As we trudged through the mud towards Dipcott, Mr Godwin talked amiably enough – of London and his shop that sold books. And though I half listened, I kept thinking of our Peg and why it was his daughter had taken her. In the end I had to ask.
‘I’ve no idea,’ he said. ‘It’s most baffling. Though my daughter is rather prone to impulsive actions – her dear departed mother was too. Poor Mary, she lost her own child, a baby girl, not so long ago. It did affect her deeply. But really, taking another child is no sort of solution. How awful this must be for your family.’
His answer did little to ease my fears.
The one person I thought might help us was Isaac Blake. Living as he did outside of the village, he hadn’t heard about the fire at Eden Court or the commotion surrounding it. It also meant he was pretty hard to wake up.
‘Are you certain this is the right window?’ Mr Godwin asked, when he’d thrown countless stones at the glass.
‘I have it on good authority from Mercy Matthews that it is.’
But just to be certain I asked him to throw one last stone proper hard. Within seconds, the window swung open.
‘What the flying blazes is going on?’ Isaac cried. Then, sounding more confused, ‘Lizzie. What the … I mean … crikey … you’re here!’
‘It is me, yes. Now I need …’
But Isaac kept talking. ‘What happened to you this morning? I tried to come back for you but Jeffers carted me off the premises. And when I got back to the village I went straight to tell Mercy but she wouldn’t listen.’
So my hunch was right: he had tried to raise the alarm.
‘Look, Isaac, we need your help. Desperately, as it happens.’
‘We?’
Stepping forward from the shadows, Mr Godwin introduced himself and explained about his daughter.
‘And there’s been a fire at Eden Court,’ I added. ‘The place is in ruins.’
Typically, Isaac’s first thought was of pigs. ‘So even if they hadn’t thrown me out and told me never to come back, they’d still not be wanting half a porker tomorrow?’
‘I reckon not.’ If the wolf survived the fire, he doubtless wouldn’t escape Mr Cox’s gun. I was dying to tell Isaac all I’d discovered, but it’d have to wait. ‘So can you help us? We need to reach the coast by morning.’
Isaac didn’t miss a beat.
‘At your service,’ he said.
He was quick about it too, harnessing his carthorse and backing him into the shafts of a cart, all within a matter of minutes. Once we’d climbed on board, Isaac shook the reins. The cart groaned, the wheels spun, then with a massive lurch we were off.
The first few miles were slow going. Cartwheels and hooves sprayed mud in all directions. And the slithering, swaying motion made me feel awful queasy, or maybe it was still the effects of the fire. Yet once we reached the main road, I sat up eager in my seat, for I knew this road well. It was the old ridgeway that ran right along the tops of the hills. The road was straight and mostly smooth, dry chalk; either side of it the moors fell away. On a clear night up here the stars shone bright as lamps. Mam said it was a special, ancient place. I could almost feel it, tingling against my skin.
For many more miles, we sat squashed up together on the little hard bench seat. The ground grew steadily more rutted and rock-strewn, so eventually the smooth ridgeway was but a distant dream. Every jolt, every jar of the road went through my backside, all the way up to my teeth. My head throbbed. My shoulders ached. I began to dream of walking those last few miles, anything to stop the feeling that my bones were like dice in a cup.
Quite suddenly, the road dipped down sharply. The horse panicked, its back hooves slipping beneath it. Isaac talked gently until it shook its head, ready to move on. We passed under the darkness of trees, then came out in a bumpy lane. By now the smell had changed from mud to salt, and the birdsong on the breeze was that of gulls. I hugged my knees to my chest in an effort to stay warm. Mr Godwin, I noticed, had gone very quiet.
The road took us to a tollgate, then the mud became cobbles as we entered the town. The sun was up and bright, and the streets sounded unnaturally busy.
‘Hurry!’ I cried. ‘Oh, do hurry!’
We sped along at a ragged trot. I could only imagine how mud-splattered and windswept we looked, but all that mattered was reaching the boat. We had no time to lose.
‘Is it in dock? Can you see anything?’ I asked, rising up in my seat.
‘Only your knees. Sit down!’ Isaac said.
As we took a left turn, the road got even busier. Everyone seemed to be travelling in the opposite direction to us.
‘This don’t look good,’ Isaac said.
‘Keep going, young man,’ Mr Godwin replied. ‘We won’t know if it’s sailed until we get there.’
I sat on my hands to stop them fidgeting. The boat couldn’t have gone yet, it was only just daybreak. But a horrible dragging feeling began pulling at my insides. A right turn and the smell of fishing nets grew stronger, until finally Isaac heaved on the reins. The cart slowed, then stopped.
‘Here we are,’ he said. ‘This is as close as I can get to the harbour side.’
All around us drivers shouted and clicked tongues at their horses. Carriages turned and moved on. There were people on foot. Crowds of them. Laughing, talking, selling things fresh from the sea, all in accents thicker than ours at home.
‘You’d best climb down. The proper harbour is just around the corner. You can’t see nothing from here,’ Isaac said, sensing my hesitation. ‘I’ll find a place to park up and wait for you.’
I nodded. Then I patted Isaac’s arm.
‘You’re a good sort, Isaac Blake,’ I heard myself saying. ‘I might’ve been wrong about you and Mercy. Go and have another word with her when you get back.’
He gave an embarrassed cough. ‘Oh. Right. Well.’ I pictured his ears going red.
The cart creaked as Mr Godwin stepped down. I followed, landing heavily on the cobbles so my feet stung. He took my elbow and together we made our way through the crowds to the water’s edge. Every now and then, he stopped people to ask if they’d seen Miss Godwin.
‘We’re looking for a young woman, eighteen years of age. Small in stature, long, reddish-gold hair. She’s with another young woman of similar age, and a tall, rather thin man.’
‘And a girl in a green frock,’ I added. ‘With curly white-blonde hair.’
No one had seen them.
When we reached the harbour side, it sounded quiet. Too quiet.
‘Can you see a sailing ship? Is it here? Can we reach it?’ I said in a rush.
Mr Godwin didn’t speak for a very long moment.
‘There is a sailing ship, yes.’ His voice cracked with feeling. ‘By my reckoning it’s about half a mile off shore.’
My heart sank to the cobbles. We were too late. Our ship had sailed.
‘There we are, then. We did try.’ Mr Godwin sniffed and blew his nose. ‘Maybe they’ll return some day.’
‘But sir, they’ve gone to Switzerland, not the moon,’ I said.
‘My dear, I am too old to go chasing across Europe. So indeed, it might as well be the moon to me. Good day to you.’ Then he went off in search of a coach to take him back to London.
I stared after him in amazement. Was that it, then? Was he giving up? I only hoped our da had more staying power: I knew I did.
For once, though, I didn’t think of what Mam would’ve done. I didn’t listen for her voice inside my head. This time, I trusted my own judgement. I’d get Peg even if it did mean going to France, then Switzerland and on to the Villa Diodati.