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wasn’t. No, it was no use, they’d never learn if someone didn’t try to educate them. “In fact, it’s not the same thing, England is part of Britain, but again, in the circumstances, I’m prepared to overlook such… Excuse me!”
    She was suddenly in the air, hoist like the crossbar of a letter ‘T’ across the shoulder of one of them. It was Kroll, who was big and broad, and carried her like she was a rag doll. She couldn’t see properly, her corsetry making twisting or bending impossible, but she felt keenly the indignity of having her bustle thrust into the air.
    “Put me down! Down! Now! This instant.”
    The path through the woods bounced around beneath her, swinging from side to side. They were somewhere in the valley now going along a dirt road. There were coach tracks frozen in the hard mud like dirty glacial crevasses.
    “Put her down,” said the Gardener’s Hand.
    “Sire–”
    “Now.”
    The man did so.
    Earnestine brushed at the creases in her dress and fumed, so angry with herself that her face felt red. It was bad enough to be kidnapped, but this embarrassment was too much to bear.
    “I can stand it no longer,” said Pieter and he pointed. “England is that way.”
    He marched off and the others fell into step.
    “It jolly well isn’t,” said Earnestine to their retreating backs. She gesticulated to the sky and the woods. “The sun is there, the moss is on that side of the tree, any fool can see that’s south east, you’re going north, England is–”
    “What did you say?” the Gardener’s Hand demanded.
    Earnestine took a deep breath, finally: “I am a British Subject and you need to take me to–”
    “About the direction?”
    “Yes, direction. To a British Consulate.”
    “About moss and the sun?”
    “Pardon?”
    “You said we’re going north.”
    “Yes, moss grows on the north side of a tree in the Northern Hemisphere and the sun, particularly at this time of year, is also to the south. At this time of the morning, it’s to the south–east, so…”
    “Mein Gott, we’re going the wrong way.”
    He signalled to the others and they began marching back the way they had come.
    “Very well, it’s clear to me that you don’t know where the British Consulate is, so I’m willing to compromise and agree that you can take me back to Eden College for Young Ladies.”
    “We cannot go back.”
    “The College has a telephone apparatus and the authorities need to be informed about the untoten uprising.”
    “I cannot go back.”
    “Look, I’m sure if you apologise and throw yourself on Miss Hardcastle’s mercy, she will overlook…”
    This was nonsense, and Earnestine knew it. Miss Hardcastle, mercy – they didn’t really go together. Hopefully the old Gardener himself would give this underling a good thrashing. Earnestine knew that she would relent; she didn’t really want him to be beaten, but she did want to relish the idea for a while longer.
    They’d left her – again.
    “Excuse me?”
    She could escape, but to where? They were going south–west, so she could go north, but was that a sensible direction?
    “Excuse me.”
    She set off south–west after them, nearly tripping over a rut in the frozen earth in her haste to catch up.
    At the end of the road, and Earnestine missed its arrival because she was desperately trying to avoid turning her ankle, there was a coach and horses waiting. Other riders hung around tending to their mounts. Their saddles and equipment were – Charlotte would know – cavalry, fusiliers, mounted military of some sort. They all snapped to attention when the Gardener’s Hand and his friends rounded the bend.
    Pieter went up to one of the men, a functionary, and they began arguing in German. Or Austrian. Or Hungarian. Or some other harsh tongue.
    She snapped: “English!”
    “Sorry,” said the Functionary in English, “I meant no disrespect.”
    The Gardener’s Hand was smirking! This outrage was never ending.
    The soldiers