Cavendon Hall. Barbara Bradford Taylor

image of her assault in the woods last week. These were their woods, and she would not avoid them, even if she had to grit her teeth to forget her ordeal. But she would put it behind her. It wouldn’t happen again, she was certain of that. Their land would now be patrolled regularly by their own men, thanks to the Swanns.

      As she trotted along the path behind DeLacy, enjoying the shade created by the overhanging branches of the trees, Daphne noticed that her lovely heron was back. It was standing in the pool of water in the middle of the woods, and it brought a brief smile to her face. It had found a home, she decided.

      Unexpectedly, she caught sight of Walter’s brother, Percy, who was head gamekeeper at Cavendon. She saw her father beckoning him over, and Percy started to run. Then he stood talking to the Earl for a few moments before he hurried off.

      Suddenly, in the distance, there was the sound of gunfire. Shots rang out, startling them all, especially the horses. Greensleeves snorted and reared up on her hind legs, tossed her head, frightened by the sudden noise. Daphne tightened the reins, tried to calm her, to gain control of her. Somehow she managed it. And then she saw, much to her horror, that Julian’s horse had not only panicked but bolted.

      It was galloping down the bridle path, hell for leather, obviously totally spooked by the rifle fire. And then she filled with fear as she saw Julian thrown off his horse. He landed heavily, hit a large boulder, rolled over onto his back, and lay still.

      Daphne noticed that the other horses were in the same state of great agitation, pawing, tossing their heads, and rearing up. DeLacy was still struggling with Dreamer, trying to calm her. But finally her father had his stallion Blackstar under control, much to Daphne’s relief.

      Julian’s horse ran on, galloping down the bridle path, still a terrified animal.

      DeLacy and Daphne galloped forward. As they drew closer to Julian they reined in their horses, and jumped to the ground. Their father was running towards Julian, where he lay unmoving on the ground. He was obviously badly hurt.

      Only Madge remained on her horse, frozen by shock and fear, and unable to move a muscle. She had lost all colour, her eyes wide with horror.

      Glancing around, DeLacy asked no one in particular, ‘Where did those shots come from?’ And then she went to join her father, who was kneeling next to Julian.

      The Earl shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea, DeLacy. But we never have guns out at this time of year.’ He felt Julian’s pulse. It was faint but it was there. The young man was deathly white, and Charles noticed that the gash on his forehead was deep, bloody. His eyes were closed; blood was splattered on his fair hair. He was still, very still indeed, hardly breathing. Charles was filled with fear for the young man. The fall had been bad, awkward, and his legs were skewed, looked as if they were broken.

      Percy Swann was suddenly back with them, panting from running hard. ‘Our lads weren’t shooting, m’lord. None of our men have guns out here. I’m not sure where those shots came from, m’lord.’

      ‘Torbett land,’ Daphne interjected, certainty ringing in her voice. Half turning, she pointed behind her. ‘Definitely back there.’ She couldn’t help thinking it was Richard Torbett, up to his tricks. Then she looked down at Julian, and was struck by his total inertness, his extreme pallor. She was afraid for him. She knew he was in a bad way. Her chest tightened, and anxiety flared in her as she wondered if he would recover. She doubted it. He looked so … damaged. He lay there like a broken doll.

      The Earl said, ‘I don’t think we should move Mr Julian, Swann. Or carry him away. It could be dangerous to do so. He’s lying in a funny way. His neck could be broken, or his spine. If I remember correctly, don’t we have some sort of makeshift stretcher at Cavendon?’

      ‘We do, Lord Mowbray. It was made for Sir Redvers Andrews, when he had a heart attack on the grouse moor last August. And it’s still there in the cellars, as far as I know. I can get it, m’lord, and be back in a few minutes with some of the woodsmen.’

      ‘Thank you, Swann. Have Hanson make a phone call to Dr Shawcross. He should tell the doctor we need an ambulance. Mr Torbett will have to be taken to hospital. Harrogate’s the nearest.’

      ‘Right-o, m’lord,’ Percy answered, and began to move away.

      Daphne said, ‘Papa, Swann should take my horse, it’s faster riding than running, surely.’

      ‘Good idea, Daphne. Take Her Ladyship’s horse, Swann,’ the Earl said.

      DeLacy was kneeling on the ground next to her father, and she now asked in a concerned tone, ‘Do you think Julian is going to die, Papa?’ She thought he might actually be dead already, but didn’t dare say that out loud.

      ‘I’ve absolutely no idea. I pray to God not. He took a terrible, very hard fall. He must have damaged his spine, and he must have a bad head injury. Look at all the blood on the grass. He’s certainly unconscious.’

      ‘I know,’ DeLacy said. As her sister spoke, Daphne walked back to Madge. She knew she must offer some sort of comfort to the young woman, who was still sitting on her horse, as if frozen in place. She was like a statue. Her face was the colour of chalk, and looked unnatural. It was stark against her vivid auburn hair.