When Richard and Gervase went to Exeter, I decided to walk to the village with some things for Mrs. Hoarty. I would miss her when I didn’t live here any more—she had been so kind to me over the years. She also provided a sanctuary for me when I was a child, letting me sit quietly with her instead of having to face the chaos of the manor.

I took a basket of flowers from our gardens, early crocuses and narcissi, so I was particularly keen to make speed so they should arrive fresh. I set myself quite a pace by the time I reached the main street.

People went about their business, and some of them wished me good day as I passed. I might never have gone away, except for the great ruby winking on my finger. Richard had done a great deal for my feeling of self worth, and I could hold my head high in any company these days, whereas before I would have shrunk to the background in my own drawing room. I wondered how I would have managed in polite society without his support, and supposed I would have been at the back there as well, too set in my ways to change.

Halfway along the long street, I passed a house where everybody knew smugglers lived. Most of the inhabitants had conventional positions in the farms or on the estates and lent a hand—for a price—on the nights when runs took place, but the people here belonged to the hard core of the gang, if at a humble level. The Cawntons had, however, not been foolish enough to employ these men when carrying out the beating Richard had broken up, but brought strangers in from another village to carry out the task, people I’d never seen before. Presumably, these men were called on when other inhabitants of other villages proved recalcitrant.

With an explosion of splintering wood, from the front door of the smuggler’s cottage burst a large man, one of the inhabitants of the cottage. He yelled and cursed, his meaty fists uplifted.

I crossed the street, but slowed to see what was going on before I became involved in the melée. I could have justified myself by claiming to be a member of one of the largest houses hereabouts, with a vested interest in seeing law and order was not breached, but in truth I was as curious as the next villager. I didn’t think to flee.

A second man backed out of the door, now only attached to its frame by one hinge, and deciding it was a mere drunken dispute, I decided to ignore it and pass by. That was until another figure advanced at a rush out of the same door.

When I recognised Tom Skerrit, I picked up my skirts, ran back across the street, and deposited my basket of flowers out of the way. Tom’s friend Theodore Livingstone and two brawny footmen followed him. They raced down the path after the first man, who promptly took to his toes.

“Tom!”

He hailed his hurtling pursuit, and spun around on his heel when he heard my voice.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Go home, Rose.”

Fury and haunting guilt shadowed his dark eyes. “Tom, leave them alone.”

“Someone has to pay for Fursey’s death. We can’t let that pass without some sort of warning.”

“But, Tom, don’t take these people on. For God’s sake, wait!” Tom had run off in pursuit. I hoped the man would get away, for everybody’s sake, but as the villagers and I watched, the first man reached him and lifted him off his feet. He yelled and fought while they hauled him back up the street.

I raced to where they had dragged him, hoping to remonstrate with them, perhaps shame them into stopping by my presence, but it was no good. The man stood, protecting his head with his arms, and they punched and kicked him, trying to drag him down to make him completely at their mercy. The blows landed with repetitive, dull thuds, followed by shouts to leave him alone before Cawnton saw to them. I didn’t care to have such villains in our village, but I didn’t see what good could come of this.

Such was the commotion my voice couldn’t be heard at all, and I knew if I tried to intervene, I would most likely be hurt.

I did the only thing I could think of that would help. I lifted my skirts and ran for home, thankful I wore comfortable clothes and sturdy shoes, the easier to run in.

I’d never reached the Manor so speedily before. When I reached the front of the house I was thankful to see James, mounted, on his way out by the side gate. “Rose, whatever is wrong? What’s happened?”

I leaned against the gatepost, pulling in breaths with great heaves. As soon as I could speak, I gasped, “James, Tom is in the village with Theo Livingstone and two servants. They’re beating the hell out of a villager. One of the smugglers. You must do something, please, James.”

James wheeled his horse around, calling to the grooms to mount quickly and follow him. Then he turned and called out to me, “Go inside. I’ll do what I can.”

Once I’d recovered my breath, I disobeyed him, and followed him back to the village, ignoring my aching feet. I passed my pattens on the way back, discarded in my mad dash to the house. The heavy overshoes had been hindering my speed, and I could easily survive wet feet. I was weary from the running, and had to slow down, only arriving at the village when it seemed to be all over.

The grooms passed me as I walked, but they didn’t stop