The Marriage Rescue. Joanna Johnson

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      ‘You didn’t do this for Ophelia.’

      He gestured across the camp, catching glimpses of the damage as he turned. Cooking pots and blankets lay strewn across the ground, evidently kicked about by heavy boots, and more than one lantern had been hurled down to burst into shards of glass. The caravans had fared better than he had feared, at least. The half-hour it had taken for Selina to return with him hadn’t left the men enough time to destroy any of them, although several now bore the marks of savage blows to their wooden walls.

      ‘Not for her. You did it because you wanted to.’

      It was an ugly truth, Edward knew, but a truth nonetheless. He’d heard tales of abuse before, from the Roma boys he had played with as a child, when their easy laughter and unselfconscious warmth had seemed poles apart from the stiff propriety of playmates in his own class and their welcome of him had left a permanent impression of their decency.

      There was no basis for this mistreatment—no justification at all. But folk inherited their intolerances from their fathers, as had their fathers before them, and prejudice was passed down through generations to rest in the hearts of men such as Harris and Milton—men with little power of their own, whose low social standing fanned the flames of their desire to find someone, anyone, they perceived to be worth less than themselves to bear the brunt of their frustrations.

      He surveyed the men surrounding him, taking in their various attempts at contrite expressions, and felt his rage renew its vigour. He could dismiss them—throw them off his land just as they had wanted to drive off the Romani—but they had wives who had committed no crime other than making a dubious choice of husband, and children, too, reliant on their fathers’ employment for survival. To remove the men from his service would be to punish their families, some of whom had served the Blackwell estate for generations, and he felt a twinge of conscience at the thought of that.

       Damn it all. These animals should count their blessings.

      He looked down at them, his face set in an expression of grim dislike. ‘I have decided on this occasion to let you off with a warning. Make no mistake, however,’ Edward went on. ‘I will not tolerate this kind of behaviour on my property. If I hear anything of this nature has happened again, next time I will not be so lenient.’

      The light of their torches illuminated the men’s faces, each sagging with relief.

      Only Milton looked mutinous, and Edward raised a challenging eyebrow. ‘Something troubles you?’

      ‘No, sir.’ Milton shook his head quickly, although resentment gleamed dully in his sunken eyes. ‘Thank you for your kindness, sir.’

      ‘Very well.’ Edward nodded his head in the vague direction of where the estate workers’ cottages lay. ‘You may all return home now, to reflect upon what I have said.’

      The men slunk off, dogs creeping at their heels. No doubt to tell their wives of Squire Fulbrooke’s unfair and malicious treatment of his well-intentioned, faithful servants, Edward imagined. He snorted as he watched them go, slouching away between the trees. It was almost an anti-climax, how easily he had been able to intervene. They were cowards indeed.

      Long grass knotted about his boots as he fought his way back up the bank and through the line of trees to where Selina waited, a silent shape at the base of an ancient tree.

      ‘Mr Fulbrooke!’ She leapt to her feet when she saw him coming, one hand at her throat and the other on the tree’s trunk to steady herself. ‘What happened? Is the camp—?’

      ‘Do not fear.’

      Edward could hardly keep himself from reaching out to touch her shaking hand. She looked as though she might faint, he noted in alarm. Not that he would blame her if she did. She’d had the most terrible experience, and if anything he was rather impressed by how well she’d handled it.

      The notion almost made him frown. ‘The men have gone and your camp is safe.’

      ‘Gone? Safe?’

      Edward looked at Selina a little more closely. Pale and beautiful in the soft light of the moon, she appeared to be swaying now. ‘You look a little faint. Here, take my arm. We can walk together.’

      ‘No.’ Selina shook her head wildly. ‘I’ll ride—it’ll be quicker. I have to get back now.’

      ‘You’re in no fit state to ride anywhere. Let me help you. You’re no use to anybody unconscious.’

      ‘But Djali—’

      ‘Will follow us, I’m sure. Now, come. Take my arm.’

      She hesitated, suspicion sparking in her eyes once more. Edward sighed, supressing a flicker of irritation. Mistrustful as a feral cat.

      ‘Miss Agres. I have risen in the middle of the night, ridden for miles and dispersed a mob—all in the name of your safety. Do you really think it likely that I undertook all that only to lunge at you on the pretence of offering my arm?’

      Selina’s eyes flashed, and she opened her mouth to reply before evidently thinking better of it. She took a shaky step forward and, with the air of one with a gun to her head, slipped her hand beneath his arm and gripped tightly.

      It was a warm little hand, Edward noted with a jolt of surprise. The night was chill, but the patch of forearm covered by her palm suddenly didn’t seem cold at all. It was an unexpectedly pleasant sensation. Usually having a woman on his arm felt intrusive, but Selina’s touch, although firm, was not invasive.

      He wondered for a moment at how it was that her grasp was so much more bearable than anybody else’s had ever been. If he were to be honest with himself, it was more than merely bearable... At the first touch of her fingers he’d felt a sharp pulse of something unexpected shoot through him—a bewilderingly quick nameless rush that had caused him to frown in surprise. He glanced down at Selina, searching her face for any indication that she had felt a similar sensation, but she studiously avoided his gaze, the faintest suggestion of a blush colouring her cheeks.

      ‘Can we go now, please, Mr Fulbrooke?’

      Edward smothered a smile at the careful politeness of her tone. ‘Of course. Watch your step.’

      The slight pressure of her hand on his arm was the only way Edward knew she walked beside him. Her steps were almost silent, graceful as any wild animal.

      It was only a short distance to walk: down a small slope, through a band of trees and then out into the secluded meadow that Selina’s Roma community had thought so safe.

      Edward surveyed the scene in front of him. Fires had been lit in his absence, their orange tongues dancing in the night air, and a group of women stood to one side, conversing in low voices that flared with both sorrow and relief. Among them a young girl was singing softly in a tongue Edward didn’t recognise, gently rocking a baby on her hip. An old man, bent almost double with age, seemed to be tending to an injured horse, while a small boy carefully swept up a heap of spilled oats from an upended sack. Another cluster of women were gathered around one of the caravans, its painted sides still gleaming cherry-red in the firelight but heavily dented by brute force.

      He approached cautiously. Despite Selina’s presence at his side he could almost feel the cold stares of the women upon him, their fear and uncertainty palpable.

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