In fact, she really would visit her aunt, whose letters had always been amiable and witty. It would be pleasant to discover some member of her father's family for whom she felt kinship.

Leaving Chanleigh Court was easy. Maxie was delighted to don her boy's clothes again after too many months in skirts. Among her mother's people, women wore leggings, and she was as comfortable in them as in the white man's gowns. Her farewell note was left in her room. With luck, it would not be found until well into the next day.

She stopped by the kitchen for cheese, bread, tea, and a slab of ham, which would spare her limited funds at least until Yorkshire. After some hesitation, she also took an old map of the road to London from her uncle's study.

She let herself out a side door. It seemed a good omen that the skies had cleared after an evening of intermittent rain. The night air was damp and rather chilly, but she drew it into her lungs eagerly, already feeling happier and freer.

Her practiced stride took her swiftly down the drive, but she stopped for a last glance at the great house. Maximus had been glad to return to his family home, and wherever his spirit was now, he must be pleased that his bones rested here.

But while Chanleigh had been her father's home, it was not hers, and it was unlikely that she would ever return. She had been a mere discordant ripple on the surface of a deep pool of Englishness, and like a ripple, she would soon be forgotten.

She covered five or six miles before the moon set. Seeing a small building silhouetted against the starlight, she picked her way across a soggy field to a storage shed. Remnants of the previous year's hay crop were stored inside, and it made a fragrant nest. She settled down with her pack for a pillow and her cloak as a blanket.

It was not the first night she had spent in a barn, and it would not be the last. It was, however, the first time Maxie had been entirely alone. In the past her father had always lain an arm's length away.