CHAPTER NINEFrank Connolly was like a man possessed as he drove the Daimler back along the road towards Bideford. Over and over again he chanted to himself.
‘He will not have her! This wedding will never take place!’ until he was almost delirious with rage.
As the River Torridge came into view, the car spluttered a little as if it might stall, so he pressed down the accelerator hard and it ran smoothly once more.
Approaching the turn for Torr House, Frank Connolly brought the motorcar to a halt for a moment.
It was then that he saw on the other side of the bank the procession of carts, carriages and horses headed by the Viscount.
‘They are out searching for Luella already,’ he thought with a mounting sense of frustration.
Taking on one man, face-to-face, was one thing, but this convo
