The Reluctant Escort. Mary Nichols

retracing the route they had covered that morning, meeting a little traffic—a coach or two, several loaded haycarts, people on horseback and on foot—but not the curricle.

      ‘Where are we going now?’ she asked him when he’d returned from questioning the innkeeper at the Crosskeys and been told his friend had not returned there.

      ‘To his home. We’ll find out if he reached it.’

      ‘How far is that?’

      ‘An hour’s ride. Are you tired? Do you want to rest?’

      ‘No. I can keep up, never fear.’

      They had been riding for perhaps an hour and were passing through a wooded area, when they came upon the curricle. It was tipped on its side in the ditch beside the road and there was evidence of a struggle, but of Frank or Martha there was no sign. Nor could they find the horse, though they stopped and searched the area.