In her room she unpinned her hat and then rang the bell for Ellen. As she pulled off her gloves she saw that the left-hand one was split, probably from where she’d clenched her fists at Clemency. Rosa sighed, thinking of what Mama would say when she found new kid gloves on her bill at the milliner’s. The bill for the riding habit was going to be painful enough. She glanced guiltily at the doorway and then muttered a spell under her breath.

‘You rang, Miss Rosamund?’ Ellen’s voice cut across her whisper. Rosa jumped convulsively and put the gloves behind her back, but the rent had already begun to knit.

‘Oh! Ellen, thank you. That was quick.’ Her face flamed. She could see it in the mirror, the pink flush of her cheeks clashing horribly with her dark-red hair. Every thought had gone out of her head, except for the guilty knowledge of that tear, mending itself behind her back. Please God Ellen didn’t ask her what she was holding . . .

‘Yes, miss?’ Ellen repeated, a trifle impatiently. She’d probably been in the middle of fetching something for Mama. Rosa took a breath.

‘Oh, um. Could you . . . I’m about to dress for dinner. Could you bring me up some hot water and I’ll ring the bell to be laced in about twenty minutes?’

‘Yes, Miss.’

‘Oh, and for tomorrow . . .’ Her heart gave a little leap against her ribs, a half-thrilling, half-sickening feeling, like taking a fence too fast and seeing the ditch on the other side a hoof-beat too late. ‘Tomorrow the dressmaker is sending across my new habit. Would you tell Fred Welling to look out the side-saddle?’

‘I’m sorry, Miss Rosa, but Fred’s not here.’

‘Not here? What do you mean?’

‘He’s broken his arm and collarbone, miss. Set upon by footpads.’

‘Footpads!’ Rosa almost laughed, it sounded so melodramatic. Then she recollected herself. It wasn’t as though footpads were unheard of in London. Why, Alexis had been set upon and beaten crossing the Heath one night. It was only a swift (and extremely illegal) spell which had saved his purse and probably his life. And Fred would have had no such resources to fall back on. ‘I’m very sorry. Poor Fred. Will he be all right?’

‘I dare say, Miss Rosa.’ Ellen tossed her head, and Rosa remembered that Ellen was said to be sweet on Fred, and that they walked out together sometimes on Ellen’s afternoon off. ‘But he can’t manage the horses until the bones have set.’

‘So – so what will happen?’

‘I don’t know,’ Ellen said, and for all her worry about Fred, there was something a little pleasurable in the way she said it, relishing the drama. ‘I’m sure I don’t know. Fred says he has a cousin who wants to be a stableboy or something – some lad from Spitalfields, I heard tell. We’ll all be murdered in our beds, I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘Ellen!’ Rosa snorted. She unpinned her hair and began to brush out the plaits. ‘Don’t be so melodramatic. Nobody will be murdered. Spitalfields or not, I’m sure his cousin will be a thoroughly nice boy and look after the horses very well. And as long as he’s kind to Cherry and can put on a side-saddle, I really don’t care where he was born.’

5

‘I’ll have the law on you!’

A man, red with anger, burst into the forge. His arm was bound up in a sling. The door banged against the wall with a sound like a gunshot as he entered and William looked up, his face drenched with sweat from the fire.

‘Are you Luke Lexton?’ the man demanded.

‘No, I’m his uncle.’ William set the hammer to one side and nodded at Luke, where he stood working the bellows, the sweat running down the hollows of his chest and pooling at the waistband of his shirt. ‘That’s him. Luke, leave the bellows be for a moment and come here.’

Luke stopped pumping and wiped his arm across his forehead.

‘So you’re Luke Lexton?’ The red-faced man looked Luke up and down, sizing him up, and seemed to subside a little. Luke was not a fighter, but he’d been hammering metal and pumping the bellows since the age of twelve, and he had the muscles of one. He also had a good eight or ten inches on the red-faced man.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘What of it?’

‘I’ll have the law on you,’ the red-faced man said stubbornly. ‘He never said nothing about breaking it for real. Nothing was said about that.’

‘Oh for gawd’s sakes, man,’ William spoke impatiently. ‘What did you think they’d do? Did you think your mistress would take your word for it that you felt a little poorly and send you off with calf’s foot jelly and her good wishes on your word as a gentleman? Don’t be soft! Of course they had to break it – you can’t fake a broken arm, nor a mugging neither. But here, I’ve got your purse.’ And he flung a shabby purse of money across the smithy. The man caught it awkwardly with his good hand.

‘I shall count it!’ he said defiantly. ‘I shall count every last penny and if there’s but one missing—’

‘Yes, yes, you’ll have the law on us,’ William finished testily. ‘Listen, lad, you were paid well for this. What did you think our six guineas was buying? And John Leadingham could’ve broken your arm without your leave – and where would you have been then? Still out of a job for the time being and not one guinea the better for it.’

Six guineas? Luke felt almost sick as the man opened the purse and peered inside, picking over the coins. Six guineas! That was – that was more money than he’d make in a month of Sundays, as an apprentice. Enough to feed Minna and her whole family for a year. How had they got such a sum? He thought of the good Brothers of the Malleus, pinching and scraping, and the weight of it pressed down on him until he felt near faint with it.

The man pulled out a coin and bit it. Then he closed the purse with a snap.

‘It’s my good word’ll get your man in there,’ he said sulkily. ‘And I could still withhold it.’

‘You do that,’ William said dangerously, ‘and you’ll find that other arm broken, and maybe your legs too, and there will be no money to pay for either. Understood?’

‘What’s going on?’ Luke asked, looking from the purse to William, and then back to the little man.

‘What? Doesn’t he know?’ the man said, jerking his head at Luke. He began to laugh. ‘What kind of a green ’un are you sending in there?’

‘He knows enough,’ William said. ‘More than you do, which is not to say much.’

‘Oi, you, I’ll have none of that. Not when I’ve had my arm broken for your precious nephew’s convenience. I’m Fred Welling. I am – I was – groom for the Greenwoods. No more, thanks to you and your mates. Six guineas they promised me, “You’ll be laid off for a month,” they said, “That’s all it’ll take,” they said. “We’ll arrange everything, all expenses paid. All you need do is recommend our man, no questions asked.” Nothing was said about breaking arms.’

‘It’ll heal,’ William grunted. He began hammering again, the blows ringing out like clear chimes in the evening air.

‘What if it heals crooked? Or short?’

‘It was a clean break and it’s only an arm,’ William said shortly between blows. ‘It won’t stop you riding or tending the horses.’

‘How many horses?’ Luke asked. Something shivered inside him. Was it fear? Or excitement that at last his task was to begin?

‘Four,’ the man said grumpily. Then he seemed to soften. ‘Two hacks for the carriage, fit mostly for cats’ meat. A nice Arab for Mr Alexis, name of Brimstone. And a pretty little strawberry roan called Cherry. She belongs to the daughter, Miss Rosamund – Rosa, they call her.’

Rosamund Greenwood. He shut his eyes, picturing her: a spoilt society bitch, one who’d never found a thing that couldn’t be bought by money or magic, or some combination of the two.

‘What’s she like?’ His voice was hoarse, almost to the point of being inaudible, and he swallowed and repeated. ‘The girl, what’s she like?’

‘Pretty. A redhead, like her horse.’ Welling gave a grin. ‘Aye, she’s a pretty lass.’

‘Pretty? Do you know what she is?’ Luke asked incredulously. A small spark of fury kindled in his chest and he felt anger begin to smoulder there.

‘Leave it.’ His uncle’s voice came across the forge. ‘Leave it, Luke.’

‘What she is?’ Welling looked from one to another as if he’d suddenly divined something was going on under the surface. ‘What do you mean, what she is? I thought you was casing the place for a robbery or something. What’s really going on?’

‘Never you mind.’ William was across the forge in three strides. ‘You’ve made a mistake by coming here. The agreement was we sent the purse, not that you come for it. Get out.’

The man didn’t move, he just stood, looking from one to the other. Then, as William raised his hammer, he shrugged and sauntered across the yard. At the door he stopped, spat on the ground and left.

As his footsteps faded down the lane, Luke felt all the anger go out of him and he let out a great shuddering breath.

‘Idiot,’ William grunted. ‘Coming here, whining about his arm.’

‘They broke his arm?’ Luke said. ‘Who?’

‘Who d’you think? One of the Brothers. Hey—!’ He held up a hand. ‘Don’t give me that look, Luke. He was well paid, and whatever he thought was going on, he must have known you don’t earn six guineas just by taking the odd sick day. It’s half a year’s wages for him. It had to look real, it had to be real, for his sake and yours.’

‘Six guineas.’ Luke felt the sickness rise in him again as he thought of the enormous responsibility of that sum. ‘Where did they get money like that?’

‘Never you mind. That’s for John to worry about.’

‘And so, what – I’ve got a position as a groom?’