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Autumn, 1799
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THE RAINS HAD COME in a deluge the previous night, with thunder and lightning, frightening horses and sending young children into the arms of their anxious parents. A storm this heavy could cause damage to homes and bridges, could knock down trees and block roads. Such heavy rain was unusual for the early days of autumn, but not unheard of, and consequently the servants at the estate were prepared for the worst when the first crash of lightning lit the midnight sky as bright as noon.
They were prepared when a subsequent bolt struck the stables, setting them afire despite the torrential rains. One small crew worked fearlessly to bring the terrified horses to safety under the portcullis of the old buildings, whilst another strove to douse the flames that licked at the hay stacked under the peaked roof. The work was exhausting and all-demanding, and when, after some time, the fire was extinguished and the horses returned to the slightly charred but otherwise undamaged building, the servants gratefully retired to the kitchens for some well-earned tea and cakes, and perhaps something stronger to ease their nerves. The storm had abated now and lightning no longer split the air, and in the aftermath of their exertion and the lessened sense of urgency, the men and women took their ease, resting before the demands of another day of work.
No one noticed the small figure that crept its way out of the kitchen door, which had been left ajar to allow men access to the warmth and sustenance.
The ground was wet and spongy underfoot, and the passage of two feet left small puddles in their wake, grass-covered indentations filling with water before slowly releasing their liquid back into the rain-soaked earth. In the heavy cloud-laden darkness, still hours before dawn, the slight figure picked its way tentatively down the edge of the hedges that rimmed the long drive, ducking into the foliage wherever possible so as to avoid being noticed by any who might still be awake and watching. The figure hefted a small bag onto one shoulder and wrapped the greatcoat more snugly. At long last, upon reaching the road at the end of the property, the tense shoulders relaxed just a bit, the first ordeal having been survived. One step closer to freedom!
It was a long walk to town, near on ten miles, but the traveller did not seem to be in any hurry. Although the road from the estate ran straight into the town, it was too well traveled for the fugitive’s peace of mind. A little known path through the woods that bordered the thoroughfare would provide better protection. Keeping to the bushes, the rough-clad wanderer crept slowly onward through the wet undergrowth, anxious of unseen stones or slippery patches in this darkest of nights, stopping every now and then to assess location and direction. In the woods ran a stream, surging from the recent downpour, which fed the river that flowed through the city, and the traveller carefully and slowly followed the sound of the rushing water. There was no need to hurry. There was no one waiting. Brushing dirty hands on rough woolen trousers, the wanderer adjusted the much-worn coat atop thin shoulders and moved on, towards what, heaven only knew.