The woman in the shop was looking out at them, through the glass, her face distorted, and Tom thought she might be saying something; but he couldn’t know, would never know.

Kit helped him gently up into the cart. He lay on his back and looked up at the sky as the horse slowly began to move off.

The future was forming inside him. An intention, bright and clear. No longer was there shadow and darkness. Now there was a point of light, and that light meant there was only one thing to do. Tom would find the Captive and release her.

Or else he would be a prisoner in Mundham Farm with Jack as his master for the rest of his life.

Chapter 10

2nd June, 1846

Wandering in the woods, I wished every tree were he. I picked up stones and kissed them, imagining that he had once held them. Perhaps he had. I feel his imprint everywhere. Sometimes I think he is watching me. Why, why does he stay away from me?

— From the diary of Margaret Ravenswood

As they drove slowly back to Mundham Farm, the gentle movement of the cart lulling him, Tom watched the still sky above him and resolved that he would wait until he was sure everyone was asleep, and then begin his search for the Captive that very night. He sat up and joined Kit on the driver’s seat, saying nothing of his plan. Kit merely offered him wordless comfort, patting him on the shoulder, awkwardly, as if the gesture did not come naturally to him.

Tom hadn’t, though, prepared for what Jack might do. When they returned to the farmhouse, the old man was standing in front of the main door, dressed in britches and a long black cloak, with a sword at his belt. Zita was behind him, looking downcast, clutching her shawl around her shoulders, her eyes dark with shadow.

Tom slid down from the cart and began to help Kit to unload things. He was about to enter the farmhouse when Jack blocked his way.

‘You. My flesh and blood. You will be with me today.’

Tom dropped the heavy can of cooking oil he was carrying. ‘I need to help Kit.’

‘Kit can manage. He managed before without you. The whelp can manage again.’

Zita rushed forwards and hefted up the can, taking it in before Jack could say anything. Kit sent her a look of wordless thanks.

Jack’s haggard face was stern, his eyes gleaming, his hand strong on Tom’s shoulders. They went together into the gloom of the farmhouse hall, and Jack led him upstairs.