drove through the icy night. Although his journey had been fruitless, he was still in Hampshire and not ready to return to London and give up the search for Katharine’s lost sister. As Hetty, his true friend and colleague, had told him, he owed it to the memory of the woman he’d loved. Hetty ran Arthur’s refuges for women and children in London and had been Katharine’s friend, nursing her when she lay dying.
Katharine’s tragic death was still like a stone in Arthur’s breast and he could not face the anxious looks and concern of his friends, especially those who had also loved her. The man who had caused her death was locked away in a cold cell from which he would emerge only to meet death at the end of the hangman’s rope. The rogue’s fate was assured, but that did not ease Arthur’s state of mind. His grief was too bitter, too personal, to be shared – nor did he wish for sympathy, and together with the grief came the doubts and the guilt.
Was it Arthur’s fault that Sir Roger Beamish had seized the chance to send his beautiful Katharine to her death in front of that brewer’s waggon? Sir Roger’s insane jealousy was certainly one cause for the spiteful act, but Arthur now knew that the man had been ruined, his fortune lost, and that in his twisted mind he’d blamed Arthur, who’d caught him cheating and accused him publicly of it, for his downfall. Or was it because Katharine had refused him and accepted Arthur’s proposal that he’d given her the vicious push that ended her life beneath the flailing hooves of the heavy horses? Arthur knew he would never discover the answers to his questions and it haunted him.
He groaned and pushed his tortured thoughts to a distant corner of his mind. Katharine was lost to him and nothing would bring her back. His only hope of finding peace was to unravel the mystery of her sister’s disappearance. Perhaps then he might be able to sleep at night.
Suddenly, he heard a shout and his carriage was brought to a screeching halt as the coachman reined in his horses abruptly and Arthur was flung from one side of the carriage to the other. By some miracle, his man managed to hold the plunging, screaming horses and the coach did not overturn. Recovering swiftly, Arthur wrenched open the door and jumped out into the road.
‘What happened?’ he demanded of his driver, but even as he asked, Arthur saw what looked like a huddle of rags lying a few feet in front of his carriage. The horses were still snorting and stamping their feet, disturbed by being so misused, their breath white on the frosty air, and Arthur went to their heads to quieten them, whispering against their faces so that they calmed and responded to his voice before he walked on to investigate the bundle.
Arthur looked to either side of the road suspiciously for it might be a trick to take them unawares. Some thirty-odd years earlier, highwaymen had been the plague of these roads, but none had been seen since the last known gang was caught many years before. It was now 1883 and Arthur did not fear them but there were still rogues and thieves aplenty who might offer violence on a dark lonely road such as this, so it was best to be careful. Indeed, it was only the previous year that Her Majesty Queen Victoria had been shot at, so Arthur went prepared wherever he travelled. He patted the pistol in his greatcoat pocket, ready for the worst if this was a trick.
‘Be careful, sir,’ his groom warned. ‘It may be the work of rogues …’
Arthur had reached the huddle of rags and saw at once that it was a young woman lying there. Her face was pale and for a moment he thought her dead. Kneeling on the frozen surface of the road, Arthur felt for a pulse. It was faint but it was there. He swept her up in his arms as his groom came to join him.
‘What is it, sir?’
‘A young woman – and she’s barely alive, Kent. Had we not chanced on her she might have died this night. We need to get to the nearest inn.’
‘There’s a small one about a mile ahead. Let me help you, sir.’
‘Open the door of the carriage,’ Arthur said. ‘I have some brandy in my bag and I’ll see if I can get her to swallow a little. As soon as we reach the inn, I want you to discover the nearest doctor and bring him to us.’
Kent nodded, glancing at the woman as Arthur lifted her gently on to the seats and sat next to her, holding her against him. Another servant might have observed that she was a vagrant and warned his master, but all Arthur’s people knew that such a remark would earn them a severe glance. Arthur Stoneham would never leave a woman to die on the side of the road, even if, as it looked, she was a beggar.
‘Yes, sir,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell the coachman to get on now.’
He shut the door carefully and left Arthur to settle the unfortunate woman. Arthur took a small silver flask from his pocket and opened the stopper, then gently lifted the woman in his arms so that she was propped up against his shoulder as he put the flask to her lips.
‘Try to swallow a little please,’ he said gently. ‘It will warm you …’
Whether she heard or not, Arthur could not know, but she moaned slightly and, as her mouth opened, he poured a tiny drop on to her tongue. Her throat swallowed and he poured a few drops more. He thought she sighed and her body seemed to sag against him. He sat with his arms about her, holding his greatcoat around her frail body, instilling his warmth and vitality into her, willing her to live.
‘Be brave, lady,’ he murmured. ‘I have you and you are safe now.’
As the coach slowed to a halt and his groom opened the door and helped him ease the woman out, he saw a small inn with a lantern above its door and welcoming lights from a parlour window.
‘Run and secure rooms for us, Kent – and then fetch that doctor!’
‘Yes, sir.’
Kent ran ahead while Arthur gave instructions to his coachman about stabling the horses then assisted the shivering woman to walk. By the time he reached the lights and warmth of the inn hallway, Kent had secured a room for him and accommodation for himself and the coachman.
‘There is but the one room in the house but I thought it would do as you will want to watch over the young lady, sir – and me and Barrett are over the stables and the landlord has given me the doctor’s direction,’ Kent told him.
Arthur nodded to the landlord. ‘I shall require a fire lighting and food for us all. My companion is not well, so some warm milk, perhaps, if the doctor thinks it advisable.’
‘Yes, Mr Stoneham.’ The landlord bowed respectfully. Kent had made sure to speak of his master’s consequence, no doubt, for the landlord took a brass oil lamp and lit their way up to a large chamber at the rear of the house. ‘I fear there is but the one bed, sir.’
‘She is ill and must have it,’ Arthur said. ‘I shall take the chair and be comfortable enough; besides, she will need watching. I do not know what has befallen this poor girl, but I shall not let her die if I may prevent it.’
‘Your man said you were a philanthropist of the highest order, sir. My wife would take in all the waifs and strays if she could …’ He tutted as he saw the condition of the young woman. ‘She cannot be past twenty, sir. It is sad to see one so fair brought to this.’
‘Yes, you are right,’ Arthur agreed. ‘I fear it happens all too often but, with God’s aid, we help those we can.’ The landlord nodded and looked pious.
‘Amen to that, sir,’ he said. ‘I’ll send the chambermaid up to light the fire straight away.’ He paused, then, ‘Will you dine here or in the parlour?’
‘I’ll
