“No!” She had hardly listened, the image he had put in her head blotting out his words, but she dared not now reveal that she had lied. She would be questioned more, punished maybe, as her father had punished her, and so she gripped to her story. “I don’t have the seal!”

“Then you must marry Samuel Scammell.”

“I will not!”

She was recovering now, wanting to fight back if only with words.

He laughed, his wide mouth opening to show stained teeth. “Oh, but you will, Dorcas, you will. I am a lawyer, remember? I can do most things, child, and even Chancery will move with unaccustomed speed when Sir Grenville Cony calls.” He was smiling hugely, and his left hand moved, not toward the pie, but to a piece of paper which he held up above the desk. She could see black writing on it, and a great, red seal dependant at its base.

“Shall I tell you what this is? It is a document, a legal document, and I took the trouble of collecting it this morning. I knew you might visit me, Dorcas, and I told the court of your plight. Ah! Such a plight! An orphan, not yet twenty-one, alone, away from home, and the court was touched. Yes! Truly touched. She needs a guardian, I said, as does her brother and, do you know, Dorcas, you are both now wards of court.” He laughed. “Your brother seems happy enough, and I’m sure you will be. You’re a ward of the court and I, Grenville Cony, am your guardian. Your future, child, is entirely within my capable hands.” He put the paper down, leaned back in triumph, and laughed.

She had listened, appalled, as her dreams had collapsed. She saw his white, round face split by the laughing mouth, tears blurred her vision, then she heard him call to his secretary.

“John! Open the door, John!”

There was gleeful anticipation on Cony’s face. “Come in! Come in! All of you!”

The room suddenly seemed filled with people, with faces staring at her in curiosity, in dislike, and she shook her head as if to clear it of a nightmare. “No!”

“But yes!” Cony was standing now. “You met Thomas Grimmett, I believe. He is my chief guard and a noble servant.” The man who had held her against the stable-block wall at Werlatton, who had thrust his knee between her legs, leered down at her. A boil was livid on his broad, broken-nosed face.

Cony’s voice was relentless. “Your dear brother, Ebenezer. Such a fine young man! I have offered him employment. And Goodwife! Loyal Goodwife, how pleased you must be that your errant chick is restored.”

Goodwife’s spiteful face seemed about to spit at her. Ebenezer looked scornful.

Cony laughed. “And Brother Scammell! Lo! Your bride, restored! What joy there is in the practice of law!” Samuel Scammell smiled at Campion, bobbed his shorn head, and she could feel the great clamps of law and duty and religion and punishment close on her soul. Her hopes, her love, her freedom, all were going, even as the light began to fade over the river. She bowed her head, she cried, and the tears dropped on to the fine, silvered threads of her cloak.