I made a fool of myself, but I've grown accustomed to that since the Wexcombes have been around. At the time I didn't care what they thought.'

*Me neither. We've both been trying so hard to get along with others. The dance was a moment of madness when we wanted only one another, to be close and forget those ghastly people. Now we have been cast off by society. Even though neither of us truly desired it, we will find it a wearisome burden to bear.'

*You are a muttonhead, locking yourself away for hours on end, causing yourself misery, when we might have spoken earlier and thrashed things out.' After a moment's thought, she added, *But, do you imagine it can be true? That I am not your sister? There's no definite proof, if you think on. Mam believed what Wakelin told her. Maybe he was lying? Why'd he wanna do that? You told me in the jail that Thurstan knew I was your sister, so they must be wrong?' Enlightenment dawned in her eyes. *It was Maygott! When I was rushing upstairs, I saw him tongue-wagging to some guests. He seemed most persistent.'

*That'd make sense. Maygott was fuming when I told him he could only stay on if he became muck-man. He would revel in the role of the dreadful avenger, set to the task of poisoning our relationship.' He spoke in a heavy voice, as though it took a great effort to speak. *There is another thing, Genevieve. Rowan is dead.'

*How do you know? Catesby never said!'

*We have to assume that it was Thurstan who took Rowan. He must have thought everything was falling into place for him. After I had lost my life he would have become the lord of the manor. He would have forced Rowan to marry him so that he could secure her inheritance. None of that has happened, so what use is she to him now? None. I think we have to accept that she has gone from us.'

*And Dawkin?' she asked, consumed by grief. *I keep thinking back to the time when he left The Leaking Barrel. I stepped into the yard only moments after he'd gone. I heard a coach racing away. Since then I've wondered whether it was Thurstan's and whether Dawkin was in it. It would've been easy for the soldiers to bundle him into the carriage, like when Mr Crowe stole him at the ice market.'

CHAPTER EIGHTY.

WHEN ALL HOPE IS LOST.

Though Gabriel and Genevieve came down for their meals they sat at opposite ends of the table, eating little, rarely speaking. The misery of accepting the loss of their loved ones weighed heavy upon them.

By now all the servants had learned why the ball-goers left in a hurry. Though they tried to cheer brother and sister they soon gave up.

A depression fell upon the house.

The indoor servants were relieved to take themselves to their quarters. Most were in a state of fatigue following the hectic preparations for the ball. Housework was left. Dust gathered.

Consumed by their doleful thoughts, Gabriel and Genevieve drifted to their respective chambers.