Moaning and gasping, I roll onto my stomach and push myself onto all fours, but I still can’t seem to get enough air into my lungs, and I wheeze and gulp uncontrollably.
The sound of the motorbike cuts out, and the dog appears by my side, tail wagging, happy vacant eyes shining, and licks my face from my chin to my hairline.
“Ugh,” I moan. Turning my head away and clutching my chest, I struggle to my knees, sucking in great gulps of air.
“You alright, lass?” a man asks, his big, booted feet the only thing I am able to focus on at this point.
I reluctantly look up.
The man is tall, a giant from where I kneel, his shadow blocking out the sun. Behind him is a four-wheel motorbike with a big flat low-sided cage on the back holding a small, black deer. I’ve never seen a black deer before, and I am momentarily transfixed. It is beautiful, and I imagine when it is grazing in the dappled light of the forest its colour makes it look just like a shadow; but I recover quickly, today is not a field trip.
“I’m, uh, I’m fine,” I manage to squeak, accepting his proffered hand and rising on unsteady legs.
My knees are green and badly scraped, bleeding a little from the fall, my shoulder has a dull ache, and my headache is back, surprise, surprise, but other than that, I know I can continue on. But part of me also knows this man isn’t likely to let that happen; he obviously works here and will want to know who I am. I will have to bluff my way out of this, and perhaps, just perhaps, my honed acting skills from numerous restaurant heists will see me through.
I hold out my hand to him. He looks to be about fortyish, heavyset, although muscular rather than fat. His hair is crew cut, and he is dressed in dark green pants and a cream-coloured hunting jacket, complete with all the little pockets and zips they all come with. I wonder briefly, as I always do when I see these jackets, what men could possibly put in so many tiny pockets.
“You must be the ….”
“Gamekeeper,” he fills in for me, shaking my hand firmly. I try not to wince, his hand is strong, and my shoulder hurts.
“Of course. Well, great. Thanks for your help. I hope I didn’t hurt your dog.”
“Not at all, Sally’s a great galoof,” he smiles shaking his head, “red setter, the worst kind of dog for a gamekeeper really, dumb blonde of the dog world, no offence,” he adds quickly.
“She’s lovely,” I nod, giving her a quick pat as she looks up at me, adoringly, “anyhow, I’ll just be on my way.”
I start to walk past him, head high, ignoring the dog cavorting happily around my legs.
“Hang on now,” he says, causing me to stop in my tracks, “it’s Ms Bailey, isn’t it?”
‘Oh shit.’
I turn and put on my friendliest smile, aware though that I’m in a dress hacked off at the knee, none too carefully, I’m barefoot, said knees are bloody, and I’m clearly trying to get away as fast as I can.
“Yes,” I nod, “but call me Josephine, please.”
A tight smile on my face, I turn back for the woods, not halting my stride as he begins to walk beside me.
“The woods are no place for a walk at this time of year, not in bare feet, that’s for sure. Autumn makes some of the ground plain muddy and nasty, not to mention the weather report says rain is likely today. You’d best be going back inside.”
“Oh, I’m just going for a short walk,” I reply sunnily, “I won’t go far.”
“Ms Bailey,” he halts me with a hand on my arm, “I’m afraid I must insist you go back inside. My instructions are to ensure you don’t leave the premises.”
“But I’m not leaving the estate,” I say, innocently, my eyes wide.
“No, but,” he looks uncomfortable, “you need to go inside.”
I decide, as close as I am to the woods, I will not return to that manor come hell or high water. Turning to him, I grip his arms, my eyes now wide and desperate.
“But I’m a prisoner. He’s a vampire, a murderer.” I see his face close at my hysterical ranting, and try another angle before all is lost. “If you believe nothing else, believe I don’t want to be here, I’m being kept against my will.”
“His lordship said you’d had a nasty bump on the head. I’ve seen it before, in my time in the army – it will come right, lass, don’t worry about that. But for now, you need to get back to the manor.”
“For Christ’s sake,” I shake my head and growl, “how many people has he told I’m brain-damaged?”
“You are not well,” he says gently.
