Suddenly there was a hush and, turning, Amber saw Barnaby being led into the room. He was leaning heavily on a crutch and two police officers stood on either side of him, as if they were expecting him to try and escape. His eyes immediately scanned the room and when they found her, he gave her a smile. He looked tired and was still far from well but as he was led to stand before the magistrates, he kept his head high and she was proud of him.

It took only a matter of minutes for the magistrates to read what he was charged with, and, after conferring in hushed voices, the most senior of the magistrates stood up and said solemnly, ‘Barnaby Josiah Greenwood, you stand before us charged with the murder of Albert Preston, the most heinous of crimes, and so we recommend that you shall be transported at the earliest opportunity to the cells below Pickering High Court where you will be kept until you stand before Judge Alberton who will decide your fate.’

A gasp of dismay went up around the room and Amber’s hand flew to her throat. Judge Alberton was commonly known as ‘the hanging judge’, and for a moment, she felt the floor rush up to meet her and had to grip the back of the chair in front of her to stop herself from falling.

‘NO!’ her tortured voice echoed about the room. ‘This isn’t fair! He was only protecting me and he didn’t murder Bertie!’

‘Be silent, young woman, otherwise you will find yourself on a charge of breaching the peace,’ the magistrate snapped.

Barnaby, his head lowered, was being led away and Amber began to elbow her way through the crowd to get to him, but it was no use, for by the time she had managed to get to the door Barnaby had already been pushed onto the prison cart outside. Lifting her skirts Amber raced to the other side of the market square and when the cart pulled up, she gripped the sergeant’s arm.

‘Please, Sergeant Mellor, may I see him, just for a few minutes?’

He looked over his shoulder before taking her elbow and whisking her into the police station as the two young constables outside helped Barnaby down from the cart.

‘Just let us get him back into the cells and I’ll give you ten minutes,’ he told her in a low voice. ‘But don’t get telling anyone I allowed it or it will be my head on the block!’

Ten minutes later she again descended the steep stone steps to find Barnaby sitting on his bed with his head in his hands, but he was calm. Most men would have been shaking at the fate that was soon to befall them and she couldn’t help but think how brave he was being.