Chapter 2

Can I forget the dismal night that gave

My soul's best part forever to the grave?

—Gray

"Well, can't you speak? Aren't you going to thank your dear Aunt Agatha for securing you a respectable future?" She watched Elysia's flushed cheeks blanch, leaving her face pale and drawn-looking; her eyes dark pools of despair as her lips began to tremble.

Elysia sat dumbfounded as Agatha's face became contorted and her harsh laughter rang through the room. Agatha's head was thrown back as she shook with deranged mirth, her thin chest shaking uncontrollably.

"We decided it, the squire and myself, this afternoon on the road to the village," Agatha said breathlessly. "He was most anxious to come to an arrangement. You will find him to be a most attentive bridegroom, my dear. And being such a healthy young girl, you should provide Squire Masters with the sons he has longed for."

Agatha stared at Elysia as her hand nervously smoothed her hair in the tight bun and she added almost to herself, "You're such a beautiful girl, too—just like your mother was. I remember the first day that I saw her; she was just a child, but so beautiful—even then."

Elysia stared in horror at Aunt Agatha. She'd finally gained control of herself, but Agatha's voice sounded strained, the words coming jerkily from between her thin lips.

"I cannot possibly marry the squire," Elysia said clearly to her aunt, despite her pounding heart. This could not be happening to her, she thought in desperation. Squire Masters? Never. She would rather die than be married to him.

"You have no choice, my dear Elysia. It has all been arranged."

"I will not marry him, and you cannot make me. Don't you understand that I can't stand him? I'm repulsed by him—to be married to him would be torture."

Elysia rose from her chair, and the words tumbled out emotionally as she pleaded with her aunt. But her aunt was unyielding.

"Your feelings do not enter into this at all. You should be thankful to have this opportunity for marriage. Your prospects are not good, but Squire Masters has agreed to overlook your poverty, and forget the usually expected dowry," Agatha said impatiently, her previous good humor forgotten in the face of Elysia's defiance.

"I am afraid that you will have to send my regrets to the squire, because it is out of the question that I could, or would, ever marry him. You never even consulted me as to my wishes—why, the squire is old enough to be my father."

Elysia looked at her aunt curiously. ‘This is what you have wanted all along…to humiliate me. Well, you won't succeed this time, Aunt Agatha, just as you didn't succeed this afternoon when you purposely sent me to the North field."

Agatha rose and faced Elysia, digging her hard fingers into Elysia's shoulders as she glared at her.

"Do you think I will let the likes of you ruin all my plans?" Agatha shrieked. "I have finally realized my greatest wish—and you will not interfere. Do you hear me?" She shook Elysia until her red-gold hair tumbled in thick waves about her shoulders.

"I will not marry him. I will not. I would rather die first," Elysia vowed.

Agatha released her shoulders from her death-like grip, and lifting her hand slapped Elysia hard across the face. Elysia managed to jerk away, and putting her shaking hand to her smarting cheek, she stared at her aunt with a wounded, puzzled look in her eyes.

"No, you won't die—yet. Maybe after a year's marriage to that lecherous old fool you will desire to; but marry him you will—and next week. He can hardly wait to get you into his bed, my dear," Agatha added tauntingly. She laughed aloud again; another wild, uncontrolled laugh—but this time full of triumph.

"Oh, sweet, sweet revenge. I knew if I waited long enough that one day I would taste it. Beautiful Elysia, just like your mother and grandmother. I told you that your mother was beautiful? Well, so was your grandmother—my stepmother. Father was bewitched by her and brought her home as his wife. Here. To my house—to take over as the new mistress of Graystone Manor. Fool—to think that anyone could take my place.

"We had always been so happy, Father and I, here at Graystone, even though Mother had died years before. Then she came. She had no right to come here and to bring that little brat with her. I can remember them standing there in the hall." Agatha stared towards the hall; her eyes glazed as her mind moved back through the years to an earlier time.

"They wore fine lace and velvet, and little plumed hats. The sun was shining down on that strange red-gold hair, turning it into living flames of fire. Their smiles were as false as their hearts. They came here; taking my house, my father, expecting me to be friends. Well, I pretended as they pretended, to be friends, but whenever I had the chance, I let your mother, the darling little Elizabeth, know where her true place was.

"When your grandmother finally died, I took over the running of the house—as I should have from the beginning. Father was fit for nothing after she died. She ruined him."

Agatha paused, momentarily perplexed by her thought, a frown marring her forehead. Her hands were clenched tightly and her breathing was ragged as she glanced about wildly. Beads of perspiration were dotting her upper lip as she put her hand nervously to her temple, pressing it as if the pain were unbearable. "I think I was about nineteen or twenty; your mother was only about eleven years old. But I was old enough to assume the responsibility of running the Manor—and I managed it better than your grandmother had .

"I told your mother, the darling Elizabeth, the things she would be expected to do just as I have told you your duties. Father was not around much; and when he was, he was so drunk he didn't recognize anyone or anything. Elizabeth soon found her proper place in my house. The little upstart—trying to worm her way into Graystone with that sweet, sly smile of hers. Well, she got what she deserved."

A smile of remembrance broke on Agatha's face, her eyes glinting evilly. "Father died not long after that—in fact, it's a miracle he lasted as long as he did. I didn't miss him—he only interfered; spent too much money on whiskey anyway.

"Do you know how he died? It's rather amusing," Agatha said looking directly at Elysia, and seeming to see her for the first time. "He thought he saw your grandmother at the foot of the stairs. He came stumbling down them and tripped over the loose sash of his robe. He fell hard—right at my feet—breaking his neck. I had no idea that he would mistake me for her. I was only wearing her dressing gown to do some of the dusting in—I didn't want to spoil my dress, of course," she added indifferently.

"Father was a weak, drunken fool; his mind not only besotted by her, but by drink as well. After his death the Manor became mine. I was finally rightful mistress of Graystone, the legal owner by law. The courts also saw fit to make me your mother's legal guardian, a guardianship which I am sure she hated. She never even thanked me for providing her with a home when I could have thrown her out, which is what I should have done. The day I let that cheap, deceitful little hoyden stay under my roof—"

"That is not true. She was not—" Elysia interrupted, anger loosening her tongue, which had been frozen in silence by Agatha's wild disclosures.

"You shut up and listen to the real truth about your precious mother, not the lies that she has told you," Agatha snarled. "Your mother was living under my roof, accepting my charity, not doing half the work I ordered her to do for her keep—a lazy chit just like you. And how did she repay me? She snuck behind my back and stole what was rightfully mine. "

Agatha began to speak quickly, almost breathlessly, as she remembered the past; the bottled-up words tumbling out in a torrent of hate.

"There was to be a grand ball at a neighboring estate, and I received an invitation. It was the event of the year. I had to send your mother's regrets, of course. She had nothing proper to wear, and she really was too young; she hadn't even had a Season in London yet. But then it would have been too expensive, and besides, I'd already had mine, and one Season in London in a family is enough, don't you agree?

"That night is still so vivid in my mind. It was even more elaborate than some of the balls I'd attended in London. There were a thousand or more candles lighting up the ballroom where the ladies, elegant in jewels and feathers, danced around and around. There was champagne, laughing faces, music—and Captain Demarice. He was so handsome, so debonair—like a prince. He was a cavalry officer, a brilliant horseman—one of the best in the country—and so full of adventure and daring. He was the younger son of a lord, and didn't have a fortune, or any expectations of gaining an estate. But he was so extraordinary, it didn't matter that he was not rich. He was tall, and had thick, black hair and strange green eyes that slanted upwards at their corners."

Agatha's glance rested momentarily on Elysia's upturned face. She paled visibly as she stared into Elysia's eyes.

"You've got his eyes. Damn you! Every time I look at you I see him standing there looking at me with contempt, the smile I cherished wiped from his face. He said things to me that I can never forget; his voice haunts me at night in my dreams. I can't escape from it even in my sleep—it's always there."

Agatha's thin fingers pulled nervously at the neatly pinned hair, until several gray-streaked strands hung loosely about her face.

"I came home from the ball feeling like I had never felt before. Why, I actually felt frivolous and gay; I felt like a different person. I knew that Captain Demarice would come calling; I just knew it. But I waited and waited and waited. And while I waited, Elizabeth met Captain Demarice in the woods down by the brook. An accidental meeting they said—but I knew her deceitful ways. She knew that I wanted him; she always wanted what was mine—even when we were small. He would have asked me to become his wife, if she hadn't connived her way into his affections, like her mother had into my father's. She played the innocent maiden, meeting him secretly behind my back whenever she could.

"He finally accepted my invitation to tea; but with an ulterior motive, I was soon to find out. How could I know that he had met Elizabeth? I had let her go out more often, certain to have her out of the way when Captain Demarice called; but he never did until that day. We were seated in here, in the salon, just beginning to get acquainted when he asked me about Elizabeth. I told him that I had a stepsister. ‘She's a young and lazy chit of a girl,' I said. He raised his eyebrow slightly, and with a glance invited me to continue; encouraging my confidences. I knew that I would have to blacken her name before he saw her and was blinded by her false beauty. She would trick him, having learned her evil ways from her mother; so I told him all about her hoydenish ways and the deceitful acts that made her the little slut that she was.

"He said, after I had finished, he already had the pleasure of meeting of Miss Elizabeth, and had found her to be a sweet, gentle, and honest young lady. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. He had already met Elizabeth? Where? When? How could it have happened? She didn't have access to the homes where he would be entertained.

"He was deaf to my words. He had been blinded by Elizabeth's treachery already. He stood up tall and straight, and told me in a cold voice, that cut me like a knife, that I was speaking of the woman he hoped to marry. He had made inquiries, he said, and found out how I had been treating Elizabeth.

"‘Lies, lies!' I screamed at him. ‘What has that she-devil told you?' I demanded. ‘None of it is true. She twists everything around to her advantage—she has lied to you.' I told him that I would make a better wife than Elizabeth. I remember the shocked look on his face as I declared my love for him; evidently he had never realized my feelings, nor could he return that love and desire. I told him that I had everything to offer him: money, Graystone Manor, land. Elizabeth had nothing to give him—nothing.

"‘For your information, Elizabeth has never said a word against you, yet how she has managed to keep her silence about one such as you, I shall never comprehend. But then she is innocent of the evil in this house. She offers me her love; and that is all I desire, not money, nor an estate. But I doubt whether you are capable of understanding that, for in your wretchedness you can see nothing decent in anyone. You are a cruel and selfish woman whose own bitterness and hatred will destroy you. You are the only evil in this house.'

"He said those things to me. I can remember every word as if it were yesterday. He stared at me with such loathing and contempt I couldn't bear it. And then Elizabeth came in, timidly standing in the doorway, pretending she had not known that we were there. She glanced back and forth between us; looking so worried and concerned that I felt enraged at the very sight of her angelic face masking such evil and deceit, and I rushed at her to claw it off and reveal the truth to him. But he moved as quickly as a cat and shielded her from me. I screamed at them both. Told them I never wanted to see either of them again as long as I lived, and told him to take his little whore and get out.

"They left and I never saw Charles again. He took Elizabeth that day, and they stayed with friends until they could marry. I heard that they moved away to the North after they'd wed, where he had inherited some small property.

"I dreamt all these years of seeing them again, and getting my revenge by showing them that I was better than either of them. Graystone Manor was mine. Elizabeth always coveted what was mine—my father, my house, Charles. Well, she'd never get Graystone. It's mine—all mine."

Elysia stared at Agatha in terror, and began to back slowly towards the door as she saw the insane look contorting her aunt's face .

"Don't go, Elysia," Agatha said suddenly. "I've much more to tell you. Don't you want to know how pleased I was to have you placed in my hands? I told your solicitor how my beloved stepsister's daughter would be as welcome here in my home as her mother had been. He was more than relieved, as your other high-born relatives would have nothing to do with you.

"It's been a joy to have you here—working some of that Demarice arrogance out of you, humiliating you, having you at my beck and call—you the fine lady, reduced to a scullery maid.

"Oh, if only Charles and Elizabeth could see me now," Agatha sighed ecstatically, "with their precious, beloved daughter Elysia, in my house that they had scorned, awaiting her coming nuptials with—dare I say it—anticipation?"

Elysia gasped, feeling a sickness rise within her. Agatha's eyes focused on Elysia with unyielding intensity.

"Why, you look quite pale, my dear. Do go up and rest in your room for awhile. I do believe the news has been too much for you; and such a great honor too. So very seldom do we receive what we truly deserve in life, but you shall, Elysia— you shall."

Elysia gave a sob and ran from the room, tears streaking her face as she made her way up the stairs to the attic, hearing Agatha's loud, insane laughter echoing after her.

Elysia paced back and forth in the small space of the attic, her head brushing against the slope of the roof as her steps guided her aimlessly to and fro. She must be a madwoman, Elysia thought. No one could carry such feelings of hatred for so long and not become deranged by it. Oh, dear God, what was she to do? Where could she go? She had no one left in the world to turn to. She would rather go to the workhouse than do what Agatha commanded her to do—marry into the Masters family.

She couldn't stay in this oppressive house any longer. It pressed down upon her—trying to break her will—stripping her of her dignity and freedom. She moved toward the window where she could look out at the woodlands and hills in the distance to the south. A sudden gust of wind blew a fallen leaf up into the air, holding it for a moment, tantalizing her with its freedom, before floating away into the fading light.

Elysia made up her mind suddenly, resolutely; she would leave Graystone and travel to London, where she would seek employment of some kind. There was no other alternative. She couldn't consider marriage to Squire Masters, nor could she remain under Agatha's roof when that woman hated her, and would keep trying to force her into marriage with the squire. No, there was no other course open to her but to flee.

Elysia suddenly felt completely exhausted. She was drained of all emotion as she stumbled wearily to her bed. She flung herself down upon it, resting her head against the pillow. There was nothing she could accomplish until darkness fell, so…slowly her eyes closed, sleep creeping over her.

* * *

Elysia awoke to a darkened room, illuminated only by a pale shaft of moonlight, streaking through the window onto her bed, spreading its searching fingers across her face.

She sat up abruptly, her heart pounding. What time was it? She glanced out of the window at the silvery moon, peeking out behind slowly drifting clouds. It wasn't too high in the sky yet, so it couldn't be very late. She was relieved to see that the storm had temporarily abated. It would make it easier for her to travel across the fields and through the woods if she did not have to battle the storm in a rain-soaked cape.

She leapt quietly to her feet, her plan of action foremost in her mind, clearing it of the haziness of sleep. She went around her room quickly gathering up her few belongings—her dresses, a nightdress, a warm shawl, and her mother's silver brush and comb set, which she had kept hidden from Agatha. She reached into the far corner of the dresser drawer and withdrew a small phial of scent—the jasmine and roses her mother had loved so much, then retrieved the pistol which was tucked into a corner of the large, woven straw bag.

Kneeling down and reaching under her bed, Elysia carefully pulled out a wrapped bundle. Unwinding an old, faded blue shawl she lifted out her most cherished possession—a delicate porcelain doll. Its little pointed face with its brightly painted blue eyes and small, pink rose-bud mouth stared up at her. Elysia's hands lovingly smoothed out the wrinkles in the delicate lace dress adorned with rows of blue velvet bows. Her hands strayed to the plump round golden curls as she thought back to the day her father had returned from a month in London, his arms full of packages and presents as he regaled her with amusing stories of his adventures. He had placed the little doll in her small chubby hands, watching with enjoyment as she had crooned over it in a motherly fashion, her eyes as bright as stars.

Elysia smiled sweetly as she re-wrapped the little doll and placed it on top of her dresses, under the thick shawl in the straw bag. She had kept these most precious possessions from her past life carefully hidden, guarding them from Agatha's watchful eyes, knowing that she would have thrown them out—as she had done with other mementos Elysia had been unable to hide away.

Elysia looked quickly about the room while swinging her heavy cloak over her shoulders. It was an ugly room, this servant's room, and she felt glad to leave it. She picked up her bag and reached for the door, quietly turning the knob.

It wouldn't open! Elysia turned it the other way, but no movement. The door was locked. Agatha had not trusted her, and she had locked her in. She was trapped.

Elysia's heart was pounding so loudly she thought the whole house would surely hear its deafening beats. She must not panic, she told herself. She must keep her wits about her, even though she felt her head swimming from the blood being pumped by her frantic heart. She hurried over to the window and peered down at the ground beneath. It seemed miles to the firm earth below. Elysia opened the window slowly, praying that it wouldn't squeak in protest. She would have to slide over the shingled roof to the edge, the dormer window giving her a platform to sit on as she climbed out.

There was a large sturdy vine of ivy that had been growing unrestrained on the side of the house for years. The branches were thick and hard, and if she was careful, it would see her safely to the ground below.

She reached for her straw bag, and yanking the cord from the curtains that hung limply beside the window, tied it to the handle, and lowered it over the window sill, past the edge of the roof and slowly down the side of the house until the cord would reach no farther. She reluctantly let it drop into the darkness below, where it landed with a muffled thud as it hit the damp earth.

Elysia climbed through the window casement and sat on the sill looking down as an uninvited and insidious thought came to her—what if she should slip and fall? Well, it had to be risked, and besides she really wasn't too worried, she reassured herself staunchly as she continued to look down at the ground. After all, hadn't she done quite a bit of climbing of trees and walls with Ian when she was a child? She always had perfect balance—what was there to fear?

She climbed from the window, and slid across the roof to the edge, making as little noise as possible. She grasped a large vine, seeking a foothold as she leaned over the edge, and with a swift movement, swung out, putting her full weight on the vine. It held. She breathed a sigh of relief as she carefully searched for other secure spots to place her feet as she slowly lowered herself to the ground.

Feeling a sense of exultation as she felt the soft firmness of turf beneath her feet, Elysia quickly untied the cord from her bag and hurried to the back of the house. She held her breath as she turned the knob of the kitchen door, knowing that the cook often forgot to lock it.

Elysia felt the door open a bit, creaking softly. Squeezing in through the crack, she moved silently about the large kitchen, taking a loaf of bread, cheese, a few slices of cold beef and ham, and two freshly-baked turnovers filled with sweetened fruit. She seldom had sweets, and these were for Agatha's early morning tea. She smiled as she thought of Agatha's face when she discovered the theft of the turnovers. But her smile quickly faded as the thought of being caught by her aunt chilled her to the bone .

Wrapping the stolen food in a large checkered cloth she stuffed it in her straw bag, then moved over to a shelf where the kitchen money was kept to pay any deliveries ordered for the kitchen. There wasn't very much, Elysia thought in disappointment, but there should be enough to see her to London.

The moon had risen higher, casting a silver light over the fields and woods as Elysia left the kitchen as quietly as she had entered, moments before. She slipped wraith-like across the wide unprotected stretch of ground between the house and woodlands.

Elysia cast no last look over her shoulder at Graystone Manor as she reached the wood, but kept going at a steady pace until deep within the trees. Taking a deep breath, she mentally shed the shackles that had held her in captivity. She must keep going and put as much distance between herself and Agatha as possible. She wanted no part of Agatha's rage when she found that her quarry had fled the trap.

She wouldn't be able to return there ever, nor would she want to. Since she was homeless, she had no choice but to go to London. Agatha would probably expect her to run home, to the familiar places that she knew, and she was not going to chance Agatha finding her. She could seek employment as a governess or companion; after all, she had been decently educated and brought up as a lady. She would not allow any self-doubts or nervousness to dissuade her from her decided course of action.

She traveled as quickly as she could in the light from the moon, stumbling into thorny bushes, their sharp thorns catching at her cloak, holding her secure, until she ripped and tugged her release, her hands scratched and bleeding. She continued onward, putting more distance between herself and Graystone Manor. She hoped to reach the edge of the woods before dawn, and be across the road and open pastures to the safety of another belt of woodland, before the farmers started traveling with their produce on their way to market. She didn't want to be seen, for rumor traveled through the marketplace, from farmer to servant to master, within the space of a couple of hours .

Elysia broke through the last part of the woods, and felt the hard-packed dirt of the lane beneath her feet, as the first light of dawn was beginning to break to the east. From behind her the sweet, melodious notes of a nightingale drifted into the fresh morning air, its nighttime reverie hushed by the golden rays of the sun.

Elysia calculated that Graystone Manor was hours and miles behind her as she dashed across the lane, her feet barely touching, glancing about as she crawled into the thick hedge running along the far side of the lane.

She would have to hurry if she wanted to safely reach the cover of the trees in the distance before the sun rose, bringing with it its revealing light.

Edging her way through the thick branches, Elysia was about to stand up and make a run across the field, when she froze. In the distance she heard the sound of wagon wheels, and the steady clop, clop, clop, of horses' hooves. Elysia's heart pounded painfully as she paused in indecision. It would be light any minute now and she must get across that field, but she couldn't risk being seen dashing madly across it by some local farmer who might know her.

Elysia raised herself up slightly, and peeked through a leafy branch of shrubbery. A few yards away, coming down the lane, was an old horse pulling a loaded cart full of protesting pigs. A young boy prodded the old mare to no avail. She kept her leisurely pace, paying no attention to the impatient driver. Elysia recognized him as Tom, the son of a farmer who was a tenant of the squire's. She couldn't reveal herself to him, of all people. But he was so slow. Time was running out. A faint glow of pink was beginning to appear in the sky as the loaded cart passed by her hiding place in the hedge. She allowed him to get a little farther down the road, then hurried out from under the hedge and ran wildly towards the woods, hoping Tom wouldn't look back.

Her lungs felt as if they were going to burst, and her sides ached as she reached the first concealing trees of the forest. Elysia leaned thankfully back against the trunk of a large oak as she gazed back to enjoy the beauty of a glorious sunrise. The light flooded across the fields, turning them from gray to green, the sky a prism of changing pinks and oranges, fading into a vivid blue. She was safe.

She smiled grimly as she thought of her wild rush across the field. When she'd been a little girl she had run gaily through the fields, never dreaming that one day she would be running in earnest for her freedom.

By mid-morning Elysia's legs ached with fatigue, and she felt light-headed with hunger. She heard a stream gurgling nearby, and following a path to its bank, she knelt down on the edge and drank thirstily of its clear sparkling water, her cupped hands dripping water down her forearms, wetting the long sleeves of her dress.

Climbing up to a mossy bank overhanging the stream, she took out the red and white checked cloth wrapped around her small cache of stolen food, and unfolding it, spread it out on her lap. Elysia broke off a piece of the bread, put a hunk of cheese on it, and took a hungry bite. She added some of the sweet-tasting pink ham, and then nibbled at the fragrant turnover, savoring each mouthful of the fresh fruit filling. The hungry growling of her stomach began to stop as she finished the turnover, and thought to herself that never had any meal tasted so good.

Elysia began to hum a tune beneath her breath, snatches of verse from a long forgotten song coming to mind. The lines of the old gypsy ballad rang in her ears, capturing her mood as she relaxed back against the slope of the creek, staring down into the crystal effervescence of the water.

I be a-wanderer, a-wanderer, no ties to keep me still

a silver moon above me head, the ground beneath me back

I be a-wanderer, a-wanderer, between the valley and hill

fair colleens by the dozen I've seen, they call me Gypsy Jack.

Elysia sang softly, lingering over the words of the song. Free to wander. Yes, she was free. Free to follow whatever path she chose; not a direction of her own choosing, perhaps, but she would make the best of it—now that she had nothing to return to.

She allowed herself a few more minutes of rest, then wearily rose and walked along the stream, searching for an easy place to cross before heading deeper into the woods. The sun appeared, disappeared, and then reappeared from behind the clouds that had built up gradually throughout the day. A cool wind rose from the north, whipping Elysia's cape around her as she walked under the canopy of branches. By late afternoon she felt that she had gained enough distance to stop for the night.

The small bit of warmth fled as the sun's feeble rays faded and the shadows lengthened, bringing a cool crispness to the air. Elysia saw a large tree in the fading light and hurried over to it, feeling the ground beneath it soft with a covering of ferns. She sat down and took out her food, eating sparingly, not knowing how much longer she would have to make it last. She didn't believe she had much farther to go; sometime during the following morning she should reach the main road.

Elysia pulled out her warm shawl, and taking off her cloak wrapped the shawl over her shoulders and head, then pulled her cloak back on over it, feeling warm and snug against the cold she knew would soon engulf her with the coming of night. She only hoped that the storm that had been brewing all day would not decide to break in the middle of the night.

She curled up, hugging her knees to her chest, and rested her cheek on her arm. She slept instantly, oblivious to the cold creeping in, or to the sounds of the small forest animals as they foraged for food among the trees.

Elysia awoke to a light drizzle falling from the leaden skies and, shivering from the cold and dampness, struggled to her feet. Her body was stiff and sore from running the day before, and the cold ground during the long hours of the night. She ate the rest of her food while a weak light spread across the cloudy skies, changing them from black to dark gray, and thunder rumbled threateningly in the distance. She re-packed her bag and began to walk slowly through the trees until she came to her destination: the road cutting through the trees in a straight line toward London. She could see in the distance a crossroads, and hurried toward it as the rain began to fall in cold sheets against her face.