Almost 1:00 a.m. on the Bath Road outside Hounslow—September 1814We are going to crash. The thought went through Max's brain with almost fatalistic calm. There was not enough room, even if the stage pulled over, even if it were broad daylight—even if he were driving and not his young cousin.
'Rein in, damn it, it's too narrow here!' He had to shout over the wind whipping past them and the thunder of hooves. The stage held the crown of the road, as well it might. At this time of night it was the safest place to be—unless you had a private drag bearing down upon you, driven at full gallop by an over excited eighteen year old racing for a wager.
The coach was lit with side lanterns, as they were, and the moon was high and full, bathing the road and the surrounding heath in silver light, but Max did not need it to judge the road—he knew it like the back of his hand.
'I can make it!' Nevill looped the off lead rein and the team, obedient to the l ...
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