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the roads?"
    Before Peter could answer, Stephen came into the kitchen, his boots in his hand, his hair tousled. "Peterl Are you all right? What happened?"
    'Talk on the way to the coach," James said quickly. "We've got to leave. The household will be up soon. Stephen, run quickly and hitch the buggy, and hide this somewhere." He thrust the torn, bloodied shirt and coat at Stephen. "Burn them later, every shred."
    Stephen paled and looked from the ragged garments to Peter. He nodded briskly. Donning his boots and flinging his coat over his shoulders, Stephen hurried from the house.
    James put on his coat and handed Peter another coat to wear. "Well meet Stephen out front. Can you walk steadily yet? Make an effort. Unless I miss my guess Frank will be watching from his window. It's best you look as normal as possible."

    Peter nodded, then said, "Pa, IVe got to see Rosalind first. I can't leave for London without telling her. Shell never believe I'm safe. . . . Shell be frightened unless she knows."
    James began to protest, then agreed. "No more than five minutes. We must be on that early stage. We take needless chances with every moment we tarry. And well be out of chances entirely if we miss that coach, Peter."
    With effort Peter walked up the stairs and into the bedroom he and Rosalind shared. He went to the bed and touched the side of her cheek. For a moment he let the tangle of her curls twist around his finger, then bent to kiss her. He watched as she patted the empty side of the bed, only half awake. Then her eyes opened wide, annoyance already in them. "Are you coming in or leaving again?" Her voice was deep and thick with sleep.
    "I'm going to London with Pa," he said softly. "I just wanted you to know."
    "You can't be serious. To London with your father? Cant he go alone?"
    Peter kissed her, his lips lingering on her cheek. "No. We're to fetch home a little orphan." He laughed softly, nibbling at her ear. "Will you miss me?"
    "I don't find you amusing, Peter. I want you to stay at home—with me."
    He leaned over, pulling her near with his good arm. Td like nothing better."
    "You'd be here then."
    He kissed her shoulder where her nightdress had slipped down, then tugged at it to expose her breast. "Be patient. Soon I'll be home so much you'll want to be rid of me. No more laborers, no rides, no—"
    "Oh, Godl The laborers again! Do you think I care

    about them? I hope they all rot in hell!" She shoved him, her hand pressing hard on his left shoulder.
    He winced and drew back.
    "You're hurt!" she whispered. "Why wont you give this up? I am so frightened. Oh, God, Peter . . . you haven't been arrested? They aren't downstairs waiting for you. Peter! Where are you going? It isn't London, is it?"
    James thumped from below with the handle of Meg's broom. Peter glanced at the floor, then at Rosalind. "I'm going to London with Pa, just as I told you. That's him. No magistrate, especially not Albert, is going to thump for me when he wants me."
    Rosalind put her hands over her face. Peter put her head against his chest and sat there holding her.
    The sound of James's thumping came again. Rosalind stiffened in Peter's arms. "Oh, dear God, I could hate you, Peter. Go. Go to London. Go. Leave me. You always leave me."
    "I'll bring you something nice. What would you like? Earrings?" He kissed her ear. "A necklace?"
    "Stop! I want you with me, that's all."
    "What? Surely this isn't my Rosalind refusing something new and pretty?"
    She did like pretty things, and she couldn't stop him from going. Years of longing for luxuries when she couldn't have them made her grasp for whatever came her way. She smiled at him. "Something pretty, but it must be real. I don't want anything made of paste or . . . or . . ."
    "That's more like it. Am I forgiven a little then?"
    She studied him for a moment and thought of the long hours she'd be alone and unsure, temptation her bedmate. "No," she said. "You're not forgiven, Peter, and don't forget that I