Ford had kept her in sight well enough to know which hedge path to turn down to follow her without Barnaby's direction, but nodded at the confirmation as he rounded the corner on her. He noticed three things all at once. The first — that she was very beautiful — was hardly a revelation, but it was noteworthy taken with the second observation: that she was clearly distraught. She'd been taking deep breaths when he skidded to a halt, apparently trying to keep her emotions in check. He felt a pang of sympathy for her, stuck in a predicament that may not have been entirely his fault but which he'd certainly only made worse so far.

The third thing: there wasn't much space here. The place she'd shied away to might be best described as an alcove, and wasn't entirely enough space for three people even in the best of circumstances — and with her skirt in shreds these were hardly the best of circumstances. What would someone think, if they walked by and spotted them? Barnaby's presence might have been helpful here to some degree. If there had been something scandalous going on, the addition of a ghost certainly would have ruined the mood. Probably no one who saw all three of them tucked away here would have assumed Ford was in the midst of ravaging the poor woman, no matter what the state of her dress.

"H-hey," he said, still panting slightly from having run to follow her. "I can — help," he continued, though he still hadn't determined how. He glanced at his shoulder and pulled the petticoat fabric off with a frown.

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