“I was just wondering…” She shifted nervously in her chair. “What if your husband comes back and wishes the house to be his? What if he intends to send you elsewhere?”
Margaret considered this for a short moment then shook her head.
“I do not believe he would do that. Not for a minute.” She was certain of her answer. From the very beginning, Theodore had shown no great attachment to that house, to the point that he had been content for her to make any changes she wished to. “He said more than once that it was mine to change as I wished. He only ever retreated to his study. I do not believe he would come back just for the one room.”
Penelope nodded, her whole manner sad.
“Well, there. We have our plans.” Margaret forced a smile. “Louisa, you will return with me?”
“Of course. I shall pack my bags at once.”
Margaret squeezed her hand, as hope for happiness filled up her stomach.
“I didn’t realize the weather had turned so bad,” Louisa whispered, gripping tight onto Margaret’s hand.
“Nor I.” Margaret braced herself against the side of the carriage, as they tilted from side to side in the wind.
The blizzard had come in suddenly on their journey, the snow practically falling sideways as the wind tilted them back and forth.
“How far is the journey?” Louisa asked, clutching to her fur pelisse and breathing into the collar in order to stay warm.
“Normally, it takes less than an hour.” Margaret shook her head. In weather like this, it would certainly take longer, and they had already been going for forty-five minutes at least.
She loosened her hand from Louisa’s and pulled back the curtain, peering out of the window in the effort to see how bad the weather had become. The snow was settling fast, even quicker than she had thought possible. The wind was now so bad that nearby trees were bending sideways, their branches waving frantically, like the arms of sailors calling for help as they drowned at sea.
“How far away are we now, do you reckon?”
Yet Margaret didn’t answer her sister’s question. She had angled her head to look behind them, peering out at the bend in the road. In the distance was a shadowy rider. It was the same tall figure with the distinctive hat that she had spied before. It was the same man she was certain she had seen watching her on the estate.
It's not possible. I was so certain it was in my imagination!
A chilling feeling ran through her body. Whoever that person was, did they mean her some harm? Why else would they continue to watch from the shadows, even pursue her in this awful weather?
“Margaret, who’s that?” Louisa’s voice earned Margaret’s attention. She looked behind her to see Louisa was looking out of the other window. She moved to peer over her sister’s head.
There were two riders waiting at the side of the road.
“Are they your footmen? Come to escort us?”
A sickening feeling spread in Margaret’s gut as the snow whipped around the two riders.
“Footmen do not cover their faces in black cloth,” Margaret hissed.
The two riders were sat eerily still in their saddles, their faces completely hidden with black cloth and hats pulled low over their brows. So much of their bodies were covered by frock coats, it was impossible to judge anything in their person at all.
One of the riders reached beneath his frock coat and pulled out a pistol, pointing it at the driver.
“Halt!” he bellowed to be heard above the billowing wind. “Ride any further forward, and you shall die.”
The carriage came to a hasty halt, skidding in all the snow and ice.
“Margaret…” Louisa’s voice quavered.
Margaret pushed her sister behind her on the carriage bench as her stomach knotted tight.
The first rider bearing the pistol moved forward, pointing the weapon at Yates and the driver.
“Move,” he warned, “and I shall fire.”
