“I know it is none of my business, miss, but I cannot like you going off alone. It would be clear to a widgeon you are a fine lady.”
Meg had to laugh at this pronouncement. Her only gown was ruined from the filthy Channel water, while her hair stank and was hopelessly tangled.
“No longer, I am afraid.”
“Did someone take advantage of you? I can see someone at least tried to hurt you.”
Meg’s hand flew to the bruise she knew marked her face; she could feel others elsewhere. The soldier had almost been too late. A few more moments…
“It is of no matter, now. I must go to my sister.”
“I wish me and Sam could do more.”
“You have been very kind, ma’am.”
“You have a place to go?”
Meg could not lie to this woman, she would see straight through it. “I do not, but I hope to find a position near my sister. We were separated by very bad circumstances.”
“Do you know where your sister is?”
Meg shook her head. “Only that his family seat is near Oxford.”
“That is far away indeed.” She whistled low and kept working.
Grateful for the food, Meg finished her porridge and tidied herself as best she could in the circumstances. As she went out to the cart where Mr. Simpson was loading his goods for market, Mrs. Simpson came to her with a small basket of food.
“My Samuel will take you to my sister in Basingstoke. Mayhap she can arrange for you to travel further with someone safe.”
“Oh, Mrs. Simpson! I cannot accept this.”
“And I cannot accept you going off on your own. I’ll hear no more of it.”
Meg gave her a swift hug. “I will never forget you, ma’am. Thank you for keeping my secret.” She dropped a graceful curtsy to the goodwife as she would any lady, causing Mrs. Simpson to blush. She smiled and pulling her hood low, climbed into the cart, hoping people would only see what they expected to see.
Riding in a cart was slow and tedious, even more so than a carriage. However, Meg was extremely grateful, for she needed to conserve the few coins she had.
It took two long days to reach Basingstoke, stopping at Petersfield en route to deliver some of the goods. They slept in the barn of one of Mr. Simpson’s patrons, where Meg was thankful to be given her own stall. Hoping she had not displaced anyone, she nestled down on some sweet-smelling hay with the blanket provided. It was not what she was used to, but again she was tired enough to sleep. A tabby cat joined her at some point during the night and was snuggled at her feet when she woke.
She had a great deal of time to think during the long days of riding in the cart, as Mr. Simpson was not prone to excessive conversation (which suited Meg very well). It was hard to hide her worry, but at least she had a short reprieve. For one thing, her looks were very distinguishable. If only she had mousy hair and plain eyes! Besides concerns about being recognized, it could cause trouble for her sister.
“You mentioned the stage can be caught from Basingstoke, sir?” she asked, almost thinking out loud.
“Yes, miss. The missus’ sister runs the Maidenhead posting house and the stage goes through there twice a week.”
She nodded, her thoughts in a whirl, wondering if she might have enough coins for a ticket on the stage and perhaps another dress. She would need to find an employment agency to help her secure a position. References! Raised to run a grand house, she knew that without experience she must have someone to vouch for her. She could forge such a thing if only she had pen and paper.
Things she had once taken for granted must now be considered very dear to a slim purse. There was nothing for it, she would have to beg kindness of Mrs. Simpson’s sister. Besides having no pen and paper, she also had very few skills which would be attractive to a grand household. The only thing she could probably do without training was be a housekeeper, a position not easy to come by even were she older and less remarkable in appearance. She did not mean that in a conceited way, she mused honestly, but it was part of the reason her parents had kept Amelia and herself so sheltered in Humberside.
Last evening’s attack made her realize just how naïve she had been. Her thoughts flashed back to her rescuer, hoping he endured no lasting harm from his brave actions on her behalf. Saying a quick prayer for his swift recovery, she tried not to allow her thoughts to linger on the handsome face and midnight eyes which she had callously left behind.
The Headmistress (Ladies of Miss Bell's Finishing School Book 6) Page 10