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Mr…?’
    ‘Cannadine’s the name. Won’t you at least have a look at the fox? People tell me it is remarkably true to life.’
    Mr Cannadine put the reins in his other hand and started to pull off the other glove. Cora could see the red nose of the fox peering out from the man’s sleeve.
    ‘I’m sure it is, Mr Cannadine, but perhaps some other time, I don’t want to lose the scent.’
    Cannadine looked downcast. ‘Giving me the brush-off, eh? People say the fox is worthy of Landseer. Don’t show it to everyone, of course. But don’t often see a gel who can ride like you.’ He let go of Lincoln’s reins to put his glove back on and Cora took the opportunity to pick them up and pull the horse’s head up.
    ‘So nice to have met you, Mr Cannadine.’ And she dug her heels into Lincoln’s side so that the horse went straight into a canter. Cora heard Mr Cannadine shouting as he set off after her.
    The hunt was approaching a spinney. Mr Cannadine veered left after the rest of the pack, so Cora took her chance and turned right. She had no desire to see any more of Mr Cannadine’s fox. If she went round the wood from the other side she would lose him.
    It was a handsome beech wood, the trees were mostly bare but the lower branches were hung with mistletoe and ivy. A pheasant suddenly shot up in front of Lincoln. He stumbled and slowed. Cora let him walk for a while to check that no harm was done. She steered the horse into the wood itself, thinking she would catch up with the others faster. The air was quiet apart from Lincoln’s heavy snorting and the strange rattle of the leaves still clinging to the branches. And then she heard it: a low exclamation, somewhere between pain and pleasure. Was it animal or human? she wondered. Cora rode on a few paces and then she heard it again, louder this time and somehow thrilling. It was coming from a dense piece of undergrowth towards the centre of the wood. She could see green fronds of bracken and the handsome smooth trunk of a great beech tree. Without quite understanding why, Cora turned her horse towards the sound. It was more urgent now, then there was a sharp cry that made her start. It was a sound she recognised even if she had never heard it before. She should not be here, this was a private place. She tugged Lincoln’s reins, pulling his head sharply to the right and dug her heels into his flanks, desperate now to get away. The horse responded to her urgency and took off so swiftly that Cora had no time to avoid the low-lying branches coming towards her. The first knocked her hat off and the second struck her on the forehead and she knew no more.

    The first thing she saw were the branches arching over her like a ribcage. Stunned by her fall, she sensed every detail sharply but she could not put them together. Bones and the smell of leaves and a hot wind blowing in her ear.
    Wind? Cora turned her head. She realised she was lying on the ground. The breath tickling her cheek was from a horse, her horse, she fancied, who was pawing the ground impatiently, and snorting. The sound reminded Cora of something else, another noise she had heard but she could not place it. Her head felt muzzy, why was she lying on the ground? She saw a dark shape lying next to her. A bucket, or a chimney pot – no, it was a hat. Cora tried to raise her head but the effort was too much. She lay back and closed her eyes but at once opened them again. She must not sleep, there was something she had to remember. The horse whinnied. Something about a play, how did she enjoy the play, Mrs Lincoln. Lincoln was the name of the horse, her horse. But why was she lying on the ground? What was the sound that was pushing against her consciousness? She couldn’t grasp it, it kept slipping out of reach. Other things were crowding in now – a crown of flames, a face she couldn’t see behind a veil, a kiss that was not a kiss, a half-glimpsed fox. And then a voice.
    ‘Can you hear me?’
    Was is it a