She was free from the farmhouse, but she had no idea which way to go. In an effort to get her bearings, she followed the sound of waves crashing on the shore, but the bitter wind took her breath away and filled her lungs with icy shards. When she reached the clifftop she uttered a gasp of dismay. Anchored out to sea she saw a vessel that she recognised as the Lazy Jane. Jay had not lied, and she knew instinctively that he would carry out his threat to abduct her if Rob refused to co-operate. She did not stop to wonder if Jack was complicit with Jay’s plans – she turned inland, and ran.

Buffeted by wind and blinded by the driving rain, Judy knew that she was heading south but there were no discernible landmarks to guide her. Eventually she was forced to stop in order to catch her breath, and she sank down in the lee of a stunted tree. She was shivering violently and the wet cloak gave her little protection from the elements. After a while the rain eased, but, as if to add to her problems, a sea fret rose up and swirled around her in a dense white cloud, blotting out the landscape and chilling her to the bone. She stood up, knowing that she must keep moving. Common sense told her that she must eventually come across some kind of dwelling, where she could ask for directions. Shrouded in mist, she walked slowly across a rutted field. If she kept on going she must surely come to a road or even a cart track.

She had lost all sense of time. She seemed to have been walking for hours when she stumbled over what appeared to be a gravestone. She fell heavily, landing with her right ankle twisted beneath her. A sharp pain caused her to cry out, and when she attempted to rise to her feet, she fell back gasping. It was the same ankle she had sprained when Rob’s carriage overturned in the snow, and she closed her eyes, biting back tears of pain and frustration. She had come this far, and if there was a graveyard there must be habitation nearby. After a few minutes the agony lessened, providing she kept the injured limb absolutely still. She opened her eyes and found herself in an overgrown graveyard surrounding a small chapel. The mist had cleared and a wintry sun had pushed its way between the dark clouds.

Judy eased herself carefully to a sitting position and looked round, hoping to see a sign of life. The eerie silence was broken by the sound of someone whistling a cheerful tune.

‘Ho, there,’ she shouted. ‘Help me, please.’

Moments later a youth appeared, seated on a donkey. He rode closer, eyeing her suspiciously.

‘What’s up with you?’

‘I’ve hurt my ankle.’

The boy dismounted. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Judy Begg from Little Creek. Can you tell me where I am?’

‘You’re sitting on Abel Dorning’s gravestone. That’s where you are, miss. I’d move, if I were you, miss. He’s likely to take exception.’