We raced downhill, crashing through undergrowth, ditches, across the flood where it was shallow enough to wade. Ellen’s skirts, too long for running, kept tripping me up. I’d have given my right arm for a pair of leggings. Susannah had a technique of wrapping her hems around her wrist to keep them out of the way, which made me wonder how often she’d run across country. She was as fast as a hound.
Yet there came a point where we had to slow down. Both of us were seriously out of breath, and poor Bea was crying. She’d been sick all down Susannah’s front.
‘She needs to eat,’ Susannah gasped, holding her side. ‘And to rest. As do I.’
I was about to point out that food wouldn’t magically appear at the ring of a servant’s bell, when I noticed we’d shaken off our followers. I didn’t trust the situation; they’d catch us up soon enough. But we did need a breather, and since we were approaching a farmstead, it seemed as good a time as any to rest.
‘Only a short stop, mind,’ I warned Susannah. ‘No falling asleep.’
The farm had been completely flooded out. Doors and windows stood open, and the yard was crammed with chairs and boxes, a cabinet floating on its back. There was no sign of anyone here, and to be honest, I didn’t search too hard, fearful of what I might see.
We found a hayloft that looked dry, at least, and while Susannah climbed up to it, I went to find food. All I came upon was a single sheep, penned in by water at the back of a barn. Luckily it had plenty to eat, and better still, it was bursting to be milked.
Back at the hayloft, Susannah was waiting hungrily. In the last of the day’s light, I could see the spot by her ear where a chunk of hair was missing. Other than that the hedge incident had left her unscathed, though she wrinkled her nose when I passed her the bucket of milk.
‘This came from a sheep?’ she said in disbelief.
Bea wasn’t so fussy. She drank plenty of the sheep’s milk, and once we’d cleaned her up with handfuls of hay, she stretched her arms behind her head and fell asleep. I gulped down my share of the milk. It was still warm, with a rich, salty taste.
‘Here,’ I tried again to give the bucket to Susannah. ‘It’s delicious.’
Susannah took the milk. She sniffed it. Sipped it. Pulled a face.
‘Anyone would think it was the chamber pot I’d offered you!’ I cried.
Pinching her nose, she downed the remaining milk.
‘Happy now?’ she gasped, all triumphant. There was milk on her top lip and she belched into the back of her hand. The look of her made it hard not to laugh, and I almost did until she said, ‘You’re not serious about returning to your village, are you?’
I straightened up. ‘Of course I am. And you’re coming with me.’
‘I don’t think so, Fortune,’ she replied. ‘That is very generous of you, but I need to know what’s happened to Ellis. If he’s still alive then mine and Bea’s lives should be with him.’
I thought of Berrow Hall, the smashed windows, the torn-off doors, the whole house full of water.
‘Do you suppose Berrow Hall is still standing?’ I asked.
‘Probably not,’ she admitted. ‘And good riddance to the place. I don’t wish to live there again, but the land will still be ours. We’ll have to do something with it; it’s a huge estate – twenty miles wide, to be precise.’
I whistled. It made Old Margaret’s land – and that of our neighbours – seem like little herb gardens in comparison.
‘Not forgetting,’ Susannah added, ‘Ellis is mine and Bea’s brother. I do want to be part of a family again.’
‘Then come and join mine until you find yours,’ I begged. ‘Please. I promise you’ll be safe.’
‘Without wishing to offend, what would I do in a village like yours?’
‘Actually, it’s a hamlet,’ I admitted.
‘Exactly. I’d be useless. I can’t chop wood, I can’t cook, I didn’t even know you could milk a sheep!’
‘But you’ll learn,’ I told her. ‘You’ll have to. That old life of yours has gone, at least while Dr Blood is still after you.’
‘And Bea?’
‘Of course she’s welcome!’ I insisted. The thought of not seeing Bea every day made me panic slightly. ‘You’ll be as safe with us as anywhere. The witch hunters came once but they’ve not been back, not since we put my brother in charge.’
Susannah smoothed the folds of her skirts, thinking.
Questions slid into my brain too. What would it be like, going back to Fair Maidens Lane? Would the flood have damaged it? Would my family be all right? Might Jem still be cross with me? It certainly wasn’t the homecoming I’d hoped for, where I’d be swanking home with a purse of coins. I’d no wages to speak of, nor did I still have Mother’s gift.
‘Very well,’ Susannah said eventually. ‘And thank you, Fortune.’ She was trying hard not to cry.
*
Despite my warning, we did both fall asleep. It was dark when we woke up, and so cold our breath came out like smoke. I was worried we’d climb down from the hayloft to find Dr Blood waiting, but what greeted us instead was an uncanny quiet. Wrapping up a very sleepy Bea, we headed out into the dark to walk further along the valley. I kept my eyes peeled for a place to cross the floods, being certain that, from the stars, Fair Maidens Lane lay to our west.
The flood quickly got deeper. It was hard to see how far ahead the water stretched, but I felt the chill coming off it like mist.
‘We’ll swim if we have to,’ I said, bracing myself.
Susannah went silent – a tense, shivery sort of silence that told me she was scared. It reminded me of Jem, that day in the boat, when we’d drifted into too-deep water.
‘You can’t swim, can you?’ I asked.
‘No. I can’t.’ She glanced at me. ‘Why, can you?’
‘I haven’t drowned yet, put it that way.’
But I couldn’t swim for all of us, that I did know. In water this cold, it’d be hard enough keeping myself afloat, never mind with a girl and a baby in tow.
‘We could wait until morning?’ Susannah suggested.
I shook my head. It would mean wasting more time, and for a while now we’d been trailed by the faintest of noises – rustling grass, twigs snapping. It might’ve been badgers, or a night-time breeze. But I wasn’t convinced.
‘There must be another way through the water,’ I said, scanning the dark. ‘A bridge, a wall – can you see anything?’
‘No. Not a thing.’
Behind us, a squelching sound. Boots moving through mud.
Susannah gripped my arm. I turned slowly. The trees were shaking, whispering. Overhead, an owl screeched. It came again, the sticky slurp of muddy footsteps.
Someone was coming towards us.
‘Keep hold of my arm,’ I whispered. ‘We’re going to start walking again,’ because I couldn’t think what else to do.