‘I can’t see nothing, sir,’ he said. ‘Do you want me to check the other leg?’

‘Of course not, there’s nothing wrong, you fool.’ Alexis’ voice was low and full of contempt. ‘Just dig at it with your knife or whatever you do. Make it look realistic and try not to be more of an idiot than your mother made you.’

Luke gritted his teeth and drew out his pick, pretending to pull out an imaginary stone from Brimstone’s shoe, but all the while following Rosa and Knyvet with his eyes. They rode like a matched pair, as they trotted down the Row, Rosa so slim and straight in her black habit that it looked as if he could break her in two, Knyvet tall and erect in the saddle beside her, his top hat making him look even taller, their magic crackling around them both like a cloud of light and storm. So this was the plan, was it? Marry her off to the tall arrogant bastard of a witch, to create more witch babies to wreak more misery on the world? Well, not if he could help it.

His fingers tightened unconsciously on the pick and Brimstone gave a whinny and flinched, pulling his foot away from Luke’s grip.

‘Hi, you fool!’ Alexis snapped. ‘You don’t need to carve the poor brute’s hoof out. Make it look realistic, I said, not stick him to the quick.’

‘Sorry, sir,’ Luke muttered. He stood, shading his eyes, watching Knyvet leaning into Rosa, saying something close to her ear. She laughed at his remark, her magic shimmering like a halo of ghostly fire in the winter sunlight.

‘Come on,’ Alexis said impatiently. ‘We’ve given ’em long enough. Any more and it’ll start to look obvious.’

Luke swung himself back into the saddle and they both cantered down the last length of the Row, to where Kynvet and Rosa had stopped beneath a tree. As they came up the last few yards separating them, Rosa laughed again and said something to the little dog, putting her hand down towards it. It yipped out a bark, jumping joyfully towards her hand, and then leapt back towards Knyvet. He kicked it away and it gave a whine. Knyvet said something to Rosa and she shook her head and clicked to Cherry, but as she did the pup leapt up again. There was an ominous rending sound and Rosa gave a cry.

‘Dammit, Rose!’ Alexis pointed with his crop at the hanging triangle of black fabric. ‘The brute’s torn your skirt!’

‘It’s nothing,’ Rosa said quickly. She bent, pressing her handkerchief to her calf, and Luke saw, with a feeling of foreboding, that it came away red.

‘God-damn it.’ Knyvet flung down his reins. The little dog wagged its tail joyfully at the sight of his master dismounting, but then Knyvet grabbed its collar and it squealed in pain. He picked up his riding crop.

‘Sebastian!’ Rosa cried. He ignored her and lifted the whip, and the little dog screamed as it came smacking down. He lifted it again, and again it bit, and the pup let out a squealing wail. Luke turned his face away.

‘Sebastian!’ Rosa shouted. There was a scrambling sound and Luke turned back to see her slide from the pommel of the side-saddle in an ungainly slither. She fell to her hands and knees on the ground but scrambled up. ‘Sebastian, stop! For God’s sake, stop!’

Knyvet didn’t seem to have even heard. He was labouring the little dog again and again with all his strength. The creature had stopped crying and lay limp in his grip, only the force of Knyvet’s blows making its body jerk.

‘Sebastian!’ Rosa sobbed. She grabbed at his arm, but he threw her off without even turning his head and she staggered back.

Luke swallowed. His fists were clenched. He felt a fierce desire to grab Knyvet by the collar and beat him like he was beating the dog, beat him until he squealed like the defenceless pup. But it would be suicide to strike a witch and, worse, suicide to his mission. He would be sacked, thrown from the house, and then where would he be? He had barely three weeks left – there would be no time for another plan, no time to do anything but crawl back with his tail between his legs. And then he would be dead himself, at the hand of the Malleus, as all men were who failed in their task.

‘Sebastian!’ Rosa’s voice was hoarse and cracked on the last syllable of his name. ‘Please.’

Luke’s hands were clenched on the reins so that the tendons stood out. He concentrated on his hands, on the burns and smelts left there by years of work in the forge. Concentrated on holding in Castor, holding him steady, when all he wanted to do was turn the horse for home and gallop far away from this place.

At last the sound of thrashing ceased and, in the silence that followed, he heard Rosa’s low sobbing breath. Sebastian seemed to hear it too, for he looked up, his face splashed with blood, but impassive. His eyes were very blue, the cold pale blue of the winter sky above.

‘For God’s sake, Rosa,’ he said. ‘It was only a dog – and a damned disobedient one at that.’ And then he kicked the corpse into the bushes at the side of the Row and mounted his horse in one swing, his spurs flashing in the sun.

‘Good day to you both.’ His voice was quite level and pleasant. Only the rise and fall of his chest and the flecks of blood across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose betrayed what he’d just done. ‘Miss Greenwood, please allow me to apologize for the damage to your habit.’ He gave a bow, raised his top hat and then turned to Alexis. ‘Alex, shall I see you at Raffles tonight?’

‘Certainly,’ Alexis said. He raised his own hat and Sebastian cantered off.

Luke watched him go, disappearing into the throng of well-dressed ladies and men, his magic a pitch-black swirl of smoke dispersing into the bright sunshine and red-gold leaves of the autumn trees.

He was still staring after Knyvet’s departing shadow when he heard Alexis’ voice behind him.

‘Come on, Rose, for God’s sake. Get up and stop acting like a Shakespearean tragedy. It was only a dog.’

Luke turned. Rosa was sitting, collapsed against the tree trunk, her face in her hands. When she raised her eyes they were filled with grief and bitter accusation.

‘Look,’ Alexis said uncomfortably, ‘I’m not saying he was right to beat it but—’

‘He whipped it to death, Alex. In the park.’

‘It ripped your skirt! Look, a disobedient dog is a recipe for disaster. You can never eradicate bad blood. A dog who won’t obey commands has only itself to blame. Next it would have been going after sheep and snapping at children. Seb had no choice.’

‘He had a choice,’ Rosa said. Her voice was cold and bitter. ‘Of course he had a choice.’

‘Rose!’ Alexis said, his voice impatient. ‘It was a dog. A dog. What do you want? Black ostrich plumes and a hearse? Get back on Cherry and stop acting like he beat your first-born child to death.’

‘I will not.’ Rosa’s voice shook. Alexis’ lip curled in contempt.

‘Suit yourself.’ He kicked at Brimstone’s flanks and yanked the horse’s head viciously around. ‘I’m going.’

‘What?’ Rosa’s head jerked up.

‘I’ve had enough of your histrionics,’ Alexis yelled over his shoulder. ‘See yourself home. The sot can take you.’

And he cantered away across the park.

8

Rosa was silent as they rode home. Luke kept back, watching her as she sat very straight, her hands rigid on the reins.

In the yard he jumped down and stepped forward to help her dismount. He had never helped a lady dismount before, let alone a witch, and he was painfully aware of it as he steadied the horse and readied himself to take her weight. As she stepped down he fumbled it, missing her step so that they both staggered, and his arms went around her, stopping her from falling to the muddy cobbles of the yard before he’d even thought of it.

‘I’m so sorry, miss!’ He felt a burning flush run from his throat to his forehead and his hands were all wrong, all in the wrong place – he couldn’t let her stumble to the ground, but anyone might look out of the rear window of the house and see him with his hands around her waist.

‘It’s perfectly all right,’ she said bitterly, but her voice broke on the last word, as if she were barely keeping the tears in check.

‘Miss Greenwood – please, please don’t cry.’

‘I’m not crying,’ she said stonily. He didn’t say anything, but let his hands drop. She led Cherry into the stable. Luke stood for a moment, full of fury at himself, at her for putting him in this position, at that damned Knyvet. Then he took a breath and followed her with Castor. She was in the stall, rubbing Cherry with a handful of straw, her shoulders bowed with misery.

Luke stood helplessly, watching her as she groomed the horse, who whickered comfortingly, as if she knew something was wrong, but not what or how to mend it.

‘Go away,’ Rosa said hoarsely, without looking up. Luke felt frustration rise in him.

‘Miss, I—’

‘Please, just go away.’

‘How can I?’ he burst out. ‘I have to clean and groom Castor! What do you want me to do, go into the kitchen and say that I’ve left this horse in a muck sweat because you’re having a tantrum in the stables? I’ll be sacked!’

‘A tantrum?’ She swung round, her face swollen with angry tears. ‘A tantrum? Did you see what Sebastian did?’

‘Yes, I saw what he did. And I was disgusted too – but I’ve seen worse, ten times worse. I’ve seen a man beat his wife that way. Your brother’s right, it was a dog, no more, and I’m not losing my job over it.’

‘You wouldn’t understand,’ she spat, and turned back to Cherry. ‘Go back to the kitchen. Leave me alone.’

‘And say what?’ Luke said impatiently. He shut Castor into his stall and came to stand beside her. ‘Tell ’em I’ve left the lady of the house doing my work?’

‘No – yes – oh I don’t care!’

She ripped off her hat, her hair tumbling out of its pins, buried her face against Cherry’s side and began to sob, hopelessly, helplessly, her shoulders heaving so that her red hair shivered like flames in the wind.

‘Miss . . . Rosa . . .’ Luke stood awkwardly, twisting his hands together. He put his hand towards her and then stopped, suddenly sick at the thought of touching her again, feeling her magic silk-soft against his skin. But the sight of her wrenching sobs was too much and he couldn’t stop himself from touching her shoulder, very lightly, the lightest possible brush.

The sound she made at his touch was so grievous, so like the puppy’s whimper, that before he could think he’d put his arm around her shoulders, just as if she were Minna, and he just another boy, not mistress and stable-hand.

‘Hey there, don’t take on so,’ he said, his voice low. She shook her head, her eyes closed, the lashes wet with tears, and he pulled her to him, shushing her and gentling her as he gentled Minna’s little sisters when they fell and hurt their knee, as his father had used to comfort him when he was small.

They stood for a long moment in the warmth and quiet of the stable, the horses breathing on their backs and whickering in gentle sympathy. Rosa fell quiet, the huge shaking sobs slowly subsiding until she was still and silent in his arms, limp in the exhausted aftermath of grief. And as they stood, locked together in the warm silence, it came to Luke like a cold chill draught, how impossibly, horribly wrong this was. She was not just a girl, she was his employer – and a witch. The witch he was sent to kill.

He realized suddenly that his hand was on the back of her neck, the fine red-gold hairs tickling his fingers, and that the skin there was so soft and white he could hardly bear it.

I could tighten my grip, he thought. How hard would it be?

For a moment he imagined it – he’d hold her closer, and closer, until he had her so tight that she would never breathe again. There’d be a moment’s struggle, a cry smothered with a hand, or pressed into the cotton of his shirt. And then . . . nothing – just her body, limp and slack in his arms.

Her neck felt so slim and fragile – how hard would it be to snap it like the chickens John Leadingham despatched in a trice? It would take just the slightest shift of his grip – he could move his fingers up to twine into her hair, hold her skull, as gentle as a lover, and twist until . . .

There was a crack in the yard, as if someone had trodden on a stick, and Rosa seemed suddenly to realize who and where she was. She leapt back, out of his arms, her face ghost-white, her eyes wide and dark. Then she began scrabbling her hair back into its pins.

‘I’m sorry.’ She was whispering under her breath. ‘I’m so sorry – I don’t know – I can’t think . . .’