I am a little out of place now, a finely dressed lady with no man at her side. Stallholders stare openly, as I make my way through the cage walkway. A few shout hopeful pitches, but I ignore them, heading towards my usual seller.
To my relief, the birdman recognises me immediately, despite my new clothes.
‘Queenie!’ he grins delightedly. ‘Well, now you are all fine. To match your name.’
I smile at him.
‘You would like your usual bird?’ he asks, uncertain now I am so well attired. I nod.
‘Yes please,’ I say. ‘It shall be my last, for I am going away.’
The birdman seems to expect this, for he shows no surprise.
‘Where do you travel to?’ he asks.
‘America. I start a new life.’
He digests this for a moment.
‘Then I shall get you the fleetest fellow in here,’ he promises, delving into the fluttering cage.
He cages the little bird expertly in a twist of paper and hands it to me. I pass him several large coins and he beams wide in gratitude.
‘God speed you wherever you journey,’ he says. ‘May all the saints smile on you.’
The bird is light in his paper cage, as I make the walk to Canary Wharf. During the journey, I realise I am no longer the overlooked street girl I once was. My wealthy clothes attract attention. When I arrive in America, I decide, I had best travel by coach or chair.
The docks at least have an area where fine folk may gather. There is a little roped area near to the gangplank, where the handful of passengers watch burly dockmen load up endless barrels and equipment for the voyage.
My company is several young explorers, a missionary family and a brave young lord who ventures further than Europe in his Grand Tour.
They are all interested in why I am travelling alone. But as we wait to board the ship, I am become too nervous to make conversation. My eyes follow a wiry sailor, shinning up the masts to set the sails. And I find myself wondering yet again if I am making the right decision. America suddenly feels very far away.
The final arrangements are being made to the ship. The broad loading gangplank is taken in and replaced with a slimmer version, with a rope handrail, for passengers.
The bird is still safely wrapped, in my hand. And as the call comes to board, I hold him carefully. My last part of England.
Once on board, the other passengers go straight to be sure their trunks are loaded right. The passengers are the last cargo and the ship is being readied in earnest now. Any remaining barrels and goods are being secured on deck. Sailors race back and forth at breakneck speed. The last dockmen are exiting the ship.
Instead of joining the other passengers, I wander onto the deck, taking in the wide sails and the motion of the water beneath us. I know I should check on my trunks. But I am in a kind of daze, now we are so close to setting sail.
Beneath me, I see a huddle of dockmen collect to heave away the gangplank.
I breathe in the salt air. The docks of London are before us and the great wide sea ahead. It feels like freedom.
My nerves have all gone. I raise the little paper birdcage in my hand.
‘I shall part from you here,’ I whisper, through the paper. ‘You shall be my last memory of home.’
I close my eyes, trying to drive away the memories of Edward’s face and replace them with happier thoughts. America. Freedom. I resolve deep inside that this will be the last bird I set free.
Somewhere on the ship comes the cry to haul up the anchor.
Carefully, I begin to unwrap the paper. I can feel the little bird inside, jittering like a nervous heartbeat, anxious to be liberated.
There is a moment’s pause and then a tiny beak peaks out the end. The bird’s head pokes out after, considering me in a succession of swift movements.
Then the whole body flies free, winging out and up into the sky.
I watch him fly, trying to send my heart with it. But somehow, it seems to catch in my chest.
Instead of settling in a tree, the bird swoops downwards, back to the shore. My eyes follow him, wondering why he does not take the chance to vanish away.
‘Elizabeth!’ A shout comes from near where the bird has landed.
I start to hear my name. And when I see the man standing on the docks, my heart pulses in my chest.
Edward.
The sudden riot of feelings threatens to overwhelm me.
How did he find me here?
‘You must hear me,’ he shouts.
I stare at him dumbstruck.
‘I understood what you read to me in the park,’ he says. ‘And I must make you an answer in person. I will come aboard.’
‘It is too late,’ I protest, feeling suddenly helpless. ‘We are casting off.’
My eyes switch to the gangplank, which is being drawn in.
Edward glances at it too. And then, with a run and a leap, he lands on the juddering plank.
There is a cry of alarm from the dockmen, who were not expecting a stowaway. But Edward ignores them, balancing deftly and taking cautious steps until he is level with the boat.
‘Be careful!’ I call, terrified for him. ‘It is not secured at the top!’
Edward glances at me and then his hand catches on the prow of the boat. He heaves himself up and over, with the dockmen still shouting in his wake.
I can scarcely believe it as Edward walks across the deck to where I am standing. My only thought is that the ship must leave soon and he will be trapped aboard.
‘Elizabeth,’ he says, taking my hands.
He pauses, gazing into my eyes. And then he speaks again.
‘“Let baser things devise, to die in dust,”’ he says, ‘“You shall live by fame.”’
He is finishing my poem.
I feel a smile creeping onto my lips.
‘“I shall dedicate my life, to eternalising your rare virtues,”’ Edward continues. ‘“And in the heavens write your glorious name.”’
I am dimly aware that people on the docks are looking. There are tears in my eyes.
Edward recites on.
‘“And when death shall all the world subdue,”’ he finishes. ‘“Our love shall live, and later life renew.”’
‘I …’ My throat is stopped. I hardly know what to say, only to see him is overwhelming.
He moves his hands around mine.
‘How did you find me here?’ I ask, blurting the first thing in my head.
Edward smiles.
‘You told me, in Vauxhall,’ he says, ‘that you freed a bird when you were sad. I flattered myself you might be sad.’
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
‘I asked at the bird market,’ he continues. ‘It is not hard for a few pennies, to find out where a girl as pretty as you might have gone to.’
‘So you found me out,’ I say.
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I found you out.’
Edward hands are still clasping mine.
‘You must leave the boat,’ I protest weakly. ‘We are setting sail. You shall be taken along to America.’
He pauses for a long moment. ‘I made a mistake,’ he says finally. ‘I should never have let you go. And I do not want you to be my mistress.’
‘You do not?’ I ask, swallowing hard.
‘No,’ says Edward slowly, ‘I want you, to be my everything.’
Now the tears come fast.
‘The boat …’ I whisper. ‘It is setting sail.’
‘I know.’
‘So you must depart, or be swept away to America.’
Edward shakes his head.
‘I have done a little thinking on this matter,’ he says. ‘I should like to come with you.’
‘You do not know what you are saying,’ I murmur, my eyes blurred with tears. ‘You cannot give it up to be with me.’
‘We could have a new life together,’ he says. ‘There would be no society to trouble us. We might start our own farm, on good land.’
/> ‘But you have no money in America. And what of your family here?’
‘I have Mr Vanderbilt’s trading contacts. My estate can easily spare funds, to support us in our life abroad. And my mother is well taken care of,’ he adds.
‘You decide too sudden,’ I protest. ‘You have a whole life here.’
‘Yet I find it is not much of a life, without you in it,’ he replies. ‘I have given the matter thought enough.’
‘You can’t …’
‘I can. I will,’ he says, studying my face. ‘But can you give up some of your freedom, to be at my side?’
‘I …’ My throat is still choked.
Slowly, I pull my hands from his grip, keeping my eyes on his. I feel into the front of my stays. My fingers close on the shape of my banknote.
I take it in my hand and pass it to Edward.
‘If you take this journey, you should need a ticket,’ I say, folding his fingers around my banknote. ‘This will help buy your passage.’
Edward looks at the banknote in his hand and back into my eyes.
Then he takes me in his arms and kisses me. For a long moment, the world melts away and it is just the two of us.
The ship lurches beneath us, as the wind catches the sails.
I break away gently. Our faces are still nearly touching.
‘America,’ I say softly. ‘I thought you did not take risks?’
He smiles. ‘Yet I find I am greatly changed on that matter this last week.’
We cling together and the ship turns majestically, bringing the wide Channel into view.
Ahead of us is endless water, stretching out as far as the eye can see. The wind blows warm on our faces and Edward’s arms are wrapped tight around me, as we gaze into the great blue expanse.
‘Besides,’ he whispers, as the ship carries us out and away, into our future, ‘I do not take a risk. For everywhere with you is an adventure.’
So … Did you guess the movie?
Each book in the Masquerade series is based on one of Joanna Taylor’s favourite romance movies.
Want to discover the movie behind Lizzy and Edward’s story?
Click here to find out.
Shhh! Want a secret scene from Lizzy’s past that not even Edward knows? Click here.
You’ll also be given access to reader resources, with pictures of characters, locations, and outfits featured in the series.
AND
Dates of a SECRET PRE-LAUNCH where you can bag the next Joanna Taylor release at a discounted price!
If you’re looking for more JS Taylor books, her bestselling romance Close Up and Personal, is available to buy on Amazon. You’ll get to read Isabella Green and James Berkeley’s love story first-hand.
A personal word from Joanna Taylor:
‘Thanks so much for reading my book. Fun books can make a bad day better. So if you enjoyed my writing, it would mean the world to me if you post your thoughts on Amazon review. Many Kindles give the option to do this on the next page. If you really want to make my day, you can even share what you’re reading with friends on Facebook and Twitter.
I read every review and often test free copies of future books on readers who like my work.’
‘I also take every kind of reader feedback very seriously, so if you have a critique, or something you didn’t like, please let me know. This means I can become a better writer for my readers. Contact me at: [email protected].’
ABOUT JOANNA TAYLOR
Joanna Taylor and JS Taylor are the romance pseudonyms of journalist Catherine Quinn, who also writes best-selling thrillers as CS Quinn (confused yet?!)
Catherine won her first story-writing competition aged eight and has never looked back. In adult life, she discovered it was much easier to make men do what she wanted in fiction than in the real world.
So she’s been forcing her male characters to make romantic gestures ever since. Her greatest wish is that her readers enjoy reading Masquerade as much as she loved writing it.
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Masquerade: Can a street-girl become a lady? Page 23