recognize my own brother on a night like this. But I shall be right here, ma'am, only a few yards from you. He said to tell you it was about passing a new law guaranteeing freedom of conscience.'
Freedom of conscience? Could something she had said have touched Garnet Royce after all?
She stepped out, taking Forbes's hand and steadying herself on the ice-glazed pavement. She saw the figure dimly, only a few feet away. It was Garnet Royce, muffled up against the bitter night. He must have relented as soon as she had left, and followed her carriage; they had traveled at no more than walking pace.
'I'm sorry,' he said immediately. 'I realize I misjudged you. Your motives were not selfish, as I presumed. If I might have a moment of your time . . . ?' He took a step away from the carriage to be out of earshot of Forbes and the coachman.
She followed, understanding his desire for privacy. It was a highly delicate matter.
' 'I was too zealous, I confess. I treated Naomi as if she were a child. You are right. An adult woman, whether married or single, should have the freedom to follow her conscience and to embrace whatever religious teaching she will.''
' 'You mentioned a law?'' Could it be that after all something good would come of this? 'Could such a law be framed?'
'I don't know,' he said so softly she was obliged to move closer to hear him. 'But I am certainly in a position to discover what can be done, and to introduce such a bill. If you would tell me what you think would be of benefit to all woman, and yet still keep order and protect the weak and the ignorant from exploitation. It is not easy.'
She thought about it, trying frantically to come up with some sensible answer. A law? She had never thought of legal means. And yet he was very serious, his eyes with their clear silver-blue irises were bright in the triple lamplight and the
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halo of the fog. She could barely see even the outline of the carriage.
She looked back at him, and it was then she saw the sudden change in his expression, the gleam of passion as his lips twisted back from his teeth and his arm darted forward, his black-gloved hand clamping over her lips before she could cry out. She was being pushed backwards towards the balustrade and the long drop to the river!
She kicked as hard as she could, but it was useless. She tried to bite and only bruised her mouth. The balustrade was digging into her back. In a moment she would be lifted over and thrown into the void, then the freezing water would close over her, and darkness, and her lungs would fill to bursting. No one would survive the river tonight.
She swung her other hand round and jabbed for his eyes with outstretched fingers. There was a stifled yell of pain, muffled by the fog. He lunged forward to strike her but his feet gave way on the ice, and for a desperate second he hung on the balustrade, arms and legs flailing. Then, like a wounded bird, he went over and dropped into the long chasm of the night and the river. She did not even hear the splash as the water received him; the fog drowned it in choking silence.
She stood leaning on the rail, sick and shaking. The sweat of a few moments ago was now freezing on her skin. She felt too weak with fear and guilt even to stand without support.
'Ma'am!'
She stood rigid, not even breathing.
'Ma'am? Are you all right?'
It was Forbes, looming up, invisible until he was almost on top of her.
'Yes.' Her voice sounded thin, unrecognizable.
'Are you sure, ma'am? You look . . . unwell. Did the gentleman-trouble you? If he did-'
'No!' She swallowed hard. There seemed to be an ob 310
struction in her throat, and her knees were wobbling so, she feared to walk. How could she explain what happened? Would they think she had pushed him over, murdered him? Who would believe her? And what was she guilty of anyway? Would they believe she had not tried after all to blackmail him, and pushed him over the bridge when he had threatened to expose her to the police?
