CHAPTER EIGHT

Nigella heard the news from Millie as they were going through their nightly routine before she retired for sleep.

“I ’eard it from Dottie as ’eard it from Mrs. Cummings, they say there’s still one clip missin’. They reckon as ’e sold it already. Prob’ly short o’ cash ’e was.”

Nigella stayed her hand as she was about to take out the pins to brush her hair. “Millie, are you sure?” she asked, as her heart beat terribly at the thought he could be in some trouble. Restlessly, she fingered the silver key on its gold chain: “That’s hard to believe. Papa would not keep someone short of money. He leaves all that sort of thing to Crosby … and he’d have no reason to do something like that.” Now her heart could not beat as she tried to suppress a rising fear: “You must be mistaken.”

“’Is Lordship sent fer Master Mason at supper to give ’im ’is notice, I’ll be bound.”

Once her maid had gone Nigella continued to sit at her dressing table, looking in the mirror, but seeing Mallory Mason as he had been on their last ride together. He was so handsome – it just could not be true. Such pleasing, well-defined features; a bearing she found so reassuring. She loved too, the way his hair would become untamed as they galloped for their lives across the meadows. She cherished those rides. A day that passed without seeing him was a day of dejection. No, this was not right.

Since that fateful day when her mother had given her the key with the injunction never to remove it from her safe keeping, life had been wretched indeed. She had been told she could never divulge this to another soul. Her father did not know and if she knew what was good for her, he must never find out. She felt so isolated, forsaken; a changeling in her own home. She remembered the nursery fairy tales and now their portents seemed to haunt her waking and sleeping hours. There was no one in whom she could confide. On her rides with Mason, she felt safe, away from the suspicious, prying eyes which were everywhere. They tortured her.

She had thought to disobey her mother and speak to Ramona. There had been a moment when she could have approached her but when Ramona had confided her fears, it became impossible. She realised her sister was too overwhelmed with the prospect of this engagement and all that it meant to her future. Her courage had failed her. Instead, she had listened and tried to give support in her distress; provide reassurance that life with Lord Knowlesworthy could not possibly be as bad as she imagined. It was not as though she were being sent off to the poor house, or darkest Africa, was it?

In their school-room days they had thought to take on the life of the missionary when they grew up; full of adventure and the saving of savage souls – all those lepers in the Congo. Everyone had been talking about it, but the proposition seemed to fade from popularity then they too, lost interest. No, solace was not to be found in that direction. She would have turned to her mother, but as the gala celebrations loomed ever nearer, she was increasingly absorbed in her responsibilities, becoming ever more remote. She took to fingering her mother’s key nervously, through the fabric of her dress then believed she was drawing too much attention by this odd behaviour. She had become so nervy, even a stranger to herself. Only on her rides could she find respite from this oppressive apprehension; or when she went to the Carriage House. There she felt safe.

What was it about Mallory Mason that had this effect on her? He certainly was not like any other servant she had met, or gentleman for that matter. The servants were always respectful and the gentlemen usually intimidating. She reflected it had been like that with him in the beginning, but now they knew each other better. The differences, instead of upsetting her, only added to his fascination. She had to admit he intrigued her. Anyway, it was always pleasing to be in his company. He did make her feel better. He made the whole world feel better. Dismissed! Whatever will I do?

Different outlines presented themselves, all in turn discarded. She thought for a while longer then her head shot up. That’s it! She jumped up and rummaged through drawers to find a ribbon to bind her hair, then hastily covered it with a silk scarf. Her warm coat would do to cover her nightgown and again she slipped into her velvet house-shoes. Closing the door quietly, she padded lightly down to the side entrance and out into the darkening night.

Another knock at the dormer door: this time quieter, a little hesitant.

“My Lady, what are you doing here?” She was totally astounded and immediately perturbed. If the young Mistress of the house were discovered – it would not just be Broadmoor she would have to worry about. Well, best not to have her in plain view, even on a night as dark as this. “Please my Lady, come in. You must not be seen,” she whispered urgently.

Nigella hurried across the threshold and immediately turned to face him. “Is it true?” green eyes large with enquiry, hands clasping nervously. “I would have given you anything you needed,” she continued diffidently. “You would only have to ask.”

“My Lady please, I am no thief.” Anger flared causing Mallory’s enraged eyes to flash icily. “I could hope … you of all people, would not believe that of me.” The heat of indignation suffused through her, but she did her best to cover this rising temper. She had recognised the generosity of nature revealed in the girl’s words.

“No! I don’t think that at all,” Nigella was quick to negate. This is ruinous. I’m making a mess of things and he is becoming wrathful. She did not want to make things worse. “I only meant … I meant … I would always be willing…” her lips curved into an extraordinary softness: “… willing to help you,” she ended achingly, as her hand reached out.

Mallory stepped back clumsily. She had seen love in those luminous eyes. Dear God! Nigella was so guileless, so open. Did she not know how easily she could be taken advantage of? She called out to her for safekeeping and she could feel herself respond, powerfully drawn to this natural innocence. She may only be a girl, but she was overwhelmingly attractive.

Don’t go there Mal, for God’s sake. Don’t let your feelings run away with you.

Her control would be iron-clad. She knew Nigella well enough to know how touchingly vulnerable she was at the moment. She did not know the cause but, if damage were not to be done, it was imperative she react to her emotional, unspoken demands with as much sensitivity as possible. To be honest, she had to acknowledge, the Lady Nigella was very important to her.

Be strong! She must not let weak-minded sentiment rule her. She would maintain an appropriate distance – not as cold as to cause alienation; her need was for reassurance. “My Lady, please sit down.” She held out the chair and took the bed. “There’s no need to concern yourself. Everything’s cool.”

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked perplexed again.

“Oh sorry, I mean I’ve worked out a plan.”

“What do you intend to do?”

“I’m going to catch the train to Birmingham. I can start over. No-one will know me there.”

“Birmingham?” Oh no. So far away! She felt a panic flutter in her stomach and impetuously declared: “You will need someone to help you. I can do that.”

“My Lady, that is preposterous. You can’t live in a big city,” she declared bluntly. “Whatever could you do?” She was aghast at such a suggestion. It was derisible. What a child!

“It isn’t. I’m not a child. If I’m never given a chance, how will you know what I can and cannot do?” With her instant indignation tears glistened, caught on her thick lashes.

Oh the poor, hapless girl. “I don’t mean to be unkind, but my Lady you know nothing of city life. Your parents will be beside themselves. They’ll move heaven and earth to get you back.”

“My parents,” she repeated bitterly and shook her head. “No, they wouldn’t.” Her face was a study in confusion – by turns resistant then wavering and finally entreating. She would not give up. The hands in her lap clenched tight. “I can help. Be supportive in whatever you do.”

“No, no. It couldn’t possibly work. You must stay here,” her expression hardened and her mouth pulled tight. “You will be seventeen in two months and you have so much to look forward to.”

“Please don’t send me away,” she persisted, her hand now coming to rest delicately on his arm. “I cannot stay here.” The full force of her imploring eyes bore into Mallory.

“What’s this you’re saying my Lady?” Her body became rigid with shock and she pulled her arm away with a brutish jerk. Nigella reared back as though struck, but would not yield and continued: “I cannot. I will leave, whether it’s with you or alone. I have to go. There’s no future for me here.”

“My Lady, you don’t mean this.” She felt badly for her harsh action having just resolved not to cause distress. She needed time to search and find the right words, to make the girl see sense, but her emotions were all consuming, robbing her of rational judgement. Nigella broke her train of thought with her insistence.

“I do! My life has been intolerable since…” She stopped and changed course: “You know I’ve been miserable. You do, I know you do.” She hurled out the words, her cheeks flaming as her eyes glittered, her agitation becoming alarming.

“Yes, yes,” Mallory was quick to soothe. “I do know something’s been bothering you, but surely not enough to make you want to run away.” She assessed her with manifest concern.

“Yes, yes. Enough for that,” the girl insisted, eyes blazing with defiance.

“My Lady, what is it? If I knew the reason then perhaps I could help.” And change your obdurate and unyielding pig-headedness.

She shook her head. “I cannot tell you, but I promise I will explain … once we’re safely away and no-one can find us.” This time both hands reached out in supplication, but did not touch. “Please don’t make me stay. Take me with you.” This desperate pleading was making a direct hit. It did seem more than just a teenager’s adolescent need for attention. She could see real pain and desperation in both word and action. In her heart, Mallory knew she had relented, but – one more try.

“My Lady, I’ll be busier than a one armed bandit, first looking for work then …”

“So will I,” she interrupted; a stubborn set to her red lips. She would not dispute the ‘bandit’ not caring if she understood or not, how he could be capable of so much activity, determined only to achieve her own ends. She would not allow herself to be diverted.

“But what can you do?”

She lifted her chin. “What can you do?” she derided, her apprehension making her uncharacteristically aggressive.

Finally they looked at each other with no words left, but the space between them charged and unsettling. Mallory had succumbed against her better judgement. This girl really did get to her. She stirred her sympathies in the deepest recesses of the heart. Perhaps it would be all right. She could find work get a job in one of those small manufacturers that flourished in the Black Country. They were always looking for fitters and turners. She had all her boxes ticked. She knew her way around machinery from helping Dad in the shed – enough to be taken on as an apprentice. Anyway, it would not be forever. Once Nigella was over this bad patch, she could return her to the bosom of the family, she rationalised. Everyone would be relieved, happy to see her safe return. Even if they have suffered a fright, we can make up some story to keep me out of it.

“Very well, my Lady,” she announced decisively: “This is the plan.”

Deep down Mallory knew she wanted to have this girl with her. She was not like anything she could possibly have imagined, but she troubled her profoundly. Yes, she knew herself to be a capable person on the physical level, but emotionally her existence was in precarious balance, still battling that black dog. She knew it was being selfish, but her need was as great as Nigella’s, only in a different way. It seemed there was no future here for either of them. Could there be a life together in Birmingham? She wanted this. Nigella made her feel complete; not a lost soul adrift on a timeless sea. Her appeal for support and guidance anchored her and provided her, not only with direction, but with constancy too. Her need for protection gave her a purpose which transcended the gigantic loss of all she had held dear. Nigella would mean she was no longer unattached, unconnected to this world which was still strange and mysterious. She had tasted the rancidness of abandonment and did not want to suffer its bitterness again. I would like it if Nigella never found her independence. The sigh was heavy. You are such a selfish person Mal. Always asking too much.

Her companion sat quietly waiting, attentive to the chase of expression crossing that sensitive face, ending in the wistful sigh. So much going on … so little said.

“I shall be leaving at sparrow’s fart to walk to Redditch to catch the Oxford train to Birmingham.” Her voice was sharp, her manner abrupt.

“What is this ‘sparrow’s fart’?”

Try to remember your words Mal: “First thing in the morning, just before dawn. It’s a long walk; you will have to wear good, serviceable clothes … and sensible shoes. Have your case packed and ready because if you’re not here when it’s time … I shall leave without you.” She looked sternly at the anxious, but eager face before her.

“You can walk that far?” Misgivings were beginning to form. It could all end in big trouble, the Lady Nigella a hindrance not a help. Shit a brick … what am I getting myself into? Why did I say yes?

Nigella was not sure of her walking ability. It had never really been tested, but at this stage she would say anything to be included. “Oh yes. I’ve got sturdy legs.”

“Just pack essentials, you know … keep it simple, right?” Her eyes narrowed in doubt.

She nodded, unsure of this ‘simple’ part, but she would get by. She could look through her closet and pick out the most serviceable clothes. It would be better if she had Millie’s help, but she would have to get used to doing things for herself. I might as well start now.

“Good. Meet me at the carriage house at four o’clock. I’ll be waiting there. I’ll take you back to the Big House now. We’ll go quietly, no talking,” she cautioned, forgetting to be deferential. “The night watchman will be on his rounds and we can’t afford to have him find us.” She pulled on her black leather jacket against the night’s chill and black peaked cap to cover her fair head and took Nigella’s hand. Together they stole silently down the stairs and out into the inky blackness. They passed lightly over the rough stones the moonless sky in their favour, their comings and goings undetected.

Despite the warmth of the hand holding and guiding her, Nigella could hear her heart pounding in her ears and feel her throat dry with tension. Never in her life had she done anything like this. Excitement coursed through her like a frenzied tide. It was almost more than she could contain. She held on tighter to his hand. They were almost there.

* * *

Mallory was early, unable to sleep. She had packed her case with personal toiletries underwear and new possessions, but had left the liveries in the wardrobe. Once again she was in her chambray shirt and corduroys, but she would wear the gaiters to protect her pants from spatter and the tan willows, they were so sturdy and well made. This could be a long hike.

She had made space for her sac suit even though the jacket was bulky. She figured it would be better to present herself in the serge suit on her job-seeking exploits; first impressions! When she hefted the bag its weight surprised her. She shrugged: my shoulders are broad.

Waiting for Nigella, eventually she heard the faint rustle of skirts before she could discern the shape. It was now a little after four o’clock. She was pleased to see she had taken her advice being dressed in a plain blouse and straight walking skirt. Her button boots were sensible too, only a moderate heel. Then she saw the portmanteau. Although of medium size it was too big for the girl to go any distance. If they swapped and she took it then the leather case would still be too heavy. Crikey! We haven’t even left the Park yet.

“I’m not late, am I?” Nigella enquired, out of breath. She had been hurrying and added to that, her bag had been so awkward. On her head was a high crowned hat, fortunately with only a small brim, which supported a bunch of feathers on one side. Already it was slightly askew. She wore her Russian cardigan over the blouse and was carrying her top coat over her arm. She looked majorly over-burdened.

Mallory started a re-think. This was no good. There would have to be a change of plan. She did not answer Nigella, but insisted she not move and ran lightly back up to her room. She had decided to take the De Dion Bouton. There was a spare, two gallon can she could grab, but she had no intention of keeping the vehicle with the risk of being tracked down by the number plate. Just to get them away, before the house stirred and they were missed. She gave thanks for its Daimler motor; they would need all the power she could get.

The plan would be to ditch the Runabout on the outskirts of the city, then take the train somewhere up north. Manchester, Liverpool? Anyway, it was clear they could not stay in Birmingham. All this was going through her head as she swiftly sought everything she needed.

Back together, she briefly explained the changes to the scheme as she unlocked the heavy oak doors, then stowed their luggage and the over-coat behind the upholstered bench. Nigella was relieved. Walking just that short distance with the portmanteau had given her second thoughts regarding her legs. She liked this idea much better. She went round to the passenger side, but Mallory stopped her.

“No! To get away quietly, I need you to steer while I push.”

She was taken by surprise at this imperious form of address, but believed now was not the time to exert her position. Well, she could speak to him later. Possibly he has a lot on his mind? She felt it right not to be too judgemental.

“What would I have to do … if I steer?” She was not so sure about this new idea and perhaps he should know it.

Bloody hell! This isn’t getting any better. Mallory was forced to clamp down on a growing feeling of frustration. “When you turn the wheel right, it will go to the right. When you turn it to the left, it will go to the left.” She tried not to let her voice sound patronising. Patience Mal! “Do you think you can do that … my Lady?”

Nigella was fast losing confidence, her reply coming slowly. “I can … try …”

“I won’t light the lamps until we’re on the road so you’ll have to keep alert not to hit anything.” She could not hold back the smile twitching at her lips despite all these set-backs. “We mustn’t make a sound. If I push too fast you can say ‘STOP’ all right?” She settled for a nod and went to sit on the driver’s side. This was getting worse.

Mallory released the hand brake and went round to the back. She pushed only gently while Nigella was getting used to her task and to be sure that at least they got past the carriage house doors. Fortunately, they could take the side pathway to the main drive. This meant Nigella would not have to negotiate the ornamental fountain. She did not do too badly – considering, but Mallory quickly discovered she was over turning so stopped pushing and came round to tell her to keep the wheel straight. “Only turn it if you need to.”

“Yes I know.” she replied edgily.

They started off again, but then Nigella had to whisper: “stop”, but it was not loud enough and the car was still moving. She panicked and shouted louder. Mallory dropped her arms and came round to the front again.

“For God’s sake, l told you to keep your voice down,” she hissed.

Nigella paused before speaking, marshalling her words for an appropriate response. “Mr. Mason, I am doing the best I can,” she delivered haughtily. Despite the darkness, Mallory could not mistake the gleam in those emerald eyes as a flash of very impatient anger. They both needed to take a deep breath.

“Sorry, my Lady, we do have to get ourselves out of here without raising an alarm … that’s all.” It was back to their respective assignments. They managed to put more distance between themselves and the house, then she had to stop before they dove into the shrubbery. By this stage, Nigella was very shaky. She wanted out, but had to keep going. They joined the main drive not far from the Park’s entrance, at which point Mallory took over the steering and pushed them around the bend and into the straight. Nigella resumed her seat with only slightly more confidence. At least now she knew what to expect. Mallory stopped pushing when it was time to open the gates. The night was still black as pitch, so she opened them well wide to be sure of an adequate berth. There was a slight creaking resistance from the hinges. Once through she quickly closed them. They were far enough away to start the engine, but not light the head-lamps. With Nigella waiting for her on the passenger side, she pulled out the starting handle and gave two quick, sharp sweeps to get the engine turning. She jumped in. Advancing the ignition lever gently she set the throttle to a steady chug and the Runabout proceeded slowly into the dark night. Only the sounds of their own making could be heard. No irate shouts; no barking dogs.

The lane was narrow so she drove cautiously, although the hedges were high and would prevent them from being detected. Once they were on the road, she judged she could go at full speed. She stopped at the T-junction to see to the lights and opened the catch holding the front lens on the Lucas lamps which allowed for easier access to the wick. She turned the wick adjuster up a fraction before applying the flame. Despite a gusting breeze, the strong flare from the extra-long motor match held steady and did the trick. She noticed only three remained in the box after lighting the second lamp. Hopefully they would not be needed since dawn could not be too long in coming. She turned the wicks down to give a bright, steady light and got back in to open up the throttle some more. They were on their way at last. She began to relax. The more distance between them and Guilfoyle Park the better. Nigella had settled down and looked sleepy. She slowed for a left turn and chugged to a stop.

“Damn it to hell!”

Nigella started. “What’s the matter?” Fortunately she had not caught the words.

“I wanted to get further away, quicker than this. If we keep stopping they’ll be upon us and we’ll be stuffed.” She got the Runabout going again and once round the corner onto the highway, advanced the ignition lever forward and accelerated as fast as she dared. Yeah Baby! Oh for the open road.

Dawn was beginning to lighten the eastern sky with an aqua wash as they steadily ate up the miles on their journey northward.

“What now?” The near-side lamp had blown out. She did not want to stop again and reckoned she could manage for a while longer. Visibility was steadily improving and it would not be long before there was full daylight. Speed and time were of the essence. She must concentrate. Her confidence rose as they barrelled along. The de Dion was a pleasure to drive. No wonder this model was so popular.

As they continued to make good time, Mallory had the freedom to play over in her mind the previous events. A window of awareness opened a chink allowing for a more dispassionate perspective on her actions. Thoughts raced and chased each other revolving around responsibility and reliability; accountability and betrayal, then ended with love and obsession. Should she really be taking Nigella away with her? How dearly she wanted her by her side, but morally – was this a right thing to do? If anyone ever found out how the Honourable Lady Nigella had disappeared without a trace, would they not be justified in accusing her of child abduction? And for what reason: Because I don’t want to face the world alone, because I am obsessed by her? She was the mature adult in this duo. It was for her to behave honourably and exercise the ethics of restraint. Don’t go off half-cocked Mal, in a moment of madness. She moved the ignition advance lever back slightly. Was she being hair-brained? Rushing head-long into the night; trying to escape detection and the law, this lovely young creature by her side? Yes, it was insanity.

As the sun broke free of the horizon, casting long shadows across the highway, its rays gilding the trees in a roseate glow, Mallory came to her senses. A great cloud of self-censorship descended upon her. She was a serious and compassionate person. This was not her – it was not right. She could not do this. She slowed down to look for a suitable width in which to make a U-turn. No reverse turns here, the car might stop. Having made up her mind, it was imperative she get this girl back to her room before discovery. The change in speed disturbed Nigella.

“What’s happened? Where are we?” Groggy from sleep she sat up straighter, blinking her eyes and rubbing them with her knuckles.

“I’m taking you back,” Mallory responded tersely.

“No, this is not the plan.” She was fully alert now, looking about. “You must go on,” she insisted as she lifted one shoulder in a gesture of contradiction. “We agreed to catch the train.” Her voice rose hysterically and finished on a wail. “You promised.”

“I know we had a plan, but I never made a promise,” Mallory asserted forcefully. She completed her turn, Nigella hanging on to whatever she could find as the tires screeched in resistance. She continued to protest, but Mallory only went faster. Eventually, still meeting with an immutable silence she gave up.

What has made him change his mind?

“Why are you doing this?” Her tired eyes regarded him calmly now. She had almost resigned herself to this new fate, but she needed some answers.

“My Lady, the plan was wild folly. I cannot take you away with me. We have nowhere to live. No means of support.” She looked at her passenger. “I’m sorry, Nigella,” she added softly, heavy of heart as a wave of sadness washed over her.

Encompassed by surprise at such familiarity, she looked at him attentively. This was the first time he had ever called her by name, except when they had been out in the meadows, but that had been a mistake. The expression she caught revealed the weight of an onerous burden, sombre with worry. She did not know what to say.

“Nigella, I would dearly love to have you with me. I will tell you truthfully although I know it’s not my place to speak to you with such familiarity …” the smile bespoke collaboration: “… but tonight we have been through so much isn’t that right?” Mutely she inclined her head. “Then perhaps you will permit me to speak freely?” The eyes that fleetingly turned towards Nigella, burned with fatigue and tension, but there was no slackening of speed.

“Yes,” uttered barely above a whisper.

“Please don’t take offence, but I must tell you … something.” Her voice faltered.

“Nigella, you are the most important person in my world. You have no idea how much I really do wish for us to be together … but it’s not right.” Now the voice was deep with regret. “You deserve a life better than I can give you.” Again she turned quickly to see how the girl was taking this. She was shaking her head as if to deny the truth of the words, but did not appear to be affronted.

Far from it; she could not hold back as her heartbeat quickened and she cried out vehemently: “I would rather a life of penury with you than all the opulence my position can give me … without you.” Eyes, hot with unshed tears and a faint colour washing up her cheeks, she could feel her pulse tumultuous from such unaccustomed passion.

In the silence that followed this devastating candour, the words reverberated between them like an electric arc sparking their senses. Suddenly, she was reminded of her ride with Patchy. Memories started to press in on her. Was it this that had upset him that day? What a child she had been. She recalled the bitterness in his eyes when they sat together on the boulder, looking out over their great estate. Ah yes, there must be someone special in his life.

Now it was her turn to look at him, wonderment in her eyes as they observed how the morning glow highlighted his cheekbones and brows. His eyes were in shadow, but the muscles in his neck stood out as he hung on to the wheel. There was a quality in this face that had always disturbed her, remaining in her mind’s eye, long after they had been together. Soon they would have to part and all she would have would be these pictorial memories. He would be leaving her for good. She would never see him again.

She must give up her dreams, be brave and deal with the inescapable reality of what was expected of her. She would have to conform and live the life of an aristocrat. Isn’t that what Patchy had said? ‘Abide by one’s obligations’? She felt as if fate, indurate and malevolent, had closed the door on a hope that had promised so much; a heavy, metal-studded door, crossed with an iron bar. An oppressive aura encircled her; there was nothing she could do. Would time help? Unburden her of these amazing and tormenting experiences?

While she slept she had dreamed they were in a garret somewhere, like Mimi and Rodolfo, only she had been the artist. Had she thought they were lovers? Back in the real world this thought scared her with a force that took her totally off guard. What had she been thinking? Her colour deepened as she realised she could no longer ignore the strength of these inner passions. Is this how I feel about him? Without warning an incandescent flame of desire burned through her and she had to turn her eyes away. She had felt guilt over such inappropriate, yet intense sensations. Condemning shame overwhelmed her. Oh, Jellie you are such a bad girl.

She must come to her senses, force her way through these conflicting emotions. Suddenly, desperation filled her eyes and a surge of panic welled up. She was falling apart, about to lose so much just when she had come to realise what she had found. Everything was happening too fast, rushing out of control. Jellie, hold on. She took some deep breaths.

Like Mona, she must do the right thing, like them all really. However, the clock could not be wound in reverse. She could not take back those recent words, so vehemently expressed. She would have to live with the danger of this knowledge. Innocence had been stripped away to reveal her dark secret. She had been compelled to face truths that hurt. She felt as a woman, had a woman’s ardour and she had no right to feel this way. It was wrong. But now she had experienced that fearsome power of desire, and once unleashed, it could not be restrained as though it had never been. These cravings were real. They were for someone so different … so special. If they were not for Mallory Mason, could she ever feel this way for someone else? A quick glance was shot across to his preoccupied face. Would I want to?

With tremendous effort she turned her attention to the road. He was driving as if possessed, but she knew it was important to get back before the house awoke for the day. Unexpectedly, a jagged hole opened up ahead. He wrenched hard on the steering column, but he was travelling too fast and the swerve only served to trap the back wheel and send them veering off into a cavernous ditch. Next there was a horrible cracking as they impacted into the gnarled trunk of a very solid Elm. She flew over the bonnet, caught the side of her head a real cracker on the tree and landed with an almighty thud into the scattered debris, at its massive roots. A long sigh was forced from her lungs, deeper than the tranquil depths of an unfathomed ocean.

Mallory was jammed behind the raked column then fell sideways as the vehicle slipped and gave another violent jolt. This sent her sailing free of the Runabout and then she too, landed with another thump out on the road. The side of her foot caught the hard surface breaking her body’s impact. There would have been a broken bone but for the gaiters which prevented rotation, acting like a brace. Only the de Dion Bouton, Model Q, remained at the scene that morning the twenty-ninth day of September 1909, but then it had not been sent flying through the air – like its occupants.