Skiff came out to meet her, a puzzled look on his face at the sight of her atop the coach’s bench instead of Clanton or a hired driver.
“I’ve no time to explain,” Cat said, hopping down from the bench and handing Skiff the reins. “Will you see they’re watered? I’ve driven them hard.”
“Aye, miss,” Skiff said, “but —”
“No time,” Cat said. She started for the kitchen to find Emma — the girl would be up and about, she was sure, even though Cat wasn’t in residence. She still had the duties of cleaning, even with working at being Cat’s maid, and more of them when Cat was in town.
She made it only a few steps before she stopped, mind whirling furiously over what came next.
They couldn’t take the coach on from here. Two girls driving so large a coach would be noted — they might even be stopped and questioned. Such a conveyance should have a proper driver, and a man for that, not a girl. It simply wasn’t done.
She turned back and grasped Skiff’s arm.
“Skiff, make the cart ready for me, will you? The market cart — and the two sturdiest horses. Will you do that?”
A cart would make more sense. Two girls from a farm heading to market. They’d be unremarkable in that, she thought, and could find some better excuse for traveling farther.
Skiff frowned. “What’s this about, miss?”
“I — I can’t explain, but it’s important and I’ve little time. Please, I must get Emma. Will you do this for me?”
The groundskeeper looked from Cat to the coach, then to the manor. His brow wrinkled and she could see his mind working, then he nodded.
“Aye, miss, you see to your girl. I’ll see to the cart.”
“Thank you!”
Cat ran for the kitchen door where Singley was silhouetted against the light.
“What is this about?”
“Is Emma up?” Cat asked, then brushed past the woman not waiting for an answer. “Emma?”
The kitchen smelled of the bread baking in the oven and the herbs set to drying above it. Cat’s eyes filled at the thought of how happy she’d been here, for so short a time, and at having to flee now and might never have this again.
Emma rushed into the kitchen, followed closely by Hinds, who was still in her nightdress and scowling at the fuss.
“What is it?” Emma asked.
Cat rushed to her and wrapped her arms around her. She squeezed tight, every bit of fear she’d had since Roffe’s words at Newgate making her want to pull the girl inside herself and never let her loose.
“What —”
Cat released her, but only to grasp her face and pull her into a kiss — long and deep and full of love. She pulled back only a bit and stared into Emma’s eyes.
“Do you love me?” she asked, ignoring the gasp of outrage from Hinds.
“Miss, what —”
“Enough of that! No playacting for the watchers, Emma, do you love me?”
Emma’s eyes darted about, wide and not understanding, but Cat’s urgency must have convinced her.
“Aye, Cat, I do — with all my heart, you know it.”
“Then trust me, please,” Cat said, her voice rushed. “You’re in danger and we must leave. Leave now, for we haven’t much time.”
“Danger?” Emma shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“He knows,” Cat said. “He knows about us and he’ll hurt you to control me, do you understand? He’ll see you dead if he must — he told me so. The man’s insane. We must leave. Now, please!”
Hinds stepped forward and roughly shoved Cat and Emma apart.
“What have the two of you been up to? What … what ghastly, unnatural —”
“Shut up, damn you!” Cat yelled and shoved Hinds away. Her hand went to the knife hilt tucked into her stays. If the screeching harridan delayed her, there’d be another body for Clanton to barrel up.
“I suspected, but didn’t believe it,” Hinds said, her face twisting in disgust. “Well, neither of you is going anywhere! I shall fetch the vicar and then the constable, and —”
Cat’s fist closed on the hilt, but Singley laid a hand there and then stepped between her and Hinds.
“Now, now,” Singley said. Her hand gripped Cat’s tightly, keeping it in place. Her other held a teacup out to Hinds. “Let’s all settle down and see what this is about, shall we?”
Hinds took the cup automatically, but her scowl didn’t lessen.
“I see quite well what this is about,” she said. “These two vile creatures and their unnatural acts have been found out and wish to flee!”
“As may be,” Singley said, her voice calm. “As may be, but there’s t’be no talk of vicar’s and constables and such — not in Master Roffe’s house, you know. Once one secret’s out, there’s no telling where it stops, right?”
Hinds’ scowl lessened and she looked uncertain.
“I’m certain Master Roffe made as much clear to you on your hiring, Mistress Hinds. Secrets kept for secrets kept is the bargain, yes?”
“I —”
“Drink your tea, dear, and settle a bit. We’ll work this out ourselves, won’t we? That’s best for all.”
“I — yes, you’re right, I suppose.” Hinds raised the cup and drained half of it at one go in her distress. “It was only that …” She looked at Emma and Cat, who’d drawn closer to each other as she spoke. “To see them so —” Hinds scowled again and took another sip of tea. She took a deep breath and her shoulders eased. “We must contact Master Roffe, of course, and let him decide what’s —”
Hinds broke off and frowned.
“Of course, dear,” Singley said. “We’ll send for Master Roffe at once.”
“Yes,” Hinds said. She blinked rapidly, her eyes rolling slowly and her head soon following suit. “We must send for Master … Roffe, and tell him of these …” She began to sway, but with some effort fixed her gaze on Cat and Emma. “… dirty girls.”
Singley reached out and plucked the teacup from her hands as Hinds collapsed in a heap. She tilted the cup to the light, examining its contents.
“You’ve three hours, I think, before she’s awake and sends for Roffe,” Singley said.
At the kitchen door, Skiff stepped into the light and tapped the wood cudgel he held against his palm, his eyes on Hinds.
“Always the pigs,” he said, “if’n y’need more time.”
Chapter 29
I don’t know how to thank you,” Cat said from the cart’s bench.
The sun was halfway over the horizon, but blocked by the manor’s bulk, so the kitchen courtyard was still dark.
Skiff heaved a last sack into the cart’s bed and Singley handed up a basket for Cat to set beneath the bench. They’d looted the manor of nearly every bit of portable value — at least what could be easily disposed of — including a cache of guinea coins from a hidden compartment in Roffe’s desk.
All of it was in the burlap bags covering the wagon bed, their upper halves filled with all manner of produce from the kitchen and household stores. If Cat and Emma were stopped, they could show a cart full of produce for market and be on their way.
“No thanks,” Singley said. “I’ve no thought what the master’s plans for you were, but I always suspected they were darker than I bargained for when I came here. There may be no other place for me, but you two could make a go of it.”
Skiff shook his head. “Yer good girls,” was all he said.
“What will happen to the two of you?” Cat asked. “When Roffe finds out —”
Singley laughed. “Skiff and I’ll sit down and enjoy a cup of tea,” she said. “Roffe had me teach you what I know, didn’t he? Why should he be surprised if you were to use it?”
“But Hinds —”
“I’ve a thing or two will make her lose the last few hours, you know. By the time Master Roffe arrives, her memory’ll be the same as ours.”
Cat nodded. With Hinds unconscious, Singley could dose the woman with anyth
ing she wished.
“Best be off,” Singley said.
Cat pulled the wagon to the roadside and paused to think.
“What is it?” Emma asked.
“A moment.”
No, she’d watched the few other carts on the road so far, and there was something wrong. They were getting odd looks, though no questions.
She examined the cart and found no flaws with it — it was common enough to be from a farm. She and Emma were dressed much as the few girls she’d seen on the other carts. The bags of produce in the back were not so many as in the other carts, but that could be explained by their having a poor farm — why were they being noted?
She stood on the cart’s bench and looked around.
They were in an area where farms were plentiful, far enough from the city and the manor’s village behind them —
“Damn me,” Cat muttered.
“What?” Emma asked.
“We’re in a bloody cart hauling potatoes away from the nearest markets,” Cat muttered. “Clanton’d have my backside raw if he could see me now.”
Emma looked confused, but Cat wanted to take no time to explain further. They needed to be on their way, but not noted as they had been.
There was a woodcutter’s track ahead, so she clucked to the horses and guided the cart down it until they were sheltered from view of the road, then she hopped off and motioned for Emma to do likewise.
“We’ll need to change,” Cat said, “and you will need to put on your lady’s maid’s voice, though you’ll be no maid.”
“What d’you mean?” Emma asked.
Cat dug through the wagon bed until she found her bags from the townhouse. She thought for a moment — had she packed enough? Yes, there’d be something appropriate for each of them. She pulled two sets of clothes from the bag — Merchant’s Niece and Parson’s Daughter would do.
Or was it the Merchant’s Daughter and the Parson’s Niece? she wondered.
No matter, the point was the two dresses were the proper class for what she had in mind and the Merchant’s Whatever fit a bit loosely on her, so it might fit Emma.
“Put this on instead,” Cat ordered, then saw the look of confusion on Emma’s face and sighed. “Look, we can’t be two farmgirls with a wagon for market — it will never work. All the folk heading for market around here know each other and know where the markets are. We’ve been going against the flow of goods all morning and everyone who sees us is asking, ‘Say, why are those two girls we don’t know at all hauling cabbages away from the market?’ Do you see?”
“Oh —” Emma nodded tentatively.
“So that’s not what we are now. We are sisters, daughters of a shopowner who’s recently died. We have family in …” She thought for another moment, picturing Clanton’s map. “No, near, Bristol, but not in it. Unfortunately, they are not well off — nor are we, for Father had debts —”
“Oh, dear.”
“— and we have nothing left but a few personal possessions, not even household goods. We are forced to make our own way there to find our new home. You must speak as Hinds taught you for acting the part of a lady’s maid — it will do for a certain class of merchant, such as our father was. Do you have that?”
Emma nodded.
“Tell me,” Cat said.
Emma cleared her throat and spoke slowly as she always did when trying to keep the accent Hinds had taught her. “Our father’s died and left us nothing and we must make our way to family in … near Bristol on our own.”
“Good,” Cat said. “We’ll get the rest of the bits right on the road. Change your dress now.”
Emma stripped off her things and Cat helped her into the Merchant’s Daughter dress, then stripped herself and Emma assisted her in becoming the Parson’s Niece.
Or, I suppose, we’re now the Orphaned Daughters.
She eyed the cart and decided to unload some of the produce. It would do them no good in hiding what they’d looted from Roffe and the bulky bags visible over the top of the wagon would do their new roles no credit. No, they were the Poor Orphaned Girls, left in dire straits — traveling with no more than this rough cart and a few, meager possessions. Provided one didn’t look too closely at the baggage and see the possessions were two households’ worth of silver and plate.
“Help me unload these turnips.”
With the work done, and pounds of Mistress Singley’s ready produce left to rot in piles, Cat couldn’t help but worry at the small bit of baggage they actually had left. There was a great deal of value there, but it was all they had to establish and keep themselves.
Cat couldn’t help wondering if it would be enough. What sort of life would she and Emma be able to lead, and how would they keep themselves?
They traveled for three days that way, then Cat turned the cart back the way they’d come and north at the first crossroads.
“I thought we were to go to Bristol?” Emma asked.
“Near Bristol,” Cat said, “and that’s the story we’ve told at the inns the last three nights. Now we will change our direction and our father’s shop was in Southampton and the relatives who’ll take us in are near Derby.”
Emma frowned.
“Look, we’re not exactly unremarkable,” Cat said. “Two girls, traveling alone — that’s something folk will remember, no matter our story. And my hair’s like a bloody beacon — I’ll have to find some dye soon.” She ignored the look on Emma’s face at the thought of dying her hair. “So, we’ve laid a trail from London toward Bristol. Anyone following us will move on that way from that last inn, but we’ve come back and headed north. In fact, we’ll ride on through the night tonight, so there’ll be no innkeeper to remember us within a day’s ride of that last. We’ll do the same short of Derby and head some other direction for a time.”
“Y’think Master Roffe’ll come for us?” Emma asked.
“Accent,” Cat prompted, causing Emma to huff. It was work to keep up such a role.
“There’s no one about but us,” she said.
“You must have the habit, or people will remark on any slip,” Cat said. “It’s no more than you’d have to do if you got the place of lady’s maid you wanted.”
“Thought it were you I’d —”
“Emma.”
The other girl huffed. “I thought it would be you I’d serve as maid, when Mistress Hinds was teaching me — and I could be myself in private.”
“Perhaps later,” Cat said, “once we’re settled somewhere. But for now, it’s best to be used to it.”
Emma settled back on the cart bench, arms crossed. “Like t’break my teeth on them words.”
Chapter 30
They made their way for days, then weeks, doubling back and turning, changing the location of the father’s store and their distant relatives each time until Emma despaired of ever remembering what it was today.
Three times Cat left Emma and the cart at a village inn to go on ahead to a larger town or city with a bag over her shoulder and the Flowergirl’s clothes — the Flowergirl could pass for a poor girl traveling or even a beggar in the market, rough and only avoiding giving in to the despair of hard times because all times were hard.
The bag she carried contained a few bits of silver and plate, or some others of Roffe’s goods, and she sought out the parts of town where the merchants of more dubious integrity might make their homes — the sort of shops that might buy a thing of more value than the person selling it should logically possess. All towns of any size had such a place.
She haggled just enough to not be too egregiously cheated. Not enough to be remembered for driving a hard bargain, nor little enough to be thought a fool or an easy mark.
At the third such shop, something seemed off.
The shopkeeper nodded and agreed to the price, then stepped to his back room to get the coin, while Cat exchanged a brief, level stare with the bully-buck who wasn’t, quite, a guard. The man perched on his stool off to the side — unobtrusive, but obvious
ly watching Cat to see that she touched nothing while his master was away. The stare went on too long, was too direct, and the shopkeeper took more time than should be needed. Cat’s back muscles tensed as though there were someone behind her, though she knew there was not — her neck itched and her mouth went dry at the certainty that something was wrong.
The shopkeeper returned with a pouch. Cat weighed it in her palm, looked inside to see the coin, then took one out to check it. She should check them all, but there was that itch, and the expectant stare of the shopkeeper, so instead she nodded, smiled, and eased out of the shop.
The street outside was busy, wagons and carriages vying for space with those walking, but Cat picked them out of the crowd in an instant.
To her left, at an alley’s entrance — two men, lean and sharp with rougher clothing than the street was used to, but finer than Cat’s Flowergirl garb. She turned the other way and walked, not looking behind because she knew they followed.
She walked casually, the pouch of coin slipped into a pocket at the front of her skirt so that it came to rest securely between her legs.
A draywagon passed her, and a carriage was coming the other way, so she darted into the street behind the dray, rushed along its far side, having to turn sideways so as not to be crushed between the two, then behind the carriage quickly before the next came, and into an alley.
She heard curses and shouts behind her as the two men tried to cross.
The trouble was that Cat didn’t know the town and hadn’t scouted an escape route — she was in a hurry to return to Emma and not after robbing the merchant, after all, so what need of that was there? The alleys were as twisty and unpredictable as anywhere and a wrong-turn sent her to a dead end with no likely route to the rooftops.
She skidded to a halt, feet sliding in something dumped from above overnight, and rushed back the way she came.
Of Dubious Intent Page 19