The slapping of their footsteps on the wet ground echoed loudly as they pounded along the path towards the Alverton Hall stables. By now the downpour had subsided, leaving everything cool and dripping, but the grass was still extremely slippery; treacherous conditions for riding.

Not that a blizzard would have deterred Mary from riding out in search of George. Such was her determination and focus that she saw nothing but the stables up ahead; growing in size as they rapidly approached. Assuming it was still a they by this point, and that Lady Helena had not fallen behind. Tramping across sodden fields could hardly be an activity she was accustomed to.

To her credit, though, the earl's daughter kept pace with Mary the entire way. Upon reaching the stables, her face was admittedly flushed scarlet as she fought for breath – but the glint in her eyes matched that in Mary's own. In that moment, as the women stood facing each other, panting with exertion, Mary realised that she trusted Lady Helena more than she did any other person. With Margaret, she had always felt the need to care for her; Lady Helena, though, was someone Mary could depend on.

The stables were mercifully empty, saving them from the further delay of having to explain to one of the stable hands why they wished to ride out with such haste. There was nothing to prevent Mary and Helena from clattering directly into the stalls, Mary eyeing Lord Alverton's beautiful thoroughbred horses with a critical eye as they milled about chewing hay.

She soon noticed a grey mare with a dappled coat and powerful looking legs which should make light work of the muddy terrain. Gently approaching the stall, Mary succeeded in coaxing the horse out, before turning to face Lady Helena, who she expected to be selecting her own – but Lady Helena was in fact nowhere to be seen.

A loud crash echoed suddenly from some unseen crevice at the back of the building, causing a couple of the horses to whinny anxiously.

"Lady Helena?" called Mary, peering into the gloom. "Is all well?"

"Yes," came Lady Helena's muffled reply. "I am simply having some difficulty reaching the second side-saddle."

"Side-saddles?"

There was a brief pause, followed by a dusty cough.

"Well... yes..." replied Lady Helena slowly, puzzlement evident in her voice.

"We haven't time to fret over propriety!" yelped Mary, agonising over the precious minutes lost due to Lady Helena's dithering.

"If you are not comfortable riding astride, then I shall go al..." Mary began, but she was interrupted before she could finish.

"No!" cried Lady Helena, emerging from the gloom as she hastily brushed specks of dust off the front of her gown. "Only, it must be terribly difficult to ride in such a way."

Mary, by now sat astride her saddled mare, had spent a childhood riding bareback across the Yorkshire moors, and thought nothing of it. Observing how Lady Helena awkwardly saddled her own horse, however, Mary was reminded how not many ladies had shared such an experience – and certainly not a noble lady.

"You must ride astride, Lady Helena, or not ride at all!" she snapped, too frustrated to be guilty for losing her temper. "Now is not the time to be such a lady!"

Lady Helena blinked in surprise, a brief flicker of hurt passing across her face – but to her credit, not a moment later she swung her leg over the horse's back, in perhaps the most unladylike act Mary had ever witnessed from her friend, until she was sitting comfortably astride.

"My, this is far the superior method of riding!" gasped Lady Helena, flushing with the exhilaration of performing such an undignified act. "Were gentlemen ever to ride side-saddle for any length of time, I feel certain they should be reluctant to force such discomfort upon ladies any longer!"

Under any other circumstances, Mary would have paused to enjoy the expression of shocked joy on Lady Helena's face – but they could afford no further distractions when every second they remained stationary put Mr Roach and George ever further out of reach.

"Shall we?" she prompted, earning her a nod from Lady Helena.

Without another word, they thundered out of the stables across the damp grounds of Alverton Hall, Mary's mare slightly ahead as she expertly urged it on. Mr Roach had likely headed for the road which passed through Chester before continuing northwards – and if Mary was correct, they could cut through the forest on the edge of Lord Alverton's land and eventually meet it just before Chester. She could not say with certainty, but there was little else to do except rely on her best guesswork at this moment in time.

"Where are you taking us?" called out Lady Helena from behind, words whipped away by the wind as Mary veered off suddenly in the direction of the trees to their right.

"I believe this way will lead us directly to the road!" she shouted over her shoulder.

Lady Helena, to her credit, did not question Mary's judgement, leading her horse in the same direction as Mary's.

The forest floor had remained largely dry, sheltered as it was by its canopy of dense foliage. This ought to have made the going much easier – but several branches littered the ground, forcing the horses to pick their way carefully across the uneven floor, despite their riders urging them to speed up. It did not rest well with Mary to endanger both themselves and the animals in such a way – but they had to make this more direct route worth their while.

Suddenly there came a sickening shriek from behind, followed by the frantic scuffling of hooves on soft mud which caused Mary's heart to momentarily stop.

Twisting frantically atop her mare, Mary saw Lady Helena just managing to clutch on to her horse's silky mane as it staggered to right itself, evidently having slipped or caught its hoof on some sort of protruding stump or felled branch. Lady Helena's face was blanched with terror, but to Mary's relief she managed to maintain her vice-like grip upon the mane until the horse was steady again.

"Do you require a moment?" asked Mary, but Lady Helena was shaking her head before Mary could finish speaking.

"It was a slight shock; nothing more," she replied briskly, seating herself fully upright again. "I am perfectly able to continue."

Thank goodness it was nothing worse, thought Mary as they began pounding through the forest once more, trying not to think of how easily disaster could have struck in these dreadful conditions. Lady Helena was a courageous woman indeed, risking her safety to search for George alongside someone she had only known a few months. The English nobility certainly needed more of the likes of her.

By some miracle, the remainder of the journey through the forest passed without further incidents. Deep under the cover of the dense trees, Mary did doubt herself for a moment, imagining how she could explain to Margaret that they had allowed Mr Roach to escape whilst riding around in circles, completely lost – but to her intense relief, the trees eventually began to thin, until  they found themselves emerging out onto the road to Chester at the very point Mary had expected.

There was no time to celebrate her successful navigation endeavour, however – there was not a carriage in sight, nor could the trundling of wheels be heard up ahead. It would require every ounce of concentration from the women, and every last drop of the horses' energy, if they were to have any hope of chasing Mr Roach down.

After the uneven ground of the forest, the relative flatness of the road was a great relief. Although having to be wary of the odd displaced stone, Mary and Lady Helena made short work of urging their horses into a rapid canter, almost deafening themselves with the thundering of hooves as they kicked up splatters of wet mud behind them.

Still faster they flew along the near-deserted road, leading them ever-closer to Chester without any sign of Mr Roach. Once or twice Mary felt a flicker of hope in her heart as they spotted a cart or carriage up ahead – but they were met only by the gaping expressions of innocent villagers as they hurtled by. What a sight the pair of them must have been; gowns caked in mud and faces flushed with exertion, half-hidden between tangles of wild hair which had long ago evaded any semblance of neatness.

Suddenly, the ground to the left of the road fell away, sloping steeply down towards the racing current of the swollen River Dee, which ran directly parallel to them. It was amidst the frantic rushing of the water that Mary first heard the thundering sound – and at first, she cast her head heavenwards, thinking a second storm to be on its way.

When these thoughts were banished by the brightening blue sky, Mary turned her gaze back towards the road – only to utter a shrill cry moments later as she saw a flash of yellow whip around a sharp bend in the road up ahead, accompanied by the unmistakable screech of a carriage wheel.

"Another carriage!" she exclaimed, pressing her mare to pick up the pace yet again as a fresh spark of determination flared within.

Having rounded the bend themselves, Mary and Lady Helena were now offered an uninterrupted view of the trundling vehicle ahead – and this time, it was Lady Helena who uttered a cry of recognition.

"That is my father's phaeton! Mr Roach must have taken it from the coach house!"

The wicked man! Mary thought darkly, wondering at his nerve. Thieving from an earl was hardly likely to go unpunished – then again, the list of misdemeanours to Mr Roach's name was by this point so lengthy that one further transgression would hardly have much impact. A phaeton did seem rather an odd choice of vehicle to select – but then, the light, sporty carriage made for a rapid getaway to Chester, where he would likely discard of it in favour of a heavier duty carriage.

"We must attempt to flank him; one on either side," called Mary, fighting to be heard over the combined din of the river, hooves and phaeton.

Lady Helena's face paled in fear; yet after a moment's pause, she nodded grimly.

"I shall take the left side," Mary continued, watching as the distance between them and the careening phaeton shortened before their eyes. "And from there, I shall sharply move ahead, into the phaeton's path, forcing Mr Roach to come to a halt."

"But Mary!" gasped Lady Helena, evidently considering the same possibility Mary already had. "What if he does not halt? He is such a despicable man; why should he show any mercy?"

Why, indeed? thought Mary, pushing images of being crushed beneath the phaeton's large rear wheels firmly out of her mind. It was a reckless move; of that there was no doubt. Yet Mary could think only of placing herself between Mr Roach and his path towards Chester, and eventually Yorkshire. Bringing him to a halt now was the only hope they had of rescuing George – and Mary was willing to do whatever necessary to ensure the infant's safety.

"Very well," consented Lady Helena, steeling herself to close Mr Roach's phaeton down.

In a single, swift movement, Mary and Lady Helena surged forwards simultaneously, pushing their horses to reach a far more rapid pace than ever before. The poor animals would be exhausted after such a chase – but as they began to draw level with the rear wheels of the yellow carriage, Mary prayed they would hold out just a few moments longer.

Mr Roach had raised the hood of the phaeton; he would not yet have noticed Mary and Lady Helena's swift approach. This element of surprise was the only hope Mary had of successfully completing this manoeuvre – surely Mr Roach was not so despicable that he would mindlessly mow down a rider who stumbled across his path?

Mary was about to find out.

Surging forth with one final burst of exertion, Mary jerked her poor, exhausted mare sharply to the right, directly into the path of the phaeton's front wheels.

Mary experienced the next few moments as if time were moving at half the usual speed. Her eyes instinctively shut as she clutched blindly at her mare's velvety neck, clinging on for dear life as the world tilted sideways. There came the hot screech of metal wheels upon stone, almost drowning out the horses' terrified whinnies.

Then, out of nowhere, came a sickening, heart-stopping crunch.

Before Mary had chance to open her eyes, a sharp jolt from her mare released her grip on its mane – and suddenly, she was clutching nothingness.

Her hands grasped desperately in front of her, but they met only air. There was only air, whooshing past her body as she fell down, down...

Surely the ground was not this far away, thought Mary in terror.

This was the last thought she had before her head violently struck something hard and sharp, plunging the world into blackness.

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A/N: Don't say I didn't warn you there was drama coming up... *evil cackle*

Poor Mary! Was her bold act one of heroic bravery, or just foolish? Let me know what you think with a comment, and as always, if you enjoyed this chapter please give it a vote! :)