Johanna woke up sometime in the night when it was still pitch dark. She lifted her head off the pillow, aware of the coldness on her back. Roald sat up in bed.
From somewhere outside came an unfamiliar crunch, crunch sound.
“What’s that noise?” Her tongue wouldn’t cooperate.
Roald didn’t reply, but she recognised the sound. Footsteps on gravel. Horses.
At this time of the night?
She climbed out of bed and tiptoed over to the window. A cold draft worked its fingers around her legs and under her underdress.
A half-moon had come up. It faint blue light silvered the perfectly-tended garden, the hedges, the clipped trees, the benches and ponds. A group of people stood on the drive, one of them leading a horse by the reins. The animal tossed its head and snorted as if it had been running.
