Ruth Warburton - Witch Hunt

He yanked the gate shut behind them – no time to latch it – and scrabbled for the invisible Brimstone. For a moment he couldn’t find him – and then, just as he was about to panic, he felt Rosa’s hand grab his.

‘I’m here,’ she whispered. ‘Reach down, feel for the stirrup.’

It was there, and somehow he managed to get his foot into it, grab for the reins and swing himself up. For a moment there was a confused scramble as he almost toppled across the saddle, and he felt Rosa’s hair in his face and a great flurry of skirts as he scrabbled for a hold. Then, somehow in the middle of the confusion, his hand met skin: smooth, soft, hot skin. Her knee? Her thigh? He heard Rosa’s gasp, jerked back and felt his face flood with blood – only the knowledge that they were invisible, and that she could not hold the spell much longer, kept him from letting go and stumbling to the floor.

Then he was up behind Rosa, his arms around her waist, his thighs gripping Brimstone for dear life. He felt her arms move as she tugged on the reins, and they were off, clearing the gate just in time for the horses and carriage to take their place.

‘Whoa!’ a man’s voice called. Castor and Pollux clopped gratefully to a halt, and Luke heard the strange groom slither from his perch.

They were almost at the end of the mews, almost away, when a shrill barking split the night air and a small brown shadow lolloped through the open gate and began to run, wheezing, up the mews behind them.

‘Bloody dog!’ Luke heard from the groom. ‘Who let you out, you little sod?’

He felt Rosa stiffen at the sound of the barking, and she dragged on the reins to bring Brimstone to a halt.

‘What’re you doing?’ he hissed furiously.

‘It’s Belle!’ she gasped. Brimstone faltered and Luke felt him turn back under the pressure of Rosa’s hands. The dog had almost reached them; the groom was perhaps twenty yards away.

‘Keep going!’ Luke snapped.

‘It’s Belle!’ she snarled back, just as furious. ‘I can’t leave her, Luke! I’m all she’s got – Mama never liked her, Alexis hated her—’

‘For God’s sake, the groom’ll run into us!’

He reached around her waist and grabbed for the invisible reins, feeling the leather in his hands, and yanking right to pull Brimstone back around.

‘Come on, boy! Come on, gee up!’

Brimstone took a few faltering steps and Rosa began to struggle in the saddle. Luke couldn’t see what she was doing, but he guessed she was trying to swing one leg up and over Brimstone’s neck.

‘Rosa, stop it!’ He clenched his fingers on the reins, trying to hold Brimstone, who was beginning to panic. ‘You’ll kill us both for a dog. We have to go!’

‘Luke, let go of me!’ Neither of them were bothering to whisper now, their voices ringing in the narrow mews, and the groom looked around in astonishment, trying to work out where this unseen struggle was taking place. Brimstone snorted with fear and Luke felt him try to rear. He threw his weight forward, crushing them both against the pommel as he tried to stop Brimstone from rearing up.

‘Take your hands off me!’ Rosa shouted, and she pulled at his arm, trying to wrest herself free, digging her nails into his hand as she tried to pull his fingers off the reins. Brimstone swerved to the left as she tugged and began to back, panicked by the struggle. With a huge wrench Luke brought the horse’s head back around and he gave him a kick, harder than he’d meant, that made Brimstone neigh with indignation and start forward. Then he was off, cantering down the mews in spite of the double weight on his back.

‘Belle!’ Rosa cried. Looking back, Luke saw the groom catch up with the little pug and pick her up, holding her to his shoulder. The man stood open-mouthed, staring after the sounds, and then they rounded the corner and disappeared into the enveloping fog.

‘He’s got her, Rosa,’ Luke panted above the noise of Brimstone’s hooves. ‘She’s all right. The groom’s got her.’

Rosa began to weep, and as they turned into Osborne Crescent the spell wore off with a shocking suddenness. One moment Luke could see nothing but the fog and the muddy road, flying past as if of its own volition, the next he was blinded by Rosa’s tangled red curls, and he became aware that at some point he had let go of the reins with one hand and was holding her, his arm wrapped around her waist, hugging her against him. He let go abruptly and she slumped over Brimstone’s neck, sobbing as if her heart would break.

‘Rosa . . .’ He’d not felt so helpless since she’d lain dying in his arms at Southing from the wound he’d inflicted. Even then she hadn’t cried. ‘Rosa, we’d have been caught – and even if we weren’t, what could we do with a lapdog on the road? She’s meant for sitting on cushions and eating minced chicken, not life on the road. Did you want to see her hungry and footsore?’

‘I have nothing left.’ Rosa’s voice was cracked with sobs. ‘Papa. Cherry. Now Belle. She was the last. Oh, Belle . . .’ And she began to cry again, but now with a kind of resigned hopelessness.

Luke slowed Brimstone to a walk and they made their slow way through the darkened streets, taking turnings at random but always bearing roughly north, for reasons he hardly knew, except that Sebastian was to the south, and William to the east and Osborne Crescent to the west.

The roads were unexpectedly quiet but it had begun to drizzle, a fine light mist of rain that mingled with the fog and hung in Rosa’s hair, dewing her skin, mixing with her tears.

He thought they would be stopped, perhaps. A bloodstained man and a crying woman on a thoroughbred horse. But they were not. Perhaps he should not have worried. After all, a woman weeping was not a strange sight on the streets of London.

‘Rosa,’ she heard as if through a fog. ‘Rosa, wake up.’

She lifted her stiff neck. They were in the courtyard of an inn; she had no idea where, but they must have left the city, for the night air was clear and clean, and the moon was full. The air smelt of wood smoke and horse manure. Brimstone stood, tired and panting, his breath a cloud of white in the darkness. She was cold, her fingers frozen where they had clutched the pommel. Only her back was warm, where Luke’s body had pressed against it as they rode.

Now he slid from the saddle, leaving her shivering.

‘Where are we?’ she whispered, and then coughed. Her throat was dry. She had never felt so thirsty or so hungry in all her life.

‘I’m not sure,’ Luke said. ‘Somewhere north of Chipping Barnet, I think. But Brimstone’s spent. Two riders ain’t good for him. We need to put up for the night.’

Rosa nodded, feeling a headache begin to pound against her skull. She sat shivering, holding Brimstone’s reins while Luke went around the corner of the inn, looking for the night door, but there was no danger of the horse making off. He was even more tired than she was.

They stood, drooping together in the quiet yard, waiting for the sound of Luke’s boots. When it came Brimstone heard it first; she saw his ears twitch before she heard the sound herself. Then Luke came into the yard with another man.

‘I’ll tek the ’orse,’ he said briskly. ‘You tek your sister inside. She looks perished.’

Luke held out his hand, but Rosa shook her head and managed to slide stiffly from Brimstone’s back without his help. Nevertheless, she stumbled as her foot touched the ground, and would have fallen if Luke hadn’t caught her arm.

‘Don’t speak,’ he whispered in her ear, his breath warm against her neck. ‘I’ve told them you’re my sister, but your accent’ll give us away in a second.’