Rose, too, had seen Hammond. The man was clearly in bad shape but if she could just distract Nathaniel, get him to step back a little more, then the valet would have the best chance of taking him off guard.

She ignored Alexander’s, ‘Rose, stay still,’ as she said, ‘For years I was frightened of you. Do you know that? Terrified of every dark shadow, and now I can’t think why because you’re nothing. You’ve always been nothing, just wind and water, a great bag of air. You’ll go out of this world with no one remembering you or grieving for you. You’re such a brave man with a rifle in your hands, aren’t you, but without it you’d be crawling to lick Alexander’s boots—’

Nathaniel’s roar of rage coincided with Hammond lunging at his legs, knocking him off balance and towards Rose. The rifle went skidding across the road but then Nathaniel was on top of her where she’d fallen and his hands were round her throat, squeezing as hard as he could, his face demonic. She couldn’t breathe, there were lights in front of her eyes and a pressure in her head and she could hear voices, shouting, but the iron fingers were merciless and she knew she was dying, right here, now. But that didn’t matter if Betsy was all right.

She was unconscious when Alexander used the butt of the rifle to smash into Nathaniel’s head, knocking him off her. But the next moment Nathaniel had reared up again and Alexander, hampered by the loss of his arm, fell backwards as the other man’s fist hit him full in the face. But Hammond had two hands and, bleeding though he was from the wound to his stomach, he reached for the rifle which had clattered to a stop beside him. Lifting it, he shot his target in the back and then, as Nathaniel turned to face him, he shot him again, and this time Nathaniel went down and didn’t move.

Betsy’s screams had alerted the occupants of a small hamlet some distance away, and as folk came running she shouted for them to get help. Rose was conscious now, choking and gasping as she drew breath, and Alexander, his face bloody, had crawled to her side and was holding her close; so Betsy, with great presence of mind, concentrated on Hammond, tearing her petticoat and making it into a ball which she held to the wound in the valet’s stomach.