“Nothing,” I said, not realizing I had spoken aloud. “I was just thinking of my mother. I wish you’d had a chance to know her, Balthazar. She was a kind woman.”
Montgomery nodded beneath the wide brim of his hat. “When my own mother died, she took me aside after the funeral and said I would always have a place with the Moreau family. Beautiful and thoughtful. Just like you, Juliet.” Something caught his attention on the road ahead, and he frowned. “That’s odd. The main road to London continues to the left, but Valentina’s tracks go to the right.” He stopped the pony trap at the fork in the road. “It leads through Kielder Forest toward Brampton. Nowhere of significance.”
“Are you certain you’re following the right tracks?” I asked.
“As certain as I can be.” He cracked the reins, steering the horse in the direction of Kielder Forest.
Trees started to rise on either side, a dense forest filled with shadows. The ground was frozen solid, and we couldn’t make out her wheel tracks. I bit my lip, hoping that Montgomery’s skill as a tracker wouldn’t lead us astray.
After ten minutes of riding through the forest Balthazar sat up, on alert. “Ahead. I can smell the horse.”
Soon Montgomery and I made out the black dot on the horizon that Balthazar had sensed with his keen nose. Montgomery whipped the stallion faster.
“That’s Ballentyne’s hackney coach, all right,” Montgomery said. “She’s driving it like a madwoman. If she hasn’t yet spotted us, she will soon, but it doesn’t matter. There’s nowhere for her to go with the trees on either side. I’ll try to ride alongside her and knock her off the road. Juliet, keep that rifle ready, just in case.”
“I promised not to hurt her.”
“I didn’t,” he said.
He cracked the whip again and we gained more ground. Her coach bumped and jerked over holes in the road, moving so fast I expected it to tip at any moment.
“Get ready,” Montgomery said.
The road turned sharply ahead, hiding her from view for a few seconds. When we rounded the bend, suddenly she wasn’t there.
“Blast and damn!” Montgomery cursed.
I sat up, heart pounding. “There! She turned and drove deeper into the forest. There are pathways just wide enough for her to pass.”
“She’s mad,” Montgomery said. “The coach will never make it through those woods.”
He tugged on the reins as hard as he could to direct the stallion in between the trees. The pony trap bumped over roots and dips so hard, I had to hold on to the sides of the trap to keep from getting thrown out.
“Ride alongside her, if you can!” I yelled.
“The path isn’t wide enough,” Montgomery answered. Soon we were close enough that I could see her dark hair whipping in the wind.
“Valentina, stop the coach!” I yelled. She tossed me a look of pure hatred before we were separated by a stand of trees. Balthazar had to duck to narrowly avoid a low branch. We passed the trees and I could see her again. “Valentina, stop and we can talk about this.”
“I wanted Ballentyne!” she yelled. “I planned for years to get into Elizabeth’s good graces. I was fifteen years old, an orphan, when I first overheard actors talking about her at a fair. A woman who lived as free as a man, and could perform miracles without witchcraft, and who would teach girls anything they wanted to know—but only girls with deformities. I knew that was the life I wanted. I did whatever I had to.” She held up one of her hands, gloveless despite the cold, so porcelain white against the dark skin of her wrist. Bile rose up my throat as I started to comprehend what she was saying.
“Don’t you understand, you spoiled girl? I cut off my own hands to gain admittance to Ballentyne. I did the left one myself, paid a man to do the other.” She whipped the horse harder. “I sacrificed everything; then you came along and ruined it!”
“It wasn’t my fault!” I yelled back.
“Yes it is, and I’ll see you in jail for it!”
I shrieked as another tree blocked our path, and Montgomery narrowly steered us out of the way. Valentina wasn’t as lucky, nor was she as good a driver. She saw the tree too late. Her horse leaped out of the way, but the back of the lumbering coach clipped it, and a wheel spun off. The entire hackney coach went smashing to the ground, freeing the horse, which took off wildly into the trees with half the harness still around its neck. The rest of the carriage went hurtling at incredible speed. Screams filled the air—Valentina’s and my own, as I watched in horror.
Her coach slammed into another tree. The rear end tipped over, flipping once, then twice. The sound of splintering wood ricocheted through the forest. I gasped. Time seemed to move too fast. There was nothing any of us could do to stop it. I caught a glimpse of her dark hair as she was thrown from the coach, her porcelain white hands desperately reaching for something to stop her but finding nothing.
The coach shattered against a tree.
I knew I’d hear the echo of that crash for years to come.
SIXTEEN