Fifty-NineIsabella edged into the blinding brightness of the afternoon sun. After hours half-underground her eyes watered with the intensity of the light, and she stood for a few moments adjusting to her new surroundings. The bridge was quiet. On any normal Sunday there would be regular traffic with townspeople going to town for supplies or entertainment on their day off, some even making their way to church. The thoroughfare was deserted, which confirmed for her that Quincey was still at large and the Sheriff had the route closed for the town’s safety.
She edged gingerly forward, keeping her back plastered to the vertical of the lodestone rock, and craned her neck to see up the cliff face Sebastian had fallen down. If she’d been hoping to see the Sheriff or Sir John Russell perched up th
