they would have tied her up tightly, then carried her to the place of execution.
But it was only a tiny beam. After all, they might be planning to take her to some deep dark woods or across a marsh, somewhere the carriage couldn’t go.
The two men didn’t speak to each other. Belle was facing the front of the carriage, Kent next to her, though he kept his distance from her, leaning against the window. He lit a pipe, but he appeared very tense, jerking when the carriage hit any bumps in the road.
His companion, sitting opposite her, was much more relaxed. He sat in the centre of the seat, knees wide apart, and seemed to ride with the bumps and swerves. It was too dark in the carriage to make out much detail about him, but she was sure she’d never seen him before. He had a swarthy appearance like a gypsy, with dark, frizzy hair and thick lips. He was wearing a greatcoat, the kind favoured by carriage men, and Belle could smell a strong, musty smell coming from it, as if it had been kept in a damp place.
Belle tried to work out when her mother and Mog would begin to worry about her being missing and how long it would be before they would start to search. She thought they’d just be angry when she wasn’t there when they got back from the funeral, but by eight or nine they would start to think something must have happened to her, and then they would start a search. Belle hoped someone might have noticed her being bundled into the carriage, but she didn’t remember seeing anyone around just before it happened, so that wasn’t likely.
Under the circumstances, would her mother tell the police who killed Millie? Perhaps, but that didn’t mean the police would know where to find him. She glanced sideways, and seeing his face in profile she thought she knew why they called him the Falcon, for his nose was like a hooked beak. She suspected he’d got the name for other reasons too, maybe the speed and ruthlessness he showed in going after his prey.
The journey went on and on and Belle grew so cold she felt she might just die of it even before the men attempted to kill her. All sounds of London had ceased a long while ago and all she could hear was the horses’ hooves and the wheels of the carriage, nothing else. It seemed as if she’d been travelling all night but she clearly hadn’t, for Kent pulled out his pocket watch and told his companion they should be there by nine that evening.
Belle had no idea how many miles it was from London to Kent or any other destination. Even if she had known, she couldn’t possibly have worked out what distance could be covered in four and a half hours by a team of four horses.
She was too frightened to feel hungry, but not only was she icy cold, she desperately needed to urinate. She didn’t dare mention this though, in case that was enough of an excuse for them to kill her and throw her out of the carriage.
Later Kent pulled up the window blind to look out. Belle could see nothing but inky darkness, not even a glimmer of a light to show that they were passing houses. But he appeared to know where they were, for a few minutes later the carriage slowed slightly and swung round sharply to the left on to what sounded like loose stones.
All the way here Belle had been tempted to ask what he was intending to do with her, but she was too scared to speak. Maybe it was best to keep silent anyway; Kent might hit her if she annoyed him.
‘I need to go,’ she finally blurted out in desperation. She didn’t know how ladies were supposed to tell men they needed to go to the lavatory. Back home the girls used the word piss, but Mog said that wasn’t a ladylike word.
‘We’ll be there soon,’ Kent said curtly.
About five minutes later the driver reined in the horses. The gypsyish-looking man got out first and beckoned to Belle that she was next. The rope between her two ankles wasn’t long enough for her to step down from the carriage, but he reached up, caught her by the waist and
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