Alexander-Fyn-Sanguinarian

the castle. He’ll send them off with a cuff round the ear.”
    “No, he won’t, I won’t let him. I’ll make him take them in.”
    Evangeline reached out to the young woman and helped her into the carriage. The man followed holding the child in his arms. “Back to the castle,” she told Hodder.
    A few minutes later the horses trotted up to Castle Haven once more. With a curious look on his face his lordship came out onto the steps clearly wondering why they had returned so quickly. “Leave this to me,” Evangeline said.
    Lord Ravenscroft opened the carriage door himself, looking at the three pathetic creatures. To Evangeline’s immense surprise he reached in and took the little girl in his arms. “What have we here?” he said, his voice soft.
    “My lord, this poor family was approaching the castle, I believe to ask for succor.” The young man and woman climbed down and bowed their heads to his lordship. “I must insist…”
    But she did not finish her sentence, before Raven said, “No one in need is turned from my door.” To Munk he said, “See that they are fed and have a place to sleep, Munk. They can come to see me later today and we’ll see if we can find some work for them.”
    Evangeline looked at Munk and saw that the woman was not the slightest bit surprised at her master’s kindness. The young man spoke up deferentially. “My Lord, they told us in the village you would take us in. The villagers said you never turn away a beggar.”
    Raven handed the child to her father. “Off you go with Munk. All is well,” he said. They followed Munk inside and Raven closed the carriage door. “Good-bye, Evangeline. You had better get on your way. I will see you later.”

    66
    Fyn Alexander
    The moors disappeared swiftly behind them as London
    approached. Everything was falling into place, but Evangeline could not stop thinking about the beggar family. Had she misjudged his lordship?

    * * * *

    The opposite of London, York was small and quaint, an old walled town with a history older than London’s. Evangeline was captivated at once and leaned out of the window to get a better view.
    “We must visit the Minster,” she said. “I’ve heard so much about it.
    Did you know that a Roman fortress once stood on that very spot?”
    Mrs. Brackett pulled her up short. “We are not on a sightseeing tour, Miss Evie. We are running for our lives, remember?”
    “Yes, of course, I know that. I suppose I was trying to take my mind off it.” She sighed. “Do you think we can manage this, Mrs.
    Brackett? Twice he has come upon me unawares. He could do it again. I fear that man can do anything.”
    “I don’t know, dearie, I’m sure I don’t.”
    For several minutes Evangeline enjoyed the beauty of the old buildings—the sense of history that was York. It was only when looking from the fourteenth century gables down to the cobbles beneath the horse’s hooves that Evangeline saw the people on the kerb stopping to stare at the Ravenscroft coat of arms, at the black horses, and at her. Everywhere she went people would stare at her if she were associated with the name of Ravenscroft.
    In Stonegate, Hodder brought the horses to a stop and jumped down from his seat. “This is Madame Blethin’s dressmakers’ shop, Miss Rutledge,” he said as he opened the door. “This is where you are to go for your gown.”
    Forcing herself to sound cheery, she smiled. “Oh, marvelous.”
    Hodder assisted her to the cobbles. “I must say, Miss, you are taking it all very well. Yesterday I’d thought you’d never settle in.”

    Sanguinarian 67
    Mrs. Brackett climbed down behind her, grumbling all the while.
    “We are trying to make the best of it,” she said, playing her part. The door of the old shop opened, and a tall, dark-haired woman walked out, ducking so as not to bump her head on the arched doorway. She was quite old, but very stately and elegant. Hodder handed her a letter. “From Lord Ravenscroft, ma’am.”
    The woman took it and ushered them inside, leaving Hodder waiting with the carriage. They were seated at once and offered tea which they refused. Madame Blethin drew up an ornate, gilded chair beside theirs and proceeded to open a portfolio of drawings of wedding gowns. “His lordship said in his letter that you are to have the honour of becoming his bride. You are a lucky lady.” She smiled warmly.
    “I am indeed,” Evangeline replied. After flipping through pages of gowns that seemed