Salvation by Harriet Steel Page A

she and Bess met Fiddler leaving the house as they returned from a visit to market, the way Bess hunched her shoulders and turned away like a whipped dog told its own story.
    In June, the weather turned dull and wet. Edward left for the market at Dorchester and Meg was alone with only the servants for company. When two days of foul weather confined her to the house, her spirits sank to their lowest ebb. In her small parlour, she listened to the steady drumbeat of the rain on the windowpanes and thought of Tom. It couldn’t be true that he was a murderer. He would never commit such a terrible crime.
    But then why had he left Salisbury? Was it because he knew he would be charged or was there some other reason? And what was he doing now? If he still loved her, couldn’t he have found some way of sending a message to tell her where he was? Surely if he had been arrested, Edward would have mentioned it? Perhaps he was already forgetting her and making a new life.
    Tears filled her eyes and she felt ashamed of her angry resentment. If they could not be together, was it not far better that he was happy without her? But it was so hard to give up her dreams.
    A mud-caked messenger came from Edward to tell her he would be delayed a week. A flooded river had prevented him visiting some land he planned to buy and he intended to wait until the difficulty was past. Wryly, Meg reflected that even her mother’s company might have been better than this loneliness, but Anne Bailey claimed to suffer from a weakness of the chest and never ventured abroad unless the sun shone.
    On the third day, to Meg’s relief, strong winds drove the rain away to the west. The morning was blustery, but by afternoon, soft breezes and azure skies returned. Filled with a longing for fresh air, she changed her pretty slippers for riding boots and fastened a cloak over her dress. Bess had gone to help in the kitchens for the afternoon and she left her there. What harm could there be in riding out alone? She would not go far, and besides, uncharitable as she felt for thinking it, Bess’s glum face would do nothing to lift her spirits.
    ‘Shall I come with you, m’lady?’ the groom asked when she ordered him to saddle her chestnut mare, Spirit.
    ‘No, I prefer to ride alone today.’
    His brow furrowed. ‘Master Stuckton wouldn ’t like it, m’lady.’
    ‘Master Stuckton is not here, and he would like it even less if you disobeyed me,’ she snapped. Grumbling, the man disappeared to fetch the mare.
    Confined too by the rain, Spirit backed and skittered as the groom tacked her up, her eyes rolling.
    Meg caught the bridle and stroked the mare’s velvety muzzle. ‘Hush, you want to be off but be patient; we shall be soon.’ The groom tightened the girth and led the mare to the mounting block. Sat side saddle, Meg gathered up the reins then waited while he adjusted the stirrups and handed her the whip.
    ‘Don’t look so anxious, Gabriel, I shall be perfectly safe. I’ve ridden since I was a child, you know.’
    ‘But the ground is treacherous after so much rain, my lady.’
    ‘Then I promise I shan’t go far,’ she smiled and, touching the whip to Spirit’s flank, she trotted away.
    It was glorious to be free of the house. She rode towards the city, admiring how the mellow stone of the cathedral glowed in the sunshine. In New Street, she cast a wistful glance at Kemp’s house as she passed by, then urged Spirit on again to cross the river at Crane Street Bridge. The water gurgled along under the arches, its swift-flowing current smoothing out long, emerald skeins of water weed.
    The road became a track that led out into open meadows. As she urged Spirit into a gallop, the wind smacked colour into Meg’s cheeks. In the old days, she and Tom had ridden together like this without a care in the world, sure of what the future held for them. For a few moments, exhilarated by speed, she forgot everything that had happened since, but then cold reality