Chapter Thirty-FiveThe ear-shattering plinking of bullets on tin woke me before dawn. I fumbled for Matilda’s arm in the dark and shook her more fully awake, pulling her out of the carriage before she knew the reason for the clamour. We landed in a tangle of limbs and crinolines, and Patrick grabbed hold of both of us and pushed us beneath the coachman’s step.
We poked our heads out at once, just in time to see a lone defender balance atop our tin wall and raise the bayonet he’d spent all day sharpening. He made a fine silhouette against the sudden cloud of gunsmoke lightening the predawn sky. Then he was shot, and fell to the ground without another defiant word. He was dead in a moment, and after he’d prepared so hard for this fight. I wondered if all our fates would come for us so quick
