Prologue

If she spun fast enough she could make everything a blur. In fact she could happily spend her days whirling like this until the blue of the sky and the green of the grass blended together and she grew so dizzy that there was no choice but to shut her eyes and blanket her now hazy world with black. As another gasped giggle escaped her lips the little girl swayed to a halt, head tilted to the heavens. Where she stood in the still summer air her turquoise skirts and cascade of copper curls were the brightest splashes of colour against the pale summer roses.

The child was only still for a moment before her eyes flew open to seek out another game, only to have her plans for mischief interrupted by the familiar shrill voice of her nurse, calling too close for comfort. Startled, the girl hastily snatched in another breath, yanked her skirts away from her feet and bolted.

She knew all too well what would follow capture: a sharp telling off from nurse, then a sharp telling off from Mother and most likely an interminable round of prayers before being sent back to the school room.

Fortunately she was small enough and swift enough to avoid such reprimands.

The sharp thorns of the rosebushes clutched at her skin and hair and soil smeared the hem of her dress as she struggled through the rose bushes and onto yet another of her father's many neatly trimmed lawns.

Little feet pumped furiously as she made her escape as best she could, weaving over sturdy grit paths and soft grass until she was forced to a skidded halt by an unfamiliar stone wall.

Shooting a few desperate glances around while her heart battered uselessly against her ribs the girl was finally forced to admit that she did not know where she was. Really that was not her fault. Her father had so many estates with elaborate gardens like these in each one, so how could she possibly be expected to know her way around all of them?

Cheeks flushed with indignation and exertion, the girl reluctantly leaned against the fountain allowing the cold of the stone to seep through her skirts. Lost though she might be, her eyes were clear and dry as she scanned her surroundings. She was no weak ninny who fell to tears at the slightest provocation. She knew her lady mother never cried.

Glancing mournfully down at the ruined material of her skirts she noted an unsightly red smudge on the ground by her foot. Dark ruby, wine most likely. She wondered belatedly if that stained her clothes too. Just as she began to really consider her predicament, a sharp caw bit through her thoughts.

Behind her, merely a few feet off, the huge, gleaming back shape of a crow nestled in the hedge. Beady charcoal eyes surveyed her as the wretched bird flapped its wings.

She realised all of a sudden that the world had gone quite silent; no other birds sang and there was no noise save for her own measured breaths and the faint rustle of wind disturbed leaves. The crow's ragged beak stretched open in another caw as it fluttered to the ground and out of sight. Irritably the little girl skirted round the fountain and made to shoo it away only to stop dead in her tracks. Colour drained her cheeks and eyes blanked in horror as she froze, unable to tear her gaze away.

Smeared across the ground from where she stood were streaks of blood. At the end of the macabre trail, flung out from under the nearest trimmed hedge was a chalk pale hand, lying motionless against the fresh green of the shrubbery. Triumphant the crow lowered its head and began to peck the prone fingers.

All the little girl could do was scream.