When Captain Thomas reined up his horse in the courtyard of a tumbled-down manor house and released his hold on her, she slid to the ground and lay there like a broken doll. The steady rain against her face no longer felt cold; she was too numb to feel anything but terror. Betty’s dying face came back to haunt her. Again and again Elizabeth’s mind replayed the awful picture of her little maid lying in her arms with blood seeping over them both. For nearly a year now, Betty had been a constant presence in her life. The girl had driven her to tears with her whining, her irrational fears, and her lack of common sense, but Betty had remained doggedly faithful. Elizabeth had loved her despite all her faults, and now she was dead. I should have left her in Jamestown, Elizabeth thought. I saved her from drowning in the shipwreck to cause her violent death here in England. Someone grabbed Elizabeth roughly by the shoulder and yanked her to her feet. “Get on wi’ ye,” a man ordered. Her weary mind didn’t know who was speaking to her and she didn’t care.
