"Watch yourself, lad!" Bing called out. "He's a fast 'un."

Lysander nodded. Indeed, Bad Pony would be fast. Swift and powerful, running low to the ground with his rider perched with stirrups high, practically kneeling on his back. "Hello, Brave One," Lysander murmured in Russian.

At least he was fairly certain that was what he said. His Russian rested uneasily somewhere between a boyhood craze for the comedy of Fonvizin and a collection of battlefield curses assimilated from the Cossacks who drove the forward line of battle.

The pony gave a deep, resounding moan and pressed his flat forehead hard against Lysander's breastbone. With a great shudder, the pony submitted to Lysander's fingers scratching deeply behind his ears and down his neck along the base of his stiff mane.

Poor soldier, far from home. In his terrible mixture of Russian, Lysander explained the situation to the pony and asked him the great favor of pulling the cart gently and steadily, for there was a lady on a mission aboard. They were all counting on the pony to pull them through.

The pony breathed out a much calmer waffling snort and stood sedately while Lysander unclipped the lead and swept up the rains as he climbed into the cart next to Gemma.

He became aware that both Gemma and Bing stared at him in a sort of wide-eyed wary awe.

GEMMA BARELY KEPT HER astonishment to herself. First Topknot and now Bad Pony. Even taciturn Mr. Bing. "All the silent ones," she murmured.

Mr. Worthington did not ask her what she meant by that. He left the reins easy and simply uttered what sounded like a command in Russian. The pony pulled away at a brisk trot and circled toward the gate to the lane. Mr. Bing ran jerkily ahead to open it wide, and then stood upon the lowest rung, watching them roll on.

Following Gemma's whispered directions, Mr. Worthington did little more than twitch the rein to the left or the right to have the pony make a turn.

He glanced warily at Gemma, who realized she stared at him still. She didn't speak, or ask any questions, despite her simmering curiosity. Mr. Worthington shied from questions. She realized now that he flinched from people's expectations.

They reached the farm in good order and Mr. Worthington jumped down to help Gemma from her seat. There was no step set into the cart that would accommodate a lady's skirts, so in the end Lysander simply took her by the waist and lifted her down, reasoning correctly that she didn't care to waste time. Gemma swallowed a squeak of surprise and accepted the help with a gracious thanks. She sounded a little breathless even to herself as he set her feet on the ground. He reached into the cart and lifted out the case, clearly preparing to follow her into the farmhouse.