‘If there’s a barn, surely the farmhouse can’t be far away?’

‘Probably not, but I couldn’t find it and I’ve searched as far as I can tonight,’ Harry answered. ‘It’s impossible trying to find anything in this blizzard.’

Bridget nodded in agreement.

Harry urged the horse forward. ‘Hang on,’ he warned Bridget, ‘we’re in for a rough ride,’ and sure enough, the cartwheels ran straight into the ruts. Thankfully, though, the mighty heart of that brave, weary horse soon carried them on to smoother ground.

As they fought their way through, Bridget clung to the sides of the seat, wishing she was home with Tom, and then wishing she could stay with Harry for ever. Right now it seemed as if they were the only two people left in the entire world, and nothing else mattered. Then she chided herself, and once again her mind turned to Tom, and her thoughts became bleak and confused.

The journey to the barn seemed to take for ever. There were times when she feared they would never make it. But, after a struggle, Harry got them there safely.

‘Hold the lamp up,’ he said, and Bridget did as she was told without question.

It took an age for Harry to open the great doors; the snow had piled up against the timbers, holding them fast. Summoning all his strength, Harry put his back to the doors, straining his muscles until they felt as though they were being wrenched from his frame. With agonising slowness, the doors began to creak apart.

As soon as the opening was wide enough to drive the cart through, he returned to where Bridget waited. ‘Sit tight,’ he told her. ‘A few more minutes and we’ll be in the dry.’ He took up the reins and gently urged the weary horse to make one last effort.

Once the cart was inside the barn and the doors were closed behind them, Harry quickly unshackled the horse, while Bridget scouted round.

‘Harry, look!’ She pointed to a pile of grey blankets on a rail. ‘At least we’ll be warm.’ Plucking the top blanket from the pile, she shook it hard, dropping it with a scream when a fat brown rat fell out and scurried away. ‘He’s probably more startled than I am,’ she said boldly, but her voice was shaking with fright.

After a further look round, she’d found two hurricane lamps, a sizeable length of thick, strong rope, a billycan filled with cold, rank tea, horses’ tack and throw-overs, and any amount of dead rabbits, tied by their feet and strung from the rafters. There was also a loft above, filled with last summer’s hay.

‘The horse won’t go hungry,’ she said with a satisfied smile as she came to lend a hand with the unshackling. ‘Not with all that hay up there.’

Once the horse was dried off and led into a railed-off section in the corner of the barn, he seemed contented enough, especially when Harry gave him a generous bite of hay. ‘I’m sure the farmer won’t mind,’ he said, patting the animal fondly.