Path of Injustice

Beverley Hansford

Description

Set in the 18th-century kingdom of Alteria, Path of Injustice is a story of romantic love tormented by jealousy and personal suffering, which takes place against the background of a country locked in civil war.Daintry is a young woman in love with her childhood sweetheart. When she obtains a herbal potion to cure her sick father, she unwittingly sparks off a chain of events that threaten to change her life forever. Accused of witchcraft and thrown into a ghastly prison, she is aware that her innocent act of compassion can have only one ending - death by hanging or burning.When her sentence of death is lifted, her relief is short-lived: she is sent as a prisoner to work in the dreaded silver mines of Katangar, from where no one returns. Will she ever see her betrothed or her family again? Can she hope for a miracle to save her?Path of Injusticeis a charming historical romance set in the 18th century, against the backdrop of civil war. His most recent titles include:The Golden Anklet,A Touch of Autumn GoldandRoots in Three Counties.Praise forThe Golden Anklet: 'I find this read to be positively riveting. The writing is engaging, and the storytelling is well done.' -My Reader Review.

Sujets

• Romance

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 12 janvier 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781789019391
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Copyright © 2019 Beverley Hansford

The moral right of the author has been asserted.


Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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ISBN 978 1789019 391

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.


Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd
To all those innocent people – past and present
who have suffered injustice.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 1
Finn Yago paddled his boat slowly down the river. The August day was hot and did not invite strenuous exercise, so occasionally he would rest his oars and allow the boat to drift idly along. It was a pleasant and tranquil scene, but for Finn the beauty around him only held passing interest: his focus was on the livelihood the river could provide him with. His earlier catch of fish had been excellent, and after making his usual trek to the nearby town of Toomer he had been fortunate to sell all the spoils of his labour quickly in the market there. Now two silver coins nestled safely in the pouch at his belt. It had been a particularly good day, he reflected, and on his way home he would likely quaff a jug of ale at his local hostelry before returning to his wife and six children.
It was the sound of young people’s laughter that roused him from his musing. Rounding a bend in the river, he spied the source of the merriment. Here the river was shallow, and a spit of sand ran alongside its bank and jutted out into the water. Two teenage girls and two boys of a similar age were enjoying walking in the cool water. The boys waded up to their knees, but the girls modestly only held their dresses up sufficiently to allow their ankles to be immersed. All were enjoying the unusual freedom of being closer to nature and feeling the water lapping against them.
Finn smiled to himself. As a boy he had done the very same thing at the same spot. He recognised the group of revellers: Daintry and Mela were the daughters of Anton Brouka, the grain merchant and miller of Toomer. Conrad was the son of the mayor of Toomer, and Miklo was the doctor’s son. Finn allowed his boat to drift past the group.
‘Girls! Out of there this minute!’ The peaceful interlude was broken by the harsh tone of a woman’s voice.
A middle-aged, rather plump woman hurried along the river bank towards the group. She was red-faced from her exertion.
‘Out of there, I say!’ she ordered.
The two girls had already heeded the first instruction and were heading back to the spot where they had abandoned their belongings.
The two boys were also leaving the water, but they were not to escape reprimand.
The woman turned her attention to them. ‘And you two boys should not be enticing young ladies to behave in such a shocking manner.’
Finn smiled to himself. He knew the woman quite well, for he had almost grown up with her. Their families had lived in the same street when they were children. She was Mogo Parr, Anton Brouka’s faithful housekeeper. She had served in the Brouka household ever since Anton’s wife had died birthing their last daughter, and had subsequently brought up the two girls. He also knew that Mogo’s bark was worse than her bite.
Finn stood up in his boat and greeted Mogo. ‘Good day, Mistress Parr.’
His action calmed Mogo’s wrath. She composed herself before turning her attention to him and returning the greeting. ‘Good day, Master Yago.’
Finn rowed slowly on down the river, still observing the unfolding scene on the river bank. By now the two boys had retreated to a safe distance, away from Mogo’s sharp tongue, and the two girls were replacing their stockings and shoes under the watchful and disapproving eyes of their guardian, both conscious that they were not yet free from her admonishment.
‘You should both know better at your age than do such things,’ she remarked sternly.
‘It was so hot, and we only paddled in the river,’ retorted Mela, who was the older and more rebellious of the two.
‘We picked lots of berries,’ pleaded her sister, faintly hoping that their labours prior to their escapade might appease Mogo.
The remark distracted Mogo from her chastisement. She glanced at the basket full to the top with the wild berries that grew in profusion along the banks of the river.
‘That’s good. We’ll have some for supper and I’ll preserve the rest.’ She was calming down now.
Before the girls could respond she spoke again. ‘Hurry! We’ll be late.’
‘But it’s hours and hours to suppertime,’ protested Mela.
‘Never mind that. I want you both home well before then.’
The two girls did not argue any further. They knew Mogo of old and were well aware that as soon as she felt she had control of them again her anger would subside. They were not to know that her apparent displeasure with them was partly caused by an incident that did not concern them. On her way to the river, Mogo had encountered her old friend Arlee and had spent more time chatting and gossiping than she had intended. On top of that, she feared that Arlee might still be somewhere in the vicinity, and she was anxious that she might have seen Daintry and Mela acting in a most unsuitable manner for two young ladies of thirteen and fifteen. Mogo knew that if that had been the case, Arlee would have quickly spread the news around the town and her supervision of the girls would have quickly become another item of gossip among certain residents.
Urged on by Mogo, the girls made their way the short distance to the rough and dusty road that led uphill for about a mile to the small town of Toomer. Mogo immediately set a quick pace, much to Mela’s disgust.
‘Why do we have to walk so fast?’ she asked.
‘It’s so hot,’ complained Daintry, who was carrying the basket of berries.
Mogo relaxed the pace a little, but her action was accompanied with the repeated remark, ‘We have to hurry.’
‘But why?’ repeated Mela.
Mogo did not reply, and the little party continued their trek, conscious of the afternoon heat. The road was open and there was no shade from the sun.
Hot and dusty, they eventually entered the town. It seemed to be busier than usual, and in the square people were beginning to gather in small groups around a piled-up heap of logs.
‘Why are there so many people about, and what is that pile of logs for?’ asked Daintry.
‘I know why,’ announced Mela.
‘Why?’
Mogo butted in before Mela could reply. ‘Never mind that. We’ve got to get home,’ she snapped, grasping Daintry’s arm and hurrying her forward.
Mogo’s efforts were of no avail. As they left the square and hastened towards the street where they lived, the murmuring of the crowd increased. The source of the spectators’ interest soon became apparent. Four men on horseback came into view, stern-faced and intent on their task. In their midst stumbled a young woman. Her hands were bound, and one of the horsemen held the loose end of the rope. Wherever the horsemen went, the woman was forced to go. The noise of the crowd ceased as the party drew near.
‘Where are they taking that lady?’ Daintry whispered.
‘She’s a witch. They’re going to burn her in the square,’ replied Mela, adding for good measure, ‘Peena told me.’ Peena was the servant employed by Anton’s household.
‘Hush. Don’t talk of such things,’ snapped Mogo. Then she issued her next instruction. ‘Daintry, Mela, turn your faces to the wall.’
The two sisters recognised the tone of Mogo’s command and meekly complied.
Mogo had desperately wanted to get them home and safe before the much talked-about event was to take place. Now, thanks to her own indulgence in gossiping with Arlee, her worst fear had materialised. No doubt her neighbours would have something to say about her allowing Anton Brouka’s two daughters to witness such a thing. At least she would make sure that her charges saw as little as possible.
Mogo’s intention was not entirely honoured. After a few minutes of staring at a blank wall, the girls could not resist peeping at what was happening. Their efforts were facilitated by Mogo, whose focus was now fixed elsewhere. For Mela the event was a subject of curiosity. Her younger sister was more deeply affected. Once she had obse