It didn’t hurt at first. I was too shocked. I scrambled to my feet and ran, while the men shouted at me to stop and the horse neighed and whinnied with excitement and fear, and other shouts from behind told me that the rest of the village had heard. How long before the police arrived? I felt sick with disappointment.

Peter had vanished. I hoped he’d managed to see what had happened, so he wouldn’t wait for me; we’d lost too much time as it was. There’d be an alarm out for sure; the horses would be traced back to the Jolly Huntsman, Ma would be questioned, and—

I sank into the snow under the shelter of the trees and the gathering darkness. I felt like weeping. Before it had even begun, our plan was in ruins. Behind me on the bridge, the little knot of men pointed after Peter, held the plunging horse, helped up the man who’d fallen, shouted for help, and began to stream over the bridge in pursuit. The sergeant was leading them; they were armed with muskets….

I lay still, the cold seeping through my dress and straight into my heart, and my pockets full of the now useless garlic. It was all up to Peter now—and a little ball of silver. But would he be in time?

Lucy’s Narrative continued

Triumph is a grim quality! Especially when it is not yours but another’s. And especially when that other is a knuckle-chewing, twitching, icy-eyed uncle with a smile like the snarl of a tiger. He welcomed us—that is to say, Charlotte and me and Max and Eliza—into his study with an air of such slinking, smirking, purring greed that I nearly turned tail and ran away at once.

We’d decided to say nothing. Max spoke, and Uncle Heinrich rubbed his hands together and never for one moment let his eyes stray from the two of us. I tried to outstare him, but the chilly gleam was too much for me and I had to look down.

“We found ’em up the mountain, sir,” Max was saying. “They was wandering about lost. It seemed the kindest thing to bring ’em home, like.”

“Very good—very good….” said Uncle Heinrich. “Very pleased to see them….Dear little things! My poor little poppets! They’ve come home to Uncle Heinrich….” And so on, while his eyes flickered icily up and down from our heads to our toes, and his hands, white-knuckled, rubbed each other with a never-ceasing little shush-shush noise, and his lips grinned stiffly.

“They’ve been ever so frightened, your grace,” said Eliza. “Someone’s been putting wicked tales into their heads. They didn’t know what they were doing, I swear they didn’t.”

“Yes—yes—I’m sure you’re right. Poor little things! So cold and hungry! Are you hungry, girls? Mmm? Answer me, now. Are you hungry?”