A Lady's Fate

Prologue

A stormy winter's night on the Yorkshire moors can be very unforgiving.

Only those with a death wish would dare venture out in such conditions, they say. With the vast planes of grassland offering little protection from the elements, any attempting to journey on foot would find themselves saturated within minutes of struggling through the deep, viscous peat, swaying in the face of the swirling winds threatening to blow them completely off course.

Travelling by carriage would hardly be safer; in these parts the roads are no more than rough dirt tracks, the slick, wet stones just waiting to overturn a passing coach whose shivering driver is too preoccupied with blinking raindrops from his stinging eyes to take notice of the uneven ground.

The pair of figures hurrying down the kitchen steps at the rear of the great house knew all this. Despite bundling themselves up in thick, hooded cloaks, their hair soon clung to their faces in sodden rivulets, while teeth chattered and fingers grew numb as the howling gale swept its way inside the fastenings of their garments. Nature itself seemed eager to remind them of the damage it could cause; of the gravest danger their journey would undoubtedly place them in.

Yet still they ploughed on, stealing anxious glances at each darkened attic room window they passed. The building creaked and sighed as they walked its perimeter, as if the very walls of Lanmeth House wished to alert its inhabitants of their presence – but the servants' bedrooms remained mercifully devoid of any light.

The only source of light, in fact, came from the narrow windows of the stables ahead, and they moved towards it eagerly, drawn almost instinctively like a pair of fireflies. It was not simply the warmth and light that attracted them; rather the beacon of hope the lamp and its bearer represented.

Moving at last under the shelter of the compact building, they sighed gratefully in response to the pleasant change in temperature. With their identical thick, grey cloaks, it had been impossible to distinguish maid from mistress – but now, out of the storm, the slightly taller of the two lowered her hood, her identity revealed by her vivid red hair, recognisable even darkened as it was by the rain. Shaking her head so that droplets bounced off the tight curls, she turned to face the lamp-bearing stable boy; the only friend they had left.

"Is everything in place?" muttered the redhead urgently, by way of greeting.

Her words had the tone of a question; yet the blazing fire in her vivid green eyes made it quite clear there was only one answer she had any interest in hearing.

The stable boy nodded.

"It waits at the end of the drive," he replied hoarsely. "I thought it best not to risk venturing too close to the house."

"A wise move," acknowledged the woman. "Thank you, Theodore - for all you have done."

A brief smile of gratitude illuminated her face, before she turned to address her hunched, still-hooded companion.

"Come – it is time we left."

There was a slight movement from within the folds of the hood, which the redhead took as a nod of assent.

Without a moment's hesitation, she pulled the sodden grey wool about her head once more, face set in resignation as she regarded the howling gale outside. Remaining in the warmth was a far more desirable prospect; but they could not afford to delay their departure any longer. Allowing Theodore and his lamp to pass by first, the women wordlessly followed the stable boy out into the storm once more.

Theodore valiantly shielded the lantern, clutching it to him like a prized talisman; all in vain, for a particularly strong gust of wind made short work of snuffing it out. A ripple of fear seemed to pass through the redheaded woman as the driveway plunged suddenly into complete blackness, reminding her, yet again, of the acute danger they faced.