She turned her head away as he tried to kiss her, and instead he buried his face in the thick red-gold tresses of her hair. As she felt his hot breath upon her neck, Elinor shuddered, panic rising within her. Dear God, she cried silently, am I to suffer again at this creature's hands? Suddenly, as if in answer to her prayer, a voice as cold as steel cut through the room.

'Could not your whoring wait until our guests have departed?'

Boreland raised his head. He was still pinning Elinor to the bed but she could see Isobel Boreland standing in the doorway, stiff with outrage.

'I have never objected to you taking your pleasures in London,' she continued in an icy tone, 'but has it come to this, that you must bring your doxy to the Hall?'

He released Elinor and slowly climbed off the bed.

'A whore she is, ma'am, but not mine. You forget, madam wife, that it was your idea to bring her here. A fine mate you have chosen for our son. The girl came here for mischief. She intended to kill me'

His lady looked contemptuous.

'Do you expect me to believe that?'

'Believe what you will, madam, 'tis the truth.'

'As to that, we must talk later. There are a dozen people below waiting for dinner. What am I to tell them?'

'Tell them I have but this moment come in, and must needs change.' He looked back at Elinor, who was still upon the bed, raised up on one elbow. 'There is more I need to know from you, Madame de Sange, but it can wait. For now.' He bent to scoop up her wrap and shoes which he took over to the dressing room. He tossed them inside, then shut and locked the door, pocketing the key. 'Just in case she tries to escape,' he told his wife. 'There was a frost on the air even as I rode in and she'll not get very far without shoes or clothes. Now off you go downstairs and look after our guests, my dear. I will join you as soon as I can.' He shepherded his wife out of the room, and taking the key from the lock he held it up with a last, mocking glance at Elinor.

'We will give your apologies to Parson Tidwell and the others, Madame. Perhaps a period of quiet reflection will help you to realize that it would be better for you to co-operate with me. If you do not...' he shrugged 'either way I shall get what I want from you.'

He closed the door and she heard the scrape of the key as he turned it. There was the soft pad of retreating footsteps, then silence.

Elinor slid off the bed. She did not try the door, for she knew it would be locked, as was the dressing room. She took the coverlet off the bed and wrapped it around her. The fire was dying down and without its blaze the room was now very dark. She went to the window, and after a few moments spent fumbling with the catch she managed to open it. The icy air took her breath away and she pulled the coverlet tighter about her shoulders. It was completely dark now, save for the light of the stars that sparkled in the velvet black sky. It was very still, with no breath of wind to stir the ivy that clung about the window, and it was bitterly cold. Boreland was right, she thought, only a fool would venture out unclothed on such a frosty night.

Elinor closed the window and returned to the fire, what was left of it, and sat down before its glowing embers to consider her situation. From below the sounds of merriment drifted up to her. They would all be at dinner now, she guessed. If her room had overlooked the drive there was a chance that she might have called to the guests as they left and made them aware of her plight, although most likely their host would have told them she was deranged, and not to be taken seriously.

She jumped up angrily and paced the room, berating herself for being fool enough to come to Weald Hall. She had never made any plans; what had she expected to achieve? The anger, fear and frustration within her welled up and she threw herself upon the bed, relieving her emotions with a bout of tears and finally falling into an exhausted slumber.

How long she slept Elinor could not be sure, but when she awoke the house was silent and her room was dark save for the starlight that gleamed palely at the window and showed her the barest outlines of her prison. Suddenly she heard a noise outside her door. The key was fitted into the lock and quietly turned. She sat up, ears and eyes straining to know who was there. The door opened quietly and someone entered carrying a single lighted candle in its holder. For a moment she could not see the figure behind the light, but as she recognized her visitor she gave a sigh of relief.

'Andrew!' she whispered, 'what are you doing here?'

'Papa said you were going to run away. He said he had to lock you up to keep you here.'

'And how did you get the key?'

'I took it from Papa,' he said simply, locking the door behind him and dropping the key into his pocket. 'He's asleep downstairs in his chair.'

Although he was dressed for dinner in a black velvet coat and knee breeches, she observed in the candlelight that his neck-band was loosened and his flowered waistcoat unbuttoned, while a few strands of lank brown hair fell across his pallid brow. From his appearance and the strange glitter in his eyes, Elinor guessed that he had been drinking. It seemed most likely that Parson Tidwell and the other guests had already left Weald Hall, for Elinor could not imagine Andrew escaping from his mother's vigilant eye while visitors were present. She thought it must be quite late, and in all probability most of the staff and their mistress had now retired, leaving Andrew in his father's care. Elinor saw a glimmer of hope. She spoke softly.

'Will you give me the key, Andrew?'

'Can't do that,' he said, putting the candle down carefully upon the mantelshelf, 'Papa would be angry with me.'

'But he will be angry when he knows you came to see me.'

'He won't know. Shan't tell him.'

'Give me the key,' she coaxed. 'I won't tell on you, you have my word.' She added, 'I thought we were friends.'

'We are. That's why I want you to stay.'

'But surely not if it makes me unhappy.'

'Mama says you are a wicked woman.'

'That's not true, Andrew.'

'She says you never wanted to marry me.'

'I have never told you differently.'

He continued as if she had not spoken. 'Papa says you'll marry me anyway. He'll see to it, and when we are married you will stay here with me forever. You need not be afraid of me, Elinor. I know how to treat a wife. Papa took me to London once, to a house where there were lots of ladies. He said he wanted me to learn about women and how to please them....'

Elinor suppressed a shudder. At last a plan was forming in her head, and she needed to stay calm.

'What are your parents doing now?'

He shrugged. 'Mama is in her room, I think. Papa is asleep in the library. We had guests for dinner, you know, and Papa drank a lot of wine. He never allows me more than a couple of glasses and then he told me to go to bed, almost before our guests had gone home.' He giggled. 'That's why I took the key. I'm old enough to find my own bedtime and I shall decide which bed I sleep in!' He moved forward, and as he did so Elinor stepped back, glancing up at the marble bust behind her.

'Yes of course you are,' she said soothingly. She reached up and took the ruby brooch between her fingers. 'Look, Andrew. I want to show you this.' She held out the brooch. He reached out to take it, but the jewel slipped from her hand. 'Oh how clumsy of me. It's fallen in the ashes. Quickly, Andrew, can you find it?'

The boy stooped, peering into the cooling embers, and as he did so she picked up the marble bust and brought it down upon his skull. He crumpled to the floor without a sound. Fearing she had killed him, Elinor knelt beside the boy and put her hand inside his shirt. With relief she felt the gentle thud, thud of his heart. Satisfied that he was still breathing, she set to work.

Chapter Fourteen.

A flight and a chase

Moving as quickly as her trembling fingers would allow, Elinor stripped Andrew of his clothes. The coat and waistcoat were soon removed, but the shirt proved more difficult, since it had to be pulled up over his head and she was obliged to lift the boy's unexpectedly heavy form in order to complete this operation. At last it was done and she paused for a moment, panting with exertion, before dressing herself. The soft linen shirt covered her easily, the sleeves coming well past the ends of her fingers, but she scarcely gave this a thought, merely pushing them back out of her way as she pulled on the black knee-breeches. As she had hoped, they fitted her quite well, and when she had tucked in the shirt and put on the waistcoat she was not displeased with the result. Her heart sank when she tried on the shoes: they were far too big and would be useless for her needs.

Upon a sudden impulse, she knelt down and stretched out one arm under the bed. With a faint sigh of relief her fingers found a pair of satin slippers that had been pushed out of sight and overlooked by her maid when she had cleared the room. They were not intended to be worn outside the house but, thought Elinor as she out them on, they were better than nothing. Quickly she fastened the buckles of the knee-breeches over her own silk stockings and shrugged on the boy's velvet coat.

Elinor carried the candle to the dressing table and scooped up her jewellery, dropping it into the capacious pockets of the frock-coat. Looking up, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Forgetting for a moment her predicament, she smiled at the boyish image she presented: she thought the thick curls tumbling about her shoulders rather spoiled the effect, and snatching up a length of ribbon that had been thrown carelessly over one corner of the mirror's frame she tied back her hair.

A door banged somewhere in the house and immediately she forgot her appearance. She must hurry: she had no idea of the time but Andrew could soon be missed, and she wanted to be well clear of the house before anyone realized what had happened. She opened the window and listened intently. There was no sound. Despite her coat, the night air made her shiver and she glanced back at the still form lying by the hearth. With only a second's hesitation she crossed the room, picked up the coverlet that she herself had so recently discarded and dropped it over the boy's near-naked form. The movement disturbed the ash in the fireplace, which rose in a little cloud, settling again around the ruby brooch. Elinor reached out and picked it up, blew away the worst of the ash and pushed it deep into one pocket, then she went back to the window and climbed out into the night.

Elinor felt strangely calm as she eased herself off the window ledge and pushed her feet into the tangled mass of ivy. To fall and break her neck would, she felt, be preferable to remaining in the house and at the mercy of James Boreland. In the silence of the night the rustle of the leaves was very loud and the old thick stems creaked ominously as she made her descent. Slowly she inched her way downwards, trying to spread her weight evenly between her hands and feet.

A brief glance down showed her that she was now no more than ten feet above the terrace. To descend further she would need to move to her right, where the ivy grew up between two of the large ground floor windows that looked out over the gardens. She put out her right hand, her fingers searching for a strong vine, and when she had found a suitable handhold she carefully eased herself across, moving one foot at a time, her toes probing the ivy for a new support.

Unfortunately for Elinor, where the ivy had been trained upwards there were no lateral boughs and in desperation she tried to wedge her foot between the gnarled and twisted stems that covered the lower walls. Without a proper foothold, her grasp upon the ivy tightened as she struggled to support her weight. Then, with heart-stopping certainly Elinor knew she was going to fall. There was a rustle of leaves and a loud crackling as the ivy came away from the bricks and she dropped the last few feet to hit the ground.

For a few seconds she lay still, dazed. She felt bruised, but not seriously hurt and except for the hammering of her own heart she could hear no sound from within the house. All the windows on this, the east front, were in darkness but still Elinor quickly moved off the exposed terrace to hide herself amongst the bushes of the formal gardens. There was just enough light to see her way and once she was out of sight of the house she paused. From her riding expeditions, she knew that the house was surrounded on three sides by relatively open parkland that eventually gave way to the fields in use by Boreland's tenant-farmers. On the fourth side, the house looked out to the west over the valley along whose winding road she had travelled when she had first come to Weald Hall. The valley itself was exposed, but if she could just get across to the forest on the other side, she would be but a few miles from the main highway.

Having decided that this route offered her the best chance of escape, Elinor lost no time in making her way around the house to the west front. She crept along quietly, keeping as much as possible to the shadows of the bushes and outhouses. At last she could see the sweep of the drive and the parapet beyond which the ground fell sharply away. To reach it Elinor knew she would have to cross the open lawns.

Praying that no one would be standing at their window at such an hour, she started to run. Without the restriction of her petticoats she felt she was flying across the ground and she was soon at the parapet. Scrambling over the low stone wall she ran on, almost revelling in the freedom of her male attire. The newly risen moon was still too low to light the valley, thus affording her the protection of the shadows, but she had to strain her eyes to see as she slipped and slithered down the grassy slope. The cold air played upon her bare hands and face, chilling her skin, but she scarcely noticed.

Nearing the bottom of the valley her ears could detect the sound of running water and she was soon standing beside a small stream. She turned and walked along the bank, her eyes searching for a crossing. She was in luck, coming soon to a section of the water where a few large rocks had been tumbled into the water to make a series of rough stepping-stones. It took her but a few seconds to cross and then she began the steady climb up to the wall of trees that stood tall and silent above her.

The exertion warmed her and by the time she reached the cover of the woods she could feel the warm glow in her cheeks. In contrast, the cold air rasped in her throat and she threw herself down upon the ground, leaning back against a tree trunk while she regained her breath. It was dark under the trees, the moonlight barely penetrating the thick woods. Keeping within the shadow of the trees, she looked back across the valley. She could clearly see Weald Hall standing black against the sky, but even though the moon was higher now the valley was still deep in shadow. She froze. There was movement, surely, amongst the shadows surrounding the house. She could not quite see the menace but her ears confirmed her worst fears. The baying of hounds came clearly to her: they were in the valley, and there could be only one quarry that James Boreland would pursue at such a time herself.

Elinor turned back into the forest and set off between the trees. She made slow progress, for she was hampered by the undergrowth that covered the forest floor. She felt she was in a nightmare, slowly pushing her way through a dense tangle of leaves, constantly tripping over roots and branches she could not see. Ahead of her she thought the blackness was less intense and with a sob of relief she came upon a rough track. She guessed it was the same lane she had travelled to reach the Hall and if so, then it would lead her to the Great North Road, and hopefully to some village where she could find shelter. With renewed hope she set off at a steady pace, while at her back the baying of the hounds drew ever nearer. The sharp stones cut through the thin soles of her slippers and her toes ached with cold, but she kept moving, the sound of the hunt providing a spur to her aching limbs. She must cover as much ground as possible, for she knew that once her pursuers reached this track they would soon overtake her.

She ran on for what seemed like hours, each breath of raw cold air burning her throat, but she dared not stop. The sounds of pursuit were rapidly increasing, and she guessed that they had now reached the lane. She thought she could hear shouting amidst the hounds' cries and tried desperately to quicken her pace. She stumbled and fell, a faint cry of frustration escaping her as she scrambled to her feet. A quick glance showed her that the hounds were in sight, their white coats grey smudges in the darkness behind her. She ran on, blind panic threatening to overwhelm her senses. On each side the trees stood in black unbroken ranks, ahead lay only darkness. There were no lights to be seen, no signs of a house or building to offer her protection. In another few moments the dogs would be upon her she had no illusions, they would tear her apart like any other hunted animal.

Out upon the Great North Road, there was but one solitary traveller. A horseman, dressed all in black, from the plain tricorn pulled low over his eyes to the tips of his muddied riding boots. His mount was also as dark as the night and since they kept to the side of the road where the stones gave way to mud and grass, the horse's hoofs made very little sound, so that anyone chancing to see them could be forgiven for thinking he had stumbled upon some ghostly shadow of the night, and could certainly not be blamed for turning about and making haste to depart from such an unnatural sight. In fact the traveller's reason for keeping his horse to the soft grass verge was quite simple: despite his relaxed style in the saddle, the gentleman's senses were ever alert to the sounds around him. If his ears detected the rattle of a coach, or the clatter of hoofs on the road, he would turn his horse and they would melt into the darkness of the trees that skirted the highway. However, apart from the sudden rustle of the bushes as they disturbed some animal at the roadside and the scream of a fox somewhere in the woods, there was little to interest the gentleman. He sighed and reached out with one gloved hand to smooth the glossy neck before him.

'Well, Devon, we may as well head for home.' The animal's ears twitched at the sound of the deep, familiar voice. 'Business is very quiet. Just one coach tonight, and that yielded little more than a slim purse and a battered watch.' The horse snorted, drawing a soft laugh from his rider. 'So you didn't like my giving the old fellow back his time-piece, eh, Devon? Well, 'tis Christmas, when all's said and done, and never let it be said that Ralph Belham has lost all Christian feeling! Besides, it would have fetched very little at the fencing-crib. And what a story he will have to tell his cronies. Well, come up, lad. We'll leave it at that and get you back to that warm stable.'

He set his horse to the trot, untroubled by the darkness, for both horse and rider were very familiar with this stretch of the highway. After a few minutes they slowed again, this time the rider bringing his mount to a complete stop. The horse stood with ears pricked, snorting nervously.

'So you hear it too, do you? Hounds at this time o'night? Let's take a look.' He turned Devon off the main road, picking a path through the trees with scant regard for the darkness that would hamper a man less familiar with the territory. The baying of the hounds grew louder confirming his direction, and he rode on, intrigued.

Elinor's lungs were at bursting point. Terror kept her moving, but she knew it was only a matter of minutes now before they caught her. Suddenly, a large shape broke away from the shadows just ahead and blocked her path. Unable to stop in time, she cannoned into the shape and found herself pressed against the warm flank of a horse. Her senses reeled: her first thought was that James Boreland had in some way overtaken her, and it was with relief that she heard the cheerful voice of a stranger.

'Here lad, take my hand.' The rider reached down to her. 'We'll make the odds a little fairer!'

Without hesitating, Elinor took the gloved hand, then placing her foot upon the toe of the rider's boot she allowed him to pull her up so that she could scramble up behind him. There were shouts from her pursuers, and calls for them to stand, but the rider only laughed as he turned his horse and set it cantering away. There was a shot, then another, and Elinor clung even more tightly to her rescuer.

'Don't worry, boy, they'll never hit us at this range, and in the dark too. Just hold on and we'll soon have you safe and sound.'

He settled the horse into a steady canter and they rode on, the stranger whistling nonchalantly into the darkness, while Elinor clung on behind him, her head resting wearily against the rough cloth of his greatcoat. She had no idea how long they travelled, nor in which direction. They crossed roads and fields and splashed through numerous icy streams, the sure-footed steed never once stumbling over the frosty ground. Now that she was no longer active, the cold air pierced the velvet coat and thin knee-breeches that were Elinor's only protection against the elements and she tensed her tired limbs to prevent herself from shivering. She kept her head down, sheltering her face behind the broad shoulders of the rider, but she could do nothing to prevent the cold wind biting into her bare hands, which were clasped around his body.

At last the pace changed and they slowed to a walk, then to a complete stand.

'It's time we gave old Devon a rest. You can be sure we've lost those hounds now. Jump down, lad, and we'll walk a little.'

Elinor slid to the ground, but as her feet touched the ground she feared that her numbed limbs would not support her and she clung to the saddle cloth to prevent herself from falling. The rider dismounted and came to stand beside her.

'Now what's this, are you hurt?'

'No, it it's only the cold.'

Her companion paused, then taking her by the shoulders he pulled her into the moonlight, staring hard into her face. He whistled softly.

'Why, 'fore Gad, 'tis a wench!' his eyes appraised her, and from the depths of his thick beard she caught the gleam of his white teeth as he smiled. 'A fair dainty one at that, too, I'd wager! Why in Heaven's name but we can talk later,' he said briskly, as he felt her body shivering beneath his hands. 'The first thing to be done is to set you before a warm fire. Come on, Devon's rest will have to wait.'

Without ceremony he threw her back into the saddle. She sat astride the great horse, her rescuer smiling up at her.

'There now, are you comfortable? Good. I'll lead you for a while. Just try not to fall off.'

Elinor gave a tired smile.

'I'm not in the habit of falling off horses, sir.'

He laughed. 'That's the spirit!'

'What is your name, sir?'

He stopped, took off his hat and made her a flourishing bow.

'I am Ralph Belham, at your service, ma'am!'

'I am very pleased to meet you, Mr Belham.'

'And you, ma'am, do you have a name?'

Elinor shook her head.

'No, I beg you will let me keep my name a secret a little longer. I promise to explain everything later.'

'Very well, and I look forward to the explanation!'

They set off again, the gentleman leading his horse along the easiest course while Elinor concentrated on staying in the saddle. She had never used a man's saddle before, and it took her a little while to get comfortable, but once she was accustomed to her mount she found it difficult to stay awake. They had travelled about a mile when Belham, glancing up, saw Elinor swaying dangerously.

'Sit forward,' he commanded, climbing into the saddle. 'Poor child, your hands are so icy you can hold nothing. Swing your leg across that's it,' He settled Elinor before him, sitting her across the saddle and cradling her in the crook of one arm. 'I cannot trust you to sit up behind me, you are so chilled that before we knew it we should have you sliding off and cracking your head upon the ground. Much better that I should have you here, where I can look after you.'

Elinor was too tired to protest.

'You are very kind,' she murmured.

'Kind!' he laughed. 'Aye, call it that if you will, my dear, but when I rescue a comely lass I expect my reward! Let's get you back to my quarters, where we can warm you with a hearty meal and a good fire, then we'll see how grateful you can be. What do you say to that?'

Receiving no response, he glanced down at his charge. Her head was resting against his chest, the face turned in towards him, yet even so he could make out the dark lashes lying upon her pale cheek. She was asleep.