Refuge by Kirsty Ferry

that you understand and only then shall I help you.’
                    ‘I understand perfectly,’ she said. ‘I have no choice. This way – your way – I can be free. I can disappear and leave them all. How long will it take?’ She searched his face anxiously.
                    ‘A matter of seconds,’ he said, taking hold of her shoulders. ‘Then when they find you, you will no longer be of concern to them.’
                    ‘What will happen?’ she asked slowly. The sounds of the horses’ hooves were coming closer. ‘Will you come and get me afterwards?’
                    ‘They have to see you – they have to believe. Then, once they are satisfied justice has been done, I would imagine they will leave you alone. When they return,’ he shrugged, ‘you will be gone.’
                    Genevieve fingered the gun and looked at the man before her. ‘Do it,’ she said again. He held his hand out and she passed the gun to him.
                    Swift as lightning, Montgomery leaned into Genevieve. If anyone had witnessed it, he would have appeared to have been kissing her. The girl let out one gasping scream and slumped forwards, her eyes closed. The man caught her and laid her gently on an old, box-like tomb. Then he raised the gun and shot her through the heart.
    ***
    There was blood, of course, a lot of blood. When they found her, the gun was in her hand, her fingers loosely curled around the trigger; a clear case of murder-suicide. The girl had been unbalanced, they knew that. Her family had made that obvious and her recent behaviour had proved it. They stood over her body, wondering what to do. She was evil, a murderess. There was no motive except her insanity.
    One of the men stared at her and shook his head. ‘We’re too late,’ he said. ‘We have to go back and tell the Master. Do we take her with us?’
                    Another man looked at him in horror. ‘Take that back to the Master?’ he said, indicating the bloodied body. ‘No. We tell him what we saw. Then he can come down here himself if he wants to see it. Do we tell her family?’
                    ‘No. We tell our Master first,’ said another. ‘He’s the one that needs to know.’ They took a last look at Genevieve de Havilland. ‘God only knows what evil was hiding behind that face,’ muttered the first man. ‘Come on. We should go.’ They turned and mounted their horses again, urging the animals away from the chapel, back towards Hartside.
    ***
    Montgomery came out from behind the pillar where he had been standing. Nobody had realised he was there; that was one benefit, he thought, of a half-life such as his. He could fool them into thinking he was invisible at times. He walked over to Veva and leaned over her. He pushed her hair back and studied the two deep marks in her neck. Blood had poured down from the gash where he had severed her jugular, soaking the front of her dress and, mingled with the mess of the bullet wound in her chest; a layman might assume that the blood all came from the bullet wound. He stood up and lifted the girl gently in his arms. He wouldn’t have to wait long before she was with him again, but she was a wild one, no doubt about it. A gust of wind blew down the moor and snow began to fall from the heavy clouds above; he didn’t feel any of it. He half smiled again. He didn’t envy her brother when she woke up.
    ***
    There was a cottage on the moors, an abandoned, estate-worker’s cottage hidden behind a small clump of trees. It was fairly dry inside. Montgomery didn’t care about heat or warmth; Veva wouldn’t either, when she woke up. He shouldered the door open and walked inside. There were two rooms which led off from a small, stone passageway. Montgomery went into the room on the right and laid the girl down on the one remaining wooden bench by the inglenook