“They must be here for the Luddites,” I whispered, watching the soldiers’ mud-spattered faces watch us as we drove by.

A few hours ago, we had driven past an eerie blackened mill in Manchester that had, according to the post innkeeper where we changed horses, been burned down by the Luddites in March. He had implied the troubles had come to an end. Perhaps they had only come to an end in Manchester.

Miss Grant sat back, our moment of unity gone. She had, I suspected, stayed silent not only out of consideration for Hester and Julia, but also in protest. We had been on the road for three days, staying in two reasonable inns along the way, but in truth I had pushed us hard to reach Charlotte’s estate. We were all exhausted and Miss Grant held me singly responsible for Hester’s increasingly fragile state.

She had a point. Still, it was imperative that we reach Charlotte as soon as possible. Miss Grant herself had seen Mulholland’s deadly agenda in our drawing room. His invasion had finally brought home just how precarious Evan’s freedom, and indeed his life, stood, as well as their own. Although there had been some resistance from Hester, who had clung to the idea of fleeing the country, they had eventually conceded that refuge with Charlotte was the best path we could take.

Charlotte had written back to my request for refuge with a generous invitation to stay as long as we wished and an assurance that we would be her only guests for some time. Traveling to her home in Lancashire would perhaps fox Lord Deele’s search for a while, but not Mulholland’s. Although I had not seen anyone following us, I had no doubt the thieftaker would be seeking our whereabouts. We were his only link to Lord Evan, and he would not give that up easily. Thankfully, Evan was safely away, looking for a way to find Dr. Lawrence. Well, as safe as he could be with a thieftaker intent on killing him.

I thought back to my visit to Messrs. France and Banting before we left London. Since Mr. Kent had declared he could not pursue Miss Hollis’s murder, I had instructed the undertakers to retrieve her body from Reginald Drake’s dissection room immediately and ready her for her journey home. The good Mr. France, upon hearing my somewhat abridged version of the horrifying truth, had understood the need to keep our name from any connection to Miss Hollis. He had also, with his usual calm efficiency, assured me that he would himself restore her to her family to ensure discretion. It was not an entirely adequate return of the girl to her family—they would no doubt have questions that would never be answered—but considering what was at stake, it was the best I could do.