The carriage slowed as it reached Brackenwell and came to a creaking halt. Ruelle stepped down, her trunk set carefully at her feet. For a moment she stood watching the carriage wheels roll away, the familiar rattle fading into the narrow road.
She drew in a breath that smelt of wood smoke. Home at last, she thought to herself with a smile. She then took hold of the trunk's handle before pulling it towards the house.
A few villagers noticed her at once. Heads turned with their voices lowered. One of the men nudged the fellow beside him and muttered,
"Looks like Harold Belmont's troubles are finally coming to an end."
"With his gambling habits? Hardly," the other man snorted. He shamelessly traced the figure Ruelle had begun to fill out.
"I think Sexton will put a price on her. High enough to settle debts, I'd wager," whistled the first one.
