THE rest of that day, and the next day, were spent in preparations for the separate departures, first of Stephanie, then of Mark and Martha—if Martha could secure her travel permit. To that end, Martha insisted on going to the Sheriff’s office alone: “I know him, slightly, I think I can persuade him,” she said. “I’ll use Mark’s story—it’ll not be the first time I’ve had to spin a lie! In fact, I got rather good at it, all the time we were bringing up Sophie…”

Later that day she returned from the Sheriff triumphant, clutching a piece of paper. “I’ve got it!” she proclaimed. “I just told him, there’s an old friend of John’s, living near Kentak, took very poorly; he doesn’t even know that John died. I must go and see him before he too passes away, break the news to him perhaps if he can bear it… Anyway the Sheriff’s given me a two-month permit, told me to be sure to be back before it runs out—lots of folk depend on my needle­work! He gave me a wink as he said that. I’m now going to have to go the rounds and disappoint them. Oh, well.”

“Excellent!” said Mark. “That means you and I can make for Kentak next week, same route as you, Stephanie. So we shan’t be apart for too long. You’ll leave a message with Jack and Adrian when you get there, yes? Meanwhile there’s work to be done. I’ll have to sell the horse somehow…”

“Yes, and I’ve got to sell the chickens and shut up the house. And tell the landlord I’ll be away two months. He won’t like that, he’ll probably want to find another tenant. But I’ll take things as they come—” Martha had become quite bubbly in her enthusiasm for these adventurous plans: she was fussing herself about tidying up the house; she had long since cast away her walking stick and was able to stand almost fully erect now: a marked contrast to the bent, frail-looking creature who had first answered the door to Stephanie and Mark. Having a long-lost child restored to her had worked wonders…

So, two days later, Stephanie bid goodbye to Mark and her mother, and set out at dawn with a small bag containing a few of her belongings. She found the stage-coach preparing to depart and boarded it warily. As she took her seat memories came flooding back of that other stage-coach journey, all those years ago, all alone as a small child being sent to Rigo. It was a terrifying ordeal in itself. She’d been forced to travel barefoot, presumably to make it difficult for her to abscond. But how could she have run off anyway, in strange country, her parents arrested, and with nowhere to go? There had been three other passengers in the coach; one glance at her bare feet told them all and they had each crossed themselves and edged as far away from her on the seat as they could. No-one had spoken to her throughout the entire journey. No-one had so far as looked at her during the journey. And at stop-overs she’d been denied a bed, made to sleep as best she could in the barn or the stables.

But it was going to be different now! She was travelling as a respectable woman, properly dressed, free from any suspicion. Her main worry now was of being molested by strange men on the journey: it had happened often enough in the Fringes, and she’d been far less attractive back then! But she felt confident she could cope with any unwanted attention…

Three other passengers boarded the coach, and to her relief they were an elderly couple and a somewhat younger woman travelling alone, like her. All three greeted her cordially, as the coachman whipped up the horses and they were off. The younger woman was sitting next to Stephanie, and they fell into conversation as the coach bumped its way along. The woman explained that she was a widow, she was travelling all the way to Rigo to stay with her sister and her family. She asked about Stephanie’s journey.

“I’m only going as far as Ashapi; I get off there and wait for the coach to Kentak. And my fiancé will be following me in a week’s time; he’s got some work to finish back in Kamach, while I look over the apartment we’ll be moving into.”

“So—you’re engaged? Congratulations! I suppose you’ll be getting married in Kentak?”

“Yes, that’s the plan.”

“Well, all I can say is, your fiancé is a very lucky man! And I’m sure you’ll be blessed with lots of children.” Stephanie felt a pang of grief as she heard these words, but she managed to conceal her emotions and force a smile. She was used to it by now. And the woman appeared not to have noticed anything amiss as she con­tinued, “and of course if you have a girl, she’ll be sure to be as pretty as you are, my dear.

“But do take care when you stop off in Ashapi. It’s not the nicest of places to stay…”

Stephanie assured her that she was well able to look after herself, and the conversation continued on more general lines: the weather, the prospects for next year’s harvest, the deviation rates, and so on. The elderly couple joined in for a while. Stephanie had brought along some food and was able to buy more when the coach stopped to change horses. She shared some with her companions. The coach was to continue journeying all night, but Stephanie had, like the others, come prepared with a blanket and attempted to doze off in her seat as night fell. But she found it difficult to sleep; the weather was still cold and she felt a chill despite her blanket.

At long last, as the afternoon of the following day was drawing to a close, they arrived at Ashapi, and Stephanie was able to alight, cold and stiff and weary from the uncomfortable journey, and wondering how bearable the next leg, to Kentak, would be. But her first task was to make sure of a room at the inn. As she paused for a moment at the doorway, she became aware of someone’s eyes fixed upon her. Turning her head slightly, she could see out of the corner of her eye that it was the ostler, taking charge of the horses but gazing in her direction, leering at her. Oh well, thought Stephanie, I was warned; I’ll just have to take care…

The innkeeper was less helpful than she’d hoped. He explained apologetically that he had only one room available, a tiny attic room on the top floor. But Stephanie at once accepted: she was thankful to get any sort of room there, rather than have to ask around the local farms. The innkeeper promised to have a fire lit and the bed made up. And she could take dinner at the inn, if she wished.

Stephanie was coming to the end of an adequate, but not very appetising meal in the saloon, when the thing she’d been afraid of happened. She spotted the same ostler sidling across the floor towards her, and without a by-your-leave he planted himself in the seat next to her.

“Feeling lonely, little lady?” he began.

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“Not at all, thanks,” replied Stephanie, somewhat brusquely and trying not to make eye contact. But the young man continued:

“Pretty young girl like you, oughtn’t to be on your own, now, should you?”

“I’m not alone. I’m meeting my husband shortly.”

“Your husband? I didn’t see him around; certainly he didn’t get off the coach with you.”

Stephanie floundered a bit. “Oh—no, he’s arriving on the next coach. But he’ll be here soon.”

“Ha! There isn’t another coach for two days. So you are on your own, my dear…” and he put a hand on her knee.

Stephanie brushed his hand away and summoned up all the fury she could muster. “Look here, buster. I’m tired, I’ll be going to my room as soon as I’ve finished dinner; I don’t want any company, and if I did, it certainly wouldn’t be with you…”

“So you don’t like me, huh? We’ll see about that…” and with that the ostler stood up, gave her an evil wink and walked off towards the bar.

Stephanie was in a fit of terror. How could she get away from this brute? At the moment his back was towards her; she quickly slid her plate away, slipped out of her seat and softly edged towards the door. So far he didn’t seem to have noticed her, luckily. Once out of the saloon, she bolted upstairs to her room as fast as she could, and flung open the door. As she ran in she almost bumped into the landlady who was coming out laden with sheets and blankets.

“Just made up your room, my dear, and lit a fire for you. Nice and cosy, and I’m sure you’ll be comfortable.”

“Thanks,” said Stephanie hurriedly, and closed the door as soon as the landlady was outside. As she fumbled with the lock, she could hear the landlady’s footsteps retreating, but a few seconds later what she had feared: the sound of heavy hobnailed boots on the bare boards, coming towards her room. She wrestled with the key but it wouldn’t turn in the lock, so she tried the bolt. That too was very stiff and before she could slide it the door was wrenched open.

“I told you, you need company,” sneered the ostler, pushing his way in. “Now just behave yourself like a nice girl oughta…”

“Get out!” screamed Stephanie. She hoped her cries would attract other people in the inn, but the ostler clamped a hand over her mouth. “So you still don’t like me, baby? You oughta learn to like folks what likes you…”

There was only one thing Stephanie could resort to. She remember­ed how she’d attracted attention back in the Fringes: attention from the few men who could take advantage of her. Yes they had gravitated towards her, she being one of the few young women with noticeable breasts. Yes, she’d had to defend herself a few times. That was until Gordon took charge of her, and made it clear around the camp that any other man who tried it on would face his wrath. Things had been better then…

She hitched up her skirts and brought her knee up with all the force she could muster. It caught the ostler squarely in the groin. He released his grip on her and doubled up, gasping in agony. Stephanie took advantage of the moment to shove him out of the door, which she slammed and again wrestled with the bolt…

“You filthy little bitch!” she heard a wheezing voice through the door. “I’ll get even with you, just you see!” But he made no attempt to re-enter, and a moment later Stephanie could hear him shuffling off.

She made more strenuous efforts to slide the bolt. Then she thought of smearing it with a bit of soap from her wash-bag, and at last succeeded in sliding it part of the way across. Now I’m safe, she thought to herself. Or am I? She hurried to get into bed, undressing and donning a warm nightgown and a pair of thick woollen stockings which she’d had the foresight to bring along with her. No mistakes this time!

She was awakened by a violent rattling on her door. In a panic, she sat up in bed and looked around for something she could use as a weapon. She’d come ill-prepared: not even a knife. She thought of the poker by the hearth: the fire had almost died out but she could still make out a few things in the gloom. Would she be able to wield the poker if she had time to grab it? But the best she could hope for was that the bolt would hold…

It didn’t. In a few seconds the door sprang open, and there he was, holding a candle which he placed on a table, out of her reach, then he slapped her face and tugged at the blankets, pulling them right off the bed.

“Now I’ll teach you proper, you ugly vicious little whore, I’ll learn you what you’ll get for doing me in like that! So no more funny business, geddit?”

As Stephanie shrank back from him, her thoughts raced through her head like a whirlwind. She wouldn’t be able to knee him again, he’d be on his guard. He had only to rip off one of her stockings, and she was as good as a dead woman. Back to the Fringes, or prison, or worse! Could rape be any worse than that?

She made up her mind in a flash. Reaching down, she pulled the hem of her nightgown up, right up, over her breasts, over her head. She lay back on the bed and obligingly parted her legs…

To her immense relief he didn’t undress. He merely unfastened his breeches and came down upon her. Close up, he smelt abominable, a mixture of beer and stable-manure; his hair was untidy and greasy, he had a day’s stubble on his chin, he was dirty and ugly with coarse, dirty clothing. As he came on to her, she tried to marshal her thoughts on anything but this, anything but him. She turned her face away from him. She thought of her time in the Fringes, but no, that wouldn’t do. Then she thought of her first meeting with David, that time they’d been sliding down the bank together, that time she’d hurt her foot. Oh how kind he’d been to her—her first real friend! Joyful times! If only he were back with her now! Yes she had loved him with abandon: it may have been only puppy-love, but she’d loved him all the same. And gone on loving him, all through her other liaisons, even Michael—until she met Mark. Mark was a wonderful young man, the best husband she could have hoped for, she now shared her love between him and David, but mostly Mark. Mark must never know about this—horror. No, never! It’s not happening, it never will have happened…

At last the ostler’s workout came to an end. He grunted, rolled off her and slid to the floor, exhausted. But not for long; he soon got up, re-fastened his clothing, grabbed the candle and went out, closing the door behind him. As soon as his footsteps had died down, Stephanie roused herself. She went to the wash-stand and sponged herself down as best she could with soap and cold water; then she dried herself, put her nightgown back on and was back in bed, sobbing violently. Rape. This was her first rape. She had been molested often enough in the Fringes, but it had never amounted to rape. Gordon had seen to that, and Gordon had been a kind man—to her.

But was this rape? That vile creature would certainly deny it. He’d say it was consensual—that she’d invited him to her room even. And she had stripped naked in front of him. Naked apart from the stock­ings. The stockings were intact. At least something to be thankful for! If she denounced him, she’d almost certainly have to be examined by a doctor. The secret would surely come out! As her thoughts drifted around all these matters, her sobbing eased a little, and in a while she dropped off to sleep.