The instant Lydia laid her hand on the inn’s door, the sound of horses clattered behind her. She turned. IT COULD NOT BE! Had Fader bribed Mother Therese’ the same way Susanna’s brother bribed her? Most likely. Lydia slipped into the shadows and slid off the porch. Fader and Jacob tethered their horses. With her heart banging in her ears, Lydia watched them stomp up the Swan’s Inn steps. If Fader caught her would he marry her off to Jacob this very night? It would not be hard to find a willing priest if Fader lined his palm with silver and gold.

Thomas Wade grabbed the door and swung it open. Light bathed him. The determination on his face sent a chill through Lydia. The desire to suddenly take flight almost overwhelmed her but she held her place. Jacob followed behind his master. He looked weary but eager. Time had not improved his countenance. The door slammed shut behind him.

Panicked Lydia turned and looked around her. There were some outbuildings, but surely Fader would search the property as he had most likely searched Romsey Abby. Her eyes went to the woods. No, not into the woods, she would get lost there. She darted onto the road and headed straight into the night wind. It bit her face and numbed her entire body, but she did not stop running. A time or two she slid. Her swift legs, tired though they were, carried her far beyond the Swan Inn. A place to hide had yet to materialize. Fear of frostbite wiggled in her head. It was so cold. How much did it hurt to freeze to death? If she kept moving, she would not freeze. Her pace slackened. She was barely getting one foot in front of the other when she heard a strange metallic sound.

Over the next rise a huge many footed monster appeared. Its legs and body were black. The body was shaped like a giant water beetle. Its two eyes blazed with fire. Dear God, was this what a dragon looked like? Would she be its virgin feast? That would be worse than marrying Jacob.The sound of the dragon was all rattles and clinks. The steady rhythm of feet approaching immobilized Lydia. Death, death, and the reality of what came after, would soon be knowledge she would own. Unable to move, unable to even close her terrified eyes, she watched the dragon approach. How much would it hurt to be torn to bits? The flaming eyes flashed at her. Would it breathe fire over her? Did it prefer roasted virgins or raw? She turned to run, but went skidding across a patch of ice. The frozen ground came up to meet her. She thrust her hands out. Pain shot up her arms at impact. She glanced behind her. The monster was almost upon her. She cried out to Saint Margaret of Antioch for help! All at once the dragon screeched and came to a snorting halt. Saint Margaret had heard her cry! The flaming eyes suddenly shifted into two lit lanterns. A man jumped down from a high seat. Two black horses shook themselves and whinnied. This was not a dragon, this was some sort of bizarre wagon.

With lantern in hand, the man came toward her. Lydia tried to get up, but her legs would not co-operate. A shaft of light shot out the side of the weird thing. A female voice asked, “Why are we stopping?”

“There is a traveler Ma’am, who looks quite cold.”

Lydia knew this man's voice. When she met his eyes, she knew that he knew who she was.

Gently he asked, “Would you be needing a ride lad?”

The voice inside the horse drawn thing became eager, “A lad? What does he look like? James bring him here.”

James, Dame Paston’s man, the one who had come regularly to buy candles at Thomas Wade’s shop, nodded in the direction of the voice, the voice that must belong to Dame Paston. Finally, Lydia would see this phantom woman she had always heard of but never seen.

James helped her up and took her to the thing. A large woman peered out the side window at her. In an anxious voice she said, “Come boy, closer to my carriage so I can see you.”

So the beetle looking thing was a carriage. Some of the Nobles at the Abbey had talked of them, but until this night she had never seen one. Lydia moved to the open window. Suddenly the Dame squealed, “It is him. Tilt your head up son.” A fat finger reached out and lifted Lydia’s chin. Two dark eyes stared into hers. A hug smile split the woman’s round face. “Praise God! James, do you know who this is?”

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Fear, terrible fear took hold of Lydia. She turned desperate eyes to James, he must not give her away.

He smiled reassuringly at Lydia and said, “No Ma’am. Who is this?”

Dame Paston clapped her hands together. Her eyes rolled to the heavens before lighting back on Lydia. “This is the boy in my dreams. The one who can keep George out of hell.”

Silently, Lydia wondered what Lord George Paston had done to get himself into hell.

For several silent moments Dame Paston studied Lydia’s face. “Yes you are him. Oh, I knew you would come. I have been about my prayers, fasting and all.” Lydia doubted the Dame ever fasted. “Oh, James this is a miracle.” Tears slipped down the Dame’s cheeks. “A miracle. I had stopped believing in them. George will have eternity now.”

James said, “As far as I can tell, the lad has not agreed to anything.”

Lydia’s heart hammered hard. She had landed in something. She was not sure if it was good or bad. Regardless it offered a chance of escape, a chance to put some distance between herself, her father and Jacob.

The woman pushed open the coach door and said, “Come boy, ride with me. I have a matter which I would like to discuss with you. Now, tell, what is your name?”

Lydia knew she must play this well. She took the extended hand and tried to bow, like a boy would. She lowered her voice and said, “I am Luke."

"Like the gospel of Luke! Oh this is a good sign! Come along now, hurry, all our warmth is escaping.”

Suddenly unsure, Lydia glanced at James. His eyes met hers. They were indeed similar to the eyes of the Christ's on Sister Timothy’s wall. Had he ever been to Romsey Abbey? James nodded toward the door. Dame Paston snapped the window shut. Lydia climbed inside. A small lantern lit the interior. James closed the door behind her and she settled onto the dark wool seat beside Dame Paston. Across from her an elderly maid slept. The coach swayed a little as James climbed onto the driver’s seat. Once seated he called out, "Hye!" The coach lurched forward. The lamp light wavered as the vehicle jerked along the road. The contraption creaked, groaned and pitched about. It took all Lydia’s strength to remain upright. Dame Paston’s weight seemed to keep her solidly in her seat. The maid, somehow remained both asleep and in her seat as well.

With tear bright eyes, Dame Paston said, “Now I shall tell you how you are an answer to my prayers. Please do agree to do what I ask."

Being a Wade, this was something Lydia would not do. One must be shrewd. She said, ”Not until I know what you require ."

"Very well," Dame Paston sighed. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. In a far away voice she said, "Dreams are the way God speaks to me." It took all Lydia's self control not to leap out of the coach. Dreams were dangerous things and this woman might be crazy. Still, somewhere in the darkness was Fader and he was more dangerous than dreams. More to herself than Lydia the Dame continued, "I knew my George was having some trouble, and I am to blame. He needed the firm hand of his father. What was I to do? My husband has been dead seven years. I am sure he is in hell or at least he should be. I have paid no indulgences for him, nor will I. Life with him this side of heaven was miserable. I have no desire to share eternity with him. George on the other hand, I would give my fortune to see him when I cross over.”

The white fur muff in Dame Paston’s lap, suddenly moved. It uncurled itself and stared at Lydia with two shiny black eyes. It bared its teeth. A growl rumbled low in its chest. It was a little dog! Lydia had heard of lap dogs but she had never seen one. “There Precious. Mommy is fine.” Dame Paston hugged the dog and continued, “I saw you in a dream one Summer night. You were crossing a field at sunset. Saint Peter appeared to me and said, ‘This child will travel to my church in Rome and by making this journey free your son from the chains of hell.’"

Shocked, Lydia stared at Dame Paston. Saint Peter had not said boy, he had said child. Was she the child?

Dame Paston continued, "Brother Matthew thought me a lunatic when I told him about the dream. It was hard work getting him to write the the Bishop for the necessary proxy papers. He thought the Bishop would refuse, but gold paves many a barred street. I wonder what Brother Matthew will say when he sees that you have indeed materialized." The light in the dame's eyes went out. Tears slid down her round cheeks. "My poor George. Oh, if only he were still here." She put her face in her fat hands and began to sob.

Precious stood in Dame Paston's lap and began to lick her hands. The old female servant woke up and said, "Me lady, be it George again?"

"Aye, Old Bess it is."

Old Bess's eyes lit on Lydia and squinted. "This be the lad ye dreamed of?"

Removing her hands from her face, Dame Paston said, "It is."

"Then, stop yer bawlin' and be grateful."

"You are right, Old Bess." She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. Precious resumed his seat in her lap. After several silent moments, Dame Paston had composed herself. In a low voice the she said to Lydia, “God had our paths cross tonight. Do you believe that?” Her eyes became strangely luminescent in the unsteady lamplight.

Had God done this? Really?