Corey McFadden (11 page)

“We’ll have to leave just after dawn, Mother! It’s past midnight now. Surely there is not so much hurry as that?”

“You can sleep on the way to London, John. It’s a two-hour journey. Now go to bed and wash your face carefully before you do. You must not let that wound get infected or it will be all the worse a scar.”

She helped him to his feet and pushed him toward the door. “I’ll wake you at dawn before it’s time to go. I’ll keep searching the house tonight. We haven’t yet tried the cellar.

I wouldn’t sleep a wink anyway. Are you certain you were very thorough in the stables?”

“Yes, Mama, very thorough, I assure you,” he replied wearily. “I really must get some sleep.”

“All right, precious, good night. And don’t forget what I told you about that gash.” She left him in the hallway, intent on the cellar.

John made his ragged way up the steps, one arm against the wall, one on the rickety bannister. He could almost feel sorry for Maudie with his harpy of a mother on her tail. The woman wouldn’t rest until she had Maude back in the bosom of the family, never to escape again. Still, Maude had scarred his face for life, the little witch, and had rejected him to boot. Well, she deserved everything she got, and he would see to it that she got plenty.

Chapter Six

Maude awoke slowly from a deep, satisfying sleep. She was warm and comfortable and resisted giving up her dream in which she had been riding her stallion like the wind across the hills. She smiled to herself and rolled onto her back, opening her eyes. She was conscious of two things at once: a stabbing pain in her head, and not having the slightest idea where she was. She bolted upright, much to her regret, and looked about the room. Ah, yes, Joe’s clothes and her shawl containing her hair hanging on a peg, and the remains of her wash water in a crockery bowl. Memory came flickering back, and with it a sinking feeling of fear and uncertainty. The easy part had been running away. The hard part was ahead of her.

It was almost dawn, judging by the gray light filtering through the clean, starched white cotton curtains. She sat quietly for a moment and listened. She could hear no sound as yet, but unless she was much mistaken about the running of a major household, the servants would be up and at work any minute now.

Tentatively, she swung her feet out from the covers to the cold floor. The headache was there, no doubt, but it was bearable and she did not feel dizzy. Holding her hand against the towel that still bound her breasts, she willed herself to get up, and wished for all the world she could crawl back under the covers and ring for a servant. She slipped quietly out of bed and tiptoed to the pegs on the wall. Joe’s clothes were dry, thank heaven, but a bit stiff with caked mud. She could brush off the worst of it after she left the house, but she was under no illusion that she would present a creditable figure to Messrs. Booth and Parks. Well, she thought, squaring her shoulders, and dressing quickly, pushing the knotted shawl in the back of her breeches, they would just have to take her word for it that she was indeed Miss Maude Romney, stable-hand attire notwithstanding.

Maude moved quietly to the door and listened. All remained silent. She smiled to herself as she thought how many times she had listened at doors since her nice, peaceful supper of the evening before. The thought of food made her belly rumble, but she would just have to trust that Messrs. Booth and Parks would see to getting her a proper breakfast.

She slipped out into the dark hall and made for the back stairs which she recalled would lead her to the kitchen. Mercifully, she saw no signs that anyone was yet afoot as she slipped down the stairs and into the kitchen. Meeting someone would not mean her undoing, but it would be so much more convenient if she could just disappear and not have to come up with any kind of story as to who she was and why she had been abroad on such a night. Besides, she thought, getting to the truth of the matter, she had no desire to face the earl again. If he recognized her now with her clean face, she would drop down dead of embarrassment, trying to explain how things had come to this pass.

The large door in the rear entryway was secured by a substantial iron bolt. Holding her breath against failure, Maude pushed hard against the bolt and was relieved that it shot back with barely a whisper. God bless Mrs. Formby’s passion for a well-oiled household. Maude smiled to herself and stepped out into the damp, gray dawn. She scuttled through the neat kitchen garden toward the mews, careful to make as little noise as possible, mindful that the stable master and his hands would be stirring at any moment. Beside the mews was the narrow drive for the carriages which led into a rear alleyway. Arching along the brick wall of the carriage house that flanked the drive, Maude gained the alley without any hue and cry behind her.

Reaching the end of the alley and peering to either side, Maude could see toward the right what appeared to be a public thoroughfare. She ran in that direction, only to be startled by the sound of an approaching carriage. Almost by reflex, she dove for the shelter of a cellar stairwell, just in time. Around the corner, into the alley, came a large coach, pulled by two of the finest bays Maude had ever seen. She gasped in recognition as she realized that the crest on the coach door was none other than that of the Earl of Radford. And there was the rake himself, his head back, his eyes closed, returning home at such an hour, no doubt from some drunken, seamy assignation! Maude harrumphed to herself in self-righteous disapproval as she watched the coach turn into the earl’s drive. Just like John, she supposed, cads all. Oh, please let Messrs. Parks and Booth tell her she had no financial need of a husband!

That sobering thought returned her to the present problem. As she reached the street, she stared, perplexed, up and down. She had never been to London before and had no idea of the lay of the city. Not that it would have helped, anyway, since she also had no idea where she was. Well, she would do herself no good staring about like a ninny! With a decisive shake of her head, she took off to the left, if for no other reason than that was the direction from which the earl’s carriage had come. She had a vague association with the words “Chancery Lane” in connection with Booth and Parks. Perhaps she had seen it on correspondence. At any rate, it was the only hunch she could play now.

There was nothing for it but to ask someone for directions to Chancery Lane. Heaven help her if it were a long way, for although she had a few shillings in her tied handkerchief, she had doubts as to whether a respectable hired carriage would take her anywhere in her present condition.

She walked several blocks before she saw anyone. A boy was coming toward her, holding a wrapped parcel in his hands. “Excuse me,” Maude began in her country inflection, searching in vain for the correct form of address—‘young man’ would sound too stilted for someone of Mike’s status—“I need to go to an office in Chancery Lane. It’d be near the Royal Courts, I think. Would you be knowing how to get there?” Maude asked with little hope that the boy would be of any help.

“Wouldn’t know Chancery Lane, precisely, but the courts’d be near the river. That’s east of ’ere some.”

The boy eyed Maude with some wariness, but she was relieved to sense no undue suspicion or hostility.

“Would it be far, the river?”

“Not so terribly,” he answered amiably. “I’d keep walkin’ down this street. It gets to the river a ways down.”

“Thanks, much obliged,” Maude responded. She began to walk away, pleased to have escaped detection by one of her ‘peers’.

“’Ere now! Wait a bit!” he called out.

Maude froze. Had she given herself away? She turned and eyed the boy warily.

“Our Eddie drives to market every mornin’ about this time. We get our fish from the fish market near the river. P’raps you might cadge a ride off’n ’im, though I don’t know as Eddie ever did nothin’ wasn’t sumpin’ in it for ’im, if you catch my meanin’....”

The boy winked broadly at Maude and she laughed. “Aye, I catch it right well enough, and I suppose I could find a bit for you as well, though, mind, I’ve almost nothing to give.” She wondered how far to trust the imp, but decided that with only a few shillings to quarrel over she had little enough to lose.

“Well, I didn’t take you for the Crown Prince, did I?” he laughed. They turned into a narrow alley, not unlike the one behind the earl’s house. “Wait ’ere. I’ll see wot’s Eddie doin’.” The boy disappeared down a drive.

Maude sat down against a brick wall, pleased with her progress so far. It was odd, but she was enjoying herself. Here she was. Miss Maude Romney, on her rump, in the dust in a London alleyway. And nobody was the wiser! She stretched out her legs and glanced with approval at the dirty breeches. So convenient and so comfortable. Why had gowns ever been invented? This was freedom as she had never experienced before, and probably never would again, she thought ruefully. Too bad she had so little money and no knowledge of London. She would have enjoyed a few days as a street urchin. She worked a shilling and a penny out of her handkerchief, placing them in her other pocket. On a second thought, she removed the handkerchief and with a quick look around to make sure she was not being observed, she thrust it down into her shirt. No point in Eddie seeing her whole hoard.

A rattling and rumbling warned her of an approaching cart. She jumped up and waited while the cart approached, the boy on the seat next to an older lad who must be Eddie. He reined in the horse.

“Lil Rob, ’ere, says you be lookin’ to get to the courts by the river.” He stopped, waiting for the bargaining to begin.

“Well, I guess somewhere near the courts,” Maude responded. “Chancery Lane, I’ll be wanting.”

“I might know Chancery Lane. But it wouldn’t be anywhere near my markets. It’d be takin’ me north some, out the way.”

Again, he stopped and eyed Maude. Obviously, she was engaged in some sort of negotiation. She wished she understood the rules of the street.

“I haven’t much to give you,” she began.

“’Ow much ’ave you then?” he asked.

Maude pulled out her shilling piece, palming the penny and letting the pocket turn out to show it was empty. She held it out toward Eddie.

“Aw, that’s nothin’ much,” he grumbled, but he took it all the same. “Well, ’op on, then. You don’t look good for much mor’n a shillin’ anyhow.”

Maude smiled at Rob as he hopped down. Their hands brushed and he looked slightly startled for a minute, then a grin broke over his dirty little face. Maude gave him a conspiratorial wink, then clambered up onto the cart. He had his penny, and she had her ride.

* * * *

She settled next to Eddie and the cart began to move down the street.

“London’s quite a sight for you, Mike?” Eddie asked with great condescension, after they had exchanged names. “I’ll bet you’ve not seen nothin’ this grand afore, ’ave you?”

“In the country the houses are scarce, not all one after another, like these.” Maude did not know how far to go with her country-boy routine, but she certainly was goggling at the big city sights, as they left the rather splendid residential district. Even though it was not much after dawn, there was commerce aplenty, carts rumbling, street vendors setting up for the day, shops opening.

As they drew near to the river, Maude gaped at the varied merchandise available for the exchange of a few coins. As they passed one vendor setting up a rack of silken scarves from the Far East, Maude almost fell off the cart, twisting to look at the beautiful colors.

“’Ere, you’d need a year’s worth of wages to buy one of them for a sweetie, Mike. No use gogglin’ at wot you can’t afford.” He cast Maude a sidelong look. “You wouldn’t be the type wot pinches wot ’e can’t pay for, would you? ’Tis not wise in London. This ’ere’s not the country. Our lower footman, ’e got ’imself transported on one of them convict ships for pinchin’ an ’ankie off’n a vendor.”

Maude hardly intended to steal a scarf. She turned toward Eddie, looking appropriately solemn, aware that the boy was basking in his role as the sophisticate and mentor. “No fear of that,” she said. “My...mistress, she turned off a maid with no reference when some kid gloves were missing. They turned up, too, but ’twas too late for the girl.”

Maude remembered with bitterness that the gloves had been found several months later. They had fallen behind a drawer in Amelia’s dresser which was crammed full of her pretty accoutrements. Neither Amelia nor Aunt Claire had cared a fig that fourteen-year old Molly had been put out with the clothes on her back and a pitiful little bundle of her belongings. Maude had made discreet local inquiry after the gloves had turned up but had not found a trace of the girl.

“Aye, the gentry don’t much care wot ’appens to the likes of us. That’s why it’s smart not to step out of line. Me master the Duke of Sommesby’d as soon beat me as look at me. Sometimes I wonder whether ’e don’t enjoy it. This ’ere’s Chancery Lane comin’ up. Wot’d you be doin’ ’ere, anyway?”

“My mistress is stayin’ in London for a few days. She needs some papers from her solicitor’s office.” Maude could feel her heart pound every time she had to come up with some new untruth. She hoped she was near the end of this masquerade, for she was not finding it easy to lie and in dialect as well.

“Seems she might ’ave given you more’n a shillin’ for carfare.” Eddie winked, implying the age-old conspiracy of servant against master.

“Aye, she’s a cheap one all right. Much obliged to you, Eddie. That would have been a long walk, all right.”

Maude leaped down from the cart, amazed at the freedom afforded her by the sensible breeches. Alighting from a cart in petticoats and skirts was a cumbersome, time-consuming process.

“Well, look us up if’n you want some comp’ny or a game of cards. Come round back, late evenin’s. ’Is lordship goes out most nights and we’re not wanted till ’e comes back in the wee hours.”

“I might just do that, Eddie, thanks for the invitation.” Maude grinned in farewell as he drove off. She felt a pang of regret that she would not be able to take the young man up on his offer. She was beginning to think she’d missed a great deal by being born female into the gentry!