“Where’s what, sir?” She was struggling, but was helpless against his huge strength.

“God’s bowels, woman! Don’t play with me!” he shouted, hurting her shoulder with his hand. Then he smiled again. “Pretty little Puritan, aren’t we? Wasted on that bladder of a man.” He stayed smiling as his right knee jerked upward, forcing her legs apart, and he pushed it up between her thighs, reaching down with his free hand for the hem of her skirt.

“That’s enough, mister!” The voice came from her right. Tobias Horsnell, the stableman, stood easily in a doorway, the musketoon that was used to kill sick beasts held in his hand. “I doubt this be good, mister. Let her go.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m the one who should be asking that.” Horsnell seemed unconcerned by the man’s crude and violent air. He twitched the gun. “You take your hands off her. Now what be this about?”

The man had stepped back, releasing her. He brushed his hands as if she had been filthy. “She has something I want.”

Horsnell looked at Campion. He was a thin man, his wiry forearms burned black by the sun. He was taciturn in household prayers, though he was one of the few servants who had learned to read and Campion had watched him laboriously mouth the words of the Bible. “Is that true, Miss Dorcas?”

“No!” She shook her head. “I don’t even know what it is!”

“What is it, mister?”

“A seal.” The man seemed to be gauging whether he would have time to pull the pistol from his belt, but Tobias Horsnell kept his musketoon steady and his voice neutral. “Do you have the seal, Miss Dorcas?”

“No.”

“There, mister. That be your answer. I think you should go.” The musketoon added force to his polite suggestion and Horsnell kept the weapon levelled till the stranger had left the yard. Only then did he drop the muzzle and give her a slow smile. “’Twasn’t loaded, but the Lord looks after us. I hope you told the truth, Miss Dorcas.”

“I did.”

“Good, God be praised. He was an ungodly man, Miss Dorcas, and there be plenty like him outside these walls.”

She frowned at the words. She had spoken little with Tobias Horsnell, for he was a man who stayed away from the house except for prayers, yet he seemed to have divined her intention of running away. Why else would he have stressed the dangers outside Werlatton’s estate?

She smoothed the collar of her dress. “Thank you.”

“You thank your Lord and Savior, miss. In times of trouble He’ll be at hand.” He had stooped to pick up and fondle one of the kittens. “I could tell you tales of His mercy, Miss Dorcas.”

“And tales of His punishment, Mr. Horsnell?”

It was a question she would never have dared put to her father, nor would her father have given her the answer that his stable-man now gave. He shrugged, and spoke as matter-of-factly as if he were talking of hoof-oil or dung shovels. “God loves us, miss, that’s all I do know. Wind or blow, Miss Dorcas, He loves us. You pray, miss, and the answer will be there.”