The station clock ticked slowly onward. Hugh cooled his heels on the platform. Such lack of action was unbearable. He paced urgently, up and down, head spinning. What a fool he’d been. Damn his stupidity: why did he not seize good fortune when it was there for the taking? At Christmas, Philomena transformed the Hall with a wicked, bubbling laugh, cheerful smile and endless good sense. Why had Hugh let her go?

Philomena was in danger, and Hugh could have kept her safe. Only he could prevent certain ruin. He still understood nothing. Why had Muldrow arranged for Joseph to kidnap Philomena? What connection was there between the two? Muldrow hated Hugh, but why did he want Philomena? Philomena remained mysterious. Who was she?

If only Hugh had forced her to tell the truth. He never believed her stories, but he let anger and hurt at such dishonesty blind him. Philomena was in trouble, and he had not helped. An uncle in Bristol, indeed! A child could have seen through such a tale.

One thing was certain. When Hugh rescued Philomena, he would discover the truth. He cared nothing for secrets from her past. Whatever she had been before, she was now the woman Hugh loved and needed. He would find her and never let her go again.

Hugh longed to leap into action but could do nothing. He’d pinned every hope on the train. It was too late to follow by carriage, but what was happening to Philomena? Hugh prayed that the speed and wild jolting of the carriage, as it raced along the dirt roads of the countryside, would prevent Joseph from harming her. At least Joseph was working for Muldrow. He would need to deliver the goods in one piece to his master.

At last, when Hugh felt he might go mad at any moment, the train arrived. He leapt on, heart pounding, and watched the countryside race by. The engine sped through England, unbelievably smooth and fast.

After little more than half an hour, the train huffed pompously into Reading station. All that remained was for Hugh to hire a coach to take him the short distance to Fairford Manor. He leapt to the platform. A mob hemmed him in. “There he is,” someone cried. “Grab him before he gets away.”

The village constable grasped Hugh’s arm. A couple of heavy-looking thugs stood nearby. Angry, Hugh shook the constable away. “What’s the meaning of this, Stephens? Can you not see I’m in a hurry, man? Get out of my way.”

The constable stood, foursquare, in front of Hugh, the labourers panting at his side. “Excuse me, your lordship, but I’ve a warrant here for your arrest.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous. Arrest for what?”

“A very serious offence, my lord,” said the constable with lugubrious satisfaction.