Dad laughed, then halfway through the laughter turned into excruciating weeping. For the millionth time Abi cursed herself for talking them into applying to Kyneston. If it weren’t for her, they would all have been in Millmoor: underfed, poorly housed, bored out of their minds – and together.
Jenner came back just after lunch and led the four of them to the wall, where the Young Master was waiting on his black horse. The gate shimmered into existence. Abi hated that its appearance was every bit as miraculous as it had been the first time. There was a car visible on the other side, another silver-grey Labour Allocation Bureau vehicle.
The gate swung open. Four of them walked up to it, but only three walked through. Daisy stood and waved, Libby Jardine cradled to her chest in a harness. Then, just like that, the gate was gone and so was she. Kyneston’s wall stretched away, an unbroken and unbreachable barrier, furred with moss and glowing faintly with Skill-light.
‘You’ve not got much,’ said the driver, as Abi tossed her half-empty duffel into the boot on top of Mum and Dad’s bags.
‘I know how the slavetowns work,’ said Abi. ‘My brother was at Millmoor. They don’t let you take much in.’
She slid into the back seat of the car, Mum beside her, Dad up front. The driver tried to make small talk for the first few minutes, then gave up on them all. Abi watched the roads as the car turned. They’d be cutting west across to Bristol, then north up the M5 all the way to Manchester – and Millmoor.
She shoved her hands into her coat pockets, willing down the queasiness in her stomach.
‘I’m sorry,’ she blurted, a short while after. ‘I don’t travel well. I think I’m going to be sick.’
‘What?’ the driver looked over his shoulder and scowled.
‘Those trees over there. Please.’ Abi put a hand up to her mouth to cover a hiccup. ‘Can you pull over?’
She didn’t dare do more than squeeze Mum’s fingers as she got out, leaving the door open.
She moved a short way into the trees, turning her back on the car and doubling over. Her retching sounds would be plainly audible. She coughed, and moved a little deeper into the woods.
Then once she was out of sight, she took off at a sprint.
The map in her pocket batted against her leg as she ran. The map she’d taken from the Family Office, and studied as she walked back to the cottage by herself. She knew exactly where she was. Just a short way from here was a small A-road that led west, down to Exeter. Someone would stop quickly for a teenage girl on her own.
From there she’d get a train to Penzance, the last city in the south-western tip of England. All the money she could possibly need was zipped into her coat. She’d emptied the office petty cash box, and needless to say the Jardines’ idea of a float was more than most people earned in a month.
She could buy a change of clothing, or hair dye. It’d be wise to change her appearance, as alerts about her fugitive status would go out soon. On her side was the fact that they’d have no idea where she was headed. They’d probably guess Manchester. Or maybe even Scotland.
From Penzance she could get a ferry. Or a helicopter. Or talk or bribe her way onto a fishing boat or yacht.
She could be in the Scillies by the day’s end. Nestled at the heart of the archipelago was an island estate. An estate that belonged to the only people who might help rescue her brother: Lady Armeria Tresco and her now Skilless son and heir, Meilyr.
Abi ran on. She intended to be at Highwithel by nightfall.