Shattered Dreams
Authors: Rebecca King
Tags: #romance, #romantic suspense, #mystery, #historical fiction, #historical romance, #romantic mystery, #historical mystery, #romantic adventure
SHATTERED DREAMS
By
Rebecca King
Shattered Dreams
By
Rebecca
King
© Rebecca
King 2015
SMASHWORDS EDITION
TABLE
OF CONTENTS
Cover Design by Melody Simmons from
eBookindiecovers
.
ONE
Matilda
‘Tilly’ Fenton slowly stepped down from the post chaise, and looked
around her in disbelief. Dazed, tired, and confused, she stared in
shock at the hustle and bustle of the busy coaching yard, and
suddenly wished that she was back in the tranquil haven of Cambley
Hamden.
She
wasn’t sure what she had expected, but it hadn’t been this. People
were everywhere, and hurried this way and that, almost frantically,
as they went about their business with a swiftness that left her
somewhat breathless.
The
worry and doubt that had plagued her throughout her three-day
journey suddenly resurfaced and, for one brief moment, she wanted
to climb back into the post chaise, close the door, and pretend
that she wasn’t there.
“
You can’t go back,” she whispered to nobody in particular.
“It is far too late for that. Give it a chance, Tilly, old
girl.”
She
wasn’t sure why she had said that aloud because she rather
suspected that nobody could hear anything over the cacophony of
shouts, whistles, bangs, and general hullabaloo within the packed
courtyard. Somehow though, the sound of her own voice made her feel
a little less alone.
The
scent of hay, horse dung, and sweaty people, made her stomach roll
alarmingly. Although it had been several hours since she had last
eaten, her sickness steadily increased the longer she stood there,
and wasn’t helped by the fact that whenever she took a deep breath,
all she could smell was acrid urine.
She
glanced down at the fetid muck beneath her now muddy boots and
sighed in disgust. Could this day get any worse?
Her
fingers tightened painfully on the handle of her battered old bag;
her only prized possession, as she stared in dismay at an
altercation between two stable hands in the far corner of the yard.
The young lads didn’t seem to care that there were ladies in the
yard, and used ribald language that was loud and brash as they
insulted each other.
Tilly
glanced around to see if anyone was going to tell them to stop, but
the rest of the stable hands, coachmen, passengers, and locals,
within the tightly packed courtyard didn’t seem all that
interested. In fact, most of them appeared completely oblivious to
what was going on around them.
Slightly
discomforted, she turned away and contemplated the huge tavern in
front of her. Did she have enough money to go in? Could she afford
the time and money for a drink, if she did?
“
Ahem.”
“
Sorry,” she muttered, and hurriedly stepped aside when she
realised that the rest of the passengers couldn’t get off the coach
until she moved.
She took
several steps away, and turned around slowly in a circle as she
studied the long rows of stables that lined two entire walls of the
courtyard, the horses, carriages of all shapes and sizes,
deliverymen, bags, boxes, barrels, and stable hands that were
practically everywhere.
It was
madness. It was incredibly noisy. It stank to high heaven, and
seemed to have no sense of order to it.
Determined to get out of the melee, Tilly began to look for
someone who could help her.
“
Excuse me,” she called to a huge, burly man who was pushing a
cart in the opposite direction. She sighed in disgust when he
didn’t reply.
“
Please?” she called to a lady who was hurrying past clutching
a large reticule, but she too ignored her.
Tilly
began to feel invisible, and turned around to stare at the tavern
again. If she was honest, she didn’t want to go inside because she
would be expected to purchase something and didn’t have much money
in her pocket. The last thing she needed was to fritter away the
last few pennies she owned on luxuries, like food and drink.
Painfully aware of the emptiness of her purse, she decided not to
bother, and ruthlessly ignored her stomach when it suddenly
grumbled loudly in protest at being denied sustenance.
Unable
to stand the terrible din a moment longer, she turned toward the
main gates.
“’
Ere, watch out!”
She
gasped and staggered back in horror when the wheels of a huge post
chaise rolled past mere inches from her feet, and splashed her with
mud from the large puddle in front of her. The lower half of her
dress was immediately soaked with fetid water, the stench of which
made her wrinkle her nose up in disgust.
“
Oh no,” she moaned as she studied the dark brown stains that
now covered her clothing.
It’s my last clean dress as well,
she thought morosely.
Still,
determined not to be thwarted by a few drops of mud, Tilly squared
her shoulders and stared at the entrance of the yard with renewed
determination. The sudden movement of a carriage several feet away
warned her that if she didn’t move away from the puddle, the stains
on her dress were going to get considerably worse.
She
glanced about her worriedly while she tried to decide what to do.
Thankfully, she spied an empty space against the tavern wall a few
feet away and quickly hurried toward it with a sigh of relief. Once
there, she took a few moments to shake the worst of the muck off
her dress, and assess the damage to the material.
She had
spent nearly every penny she had scrimped and saved over the past
three years on the ticket for the post chaise to get here. She
simply didn’t have the money spare to purchase something to eat
before she tried to find Mr Harrington Tingay’s residence. She
certainly didn’t have enough to buy a new dress so that she had
something decent to wear when she met with her new employer. She
had no choice really but to try to find her new home, and hope she
got the chance to do something with her dress before she met with
Mr Tingay.
When
another carriage sped past, and the coachman blew his horn loudly
to announce its departure, Tilly knew she had to get out of the
chaos while the going was good, and hurried toward the entrance
gates with long, ground-eating strides.
A thrill
of anticipation began to blossom deep within her as she thought
about the wonderful new job that awaited her, and it fuelled her
determination to leave the commotion of the busy coach yard behind.
It was foolish to linger in a dingy old place when she could be
somewhere warm, dry and safe, like Mr Tingay’s house in Benningon
Green.
She
squealed, and fell back against the tavern wall when another coach
rumbled past without warning. It was so close that the wheels
brushed against the skirts of her dress. She sent a silent prayer
of thanks heavenward when she wriggled her toes and realised they
were still there. She knew that if she didn’t get out of here soon,
she would be lucky if she got out at all with her life intact.
However, before she could go anywhere, she had to find out where
Bennington Green was, and looked around the yard once more in
search of someone who could give her directions.
“
Excuse me,” she called to a huge, burly man who was busy
rolling a barrel toward a large square hole in the
ground.
“
Get out of the way,” he growled at her, and made no attempt
to stop until he reached a second man, who was beside the tavern
wall, waiting to slide the thing into a large hole in the
ground.
She
watched them for a moment, and wondered if one of them would have
the manners, or the decency, to ask her if she was alright. To her
consternation, neither of them bothered to even look at her again.
It was as though she didn’t exist. She frowned at them and wondered
if she should just ask for directions anyway. Unfortunately, the
rather unfriendly look in the burly man’s eyes was more than enough
to warn her that she would get no help from that quarter even if
she asked, so she turned her back on them and searched the yard for
someone who looked a little friendlier.
To her
dismay, most of the people with whom she had spent the last three
days in the post chaise, had all vanished. It was going to be
impossible to get someone to stop and talk to her, even if she did
manage to find anyone who knew the area well enough to be able to
give her accurate directions.
When a
tall, lithe man hurried past her, she opened her mouth to speak
only to close it again with a snap when he leered lecherously at
her, and eyed the gentle swell of her bosoms beneath her dress with
far more familiarity than was polite.
She
turned her back on him in disgust as the firsts tendrils of fear
began to form deep within her. Was everyone in Tooting Mallow so
rude and unhelpful?
“
How do I get help?” she whispered morosely.
“
Wha’cha say?” The lithe man grinned toothily at her as he
sidled closer.
Tilly
opened her mouth to speak only to close it again with a snap as she
studied him a little more closely. Although he appeared to be
friendly enough, there was something dark and dangerous in his eyes
that warned Tilly that he was not as amenable he seemed, and most
definitely not someone whom she should trust to give her directions
to anywhere nice.
Rather
than speak to him, she quickly turned away and paused only long
enough to allow another chaise to enter the yard before she hurried
out of the gates. The blast from the driver’s horn sounded loud in
her ears, but she didn’t bother to stop and look at it.
Unfortunately, when she finally stepped out into the main
road, her relief was cut horrendously short. She stared around her
in dismay, and wondered what she was going to do now. The people
who hurried up and down the busy thoroughfare appeared to be just
as rushed as everyone inside the coaching yard. It was going to be
impossible to get anyone to stop long enough to give her
directions.
Didn’t
anybody at Tooting Mallow go about life at a normal, sedate pace?
As she studied her surroundings, she rather suspected
not.
Although
it didn’t appear to be market day, people scurried in all
directions. Regal ladies glided along, escorted by debonair
gentleman, who guided them carefully around the vagabond street
urchins who were chased away from shops by angry shop keepers.
Chickens and pigs squealed and squawked as they ran in and out of
people’s legs. Carriages rolled to the left and the right of her,
but wove in and out of other parked and moving conveyances so that
it was difficult to tell who was going where.
Her head
began to whirl with the sights, sounds and scents that seemed to
batter her senses. She started to feel horribly drained from the
effort it took to absorb it all, and could feel the first stages of
a headache start to form as she tried to decide what to
do.
She
didn’t know what she had really anticipated Tooting Mallow to be
like; a rather quaint suburb maybe, or a more rural part of London
where nothing much happened. What she hadn’t expected was the
rather lower class, run down, dreary gathering of buildings that
were of an indefinable age, stretched out for miles, and crammed to
the rafters with people who were surly, rude, and
obnoxious.
