Corey McFadden (8 page)

She listened carefully. All was quiet. Still, he would not necessarily make any noise if he were creeping up the stairs. No! She would not consider that either, she thought, shivering nonetheless, and quickly glancing at the bolt on the door.
I can slip away now and make my way toward London....
She stared ruefully at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was scratched and bleeding; her dress hung in crazed remnants. Not like this! The carriage was gone, and with it both of Romney Manor’s remaining horses. She would go on foot in the rain and mud or she would not go at all. And worst of all, she had almost no money, just a few shillings.

She would go dressed as a boy! Joe, to be precise, a servant boy on an errand. A female unescorted of any class would be prey to the ruffians who prowled the roads. A boy of obvious poverty would attract little attention other than derision. Now that Joe served as valet to Uncle James and John, he slept in a small chamber in the attic. He had changed out of his stable attire to drive the master and missus out this evening. Surely she could find his clothes? She would have to leave her room for a few minutes, and she breathed a quick prayer that John had not yet come to.

Maude listened at the door. The house was still silent. As quietly as she could, she slid back the bolt, then eased the door open. A quick look told her that the hall was empty. She slipped out, shutting the door behind her, and made her way in the dark to the rear stairs. The stairs were well-nailed and oiled, and for once, Maude had reason to be thankful for her aunt’s complaining about housekeeping details. Claire hated being awakened by the sound of the servants creeping down the stairs early in the morning or up late at night.

Maude slipped into Joe’s room and shut the door. As a servant he had no lock, of course. She stared around for a moment, wondering where he kept his clothes. With a rueful grin, she realized that everything the young man owned was probably right there in front of her nose. He had no closet or wardrobe, only pegs on the wall. There was a small selection, and Maude knew from the meager grouping that anything she took would be sorely missed. Well, it was for a good cause and Joe would not begrudge her a few items. With luck, he would hold his tongue about the missing clothes, once he had a glimmer of what had happened. She would have the solicitors purchase a new outfit for him as soon as this sorry mess was set to rights.

Quickly, she picked a shirt and breeches from the pegs; they were the ones he wore for his work out of doors, none too clean and rather worn, but originally of good quality and certainly serviceable. Boots, she did not need, for she had her own worn-out riding boots, perfect for a servant. She snatched at a jacket, thankful that being one of John’s old coats, it was of good quality and thickness. Again, she heard no sound as she inched open the door and crept out and down the stairs.

Gaining the safety of her room, Maude again shot the bolt, then leaned against the door. She shook all over. She had not been aware of being frightened until now. Well, she was almost ready to leave. She quickly tended to the minor cuts on her face and hands, then stripped off her torn riding habit and donned Joe’s clothes. The problem was apparent immediately. While no one could consider her voluptuous, she certainly was not built like a boy and the small, but protruding, bosom was unmistakable in the white shirt. This would be worse than traveling as a female, far more revealing than her usual laces and coverings.

She glanced wildly around the room and her eyes lit on a towel hanging by her washstand. A moment later she had fastened the towel tightly around her chest, binding her breasts and giving more girth to her middle. The shirt, fastened almost to the neck, hid the towel completely and there was no sign of her bosom.

She glanced at her old riding habit crumbled in a heap on the floor, then grabbed it and made for her wardrobe. Carefully, she hung it up so the torn side of the bodice did not show. Let them assume for a while that she was merely in the house or about the grounds hiding, not that she had fled frantically into the night.

Maude pulled on her boots, then stood up to admire her handiwork in the mirror. With a gasp, she reached up to her head. Maude wore her hair long, not because she knew it to be her crowning glory, but because her papa had loved her carrot curls and had groused every time Mama had had them trimmed. What could she do with so much hair? Cut it, obviously.

With a snarl to herself that she would pay John back for this, too, she ran for her sewing box and pulled out her large cutting shears. She made quick work of it, hacking off curl after curl a few inches from her head. She stood for a moment aghast at the reflection that stared back at her. She looked like a freak, like a—boy!

Swiftly, she swept the hair into a long tail, then rolled it into a knot. She grabbed an old shawl from her drawer and bundled the hair into it, stuffing the bundle into the back of her breeches. Let them look for a young lady!

Maude rummaged in the back of her drawer for the small enamel box where she kept her pin money, a few shillings, not enough to do much with. Still, she might need to purchase a meat pie or two along the way and a few shillings were better than nothing. She wadded the coins into a handkerchief and stuffed it into the pocket of her breeches. A quick look around told her that everything appeared to be in order, no sign of disarray to hint at her flight. She would need as much of a head start as she could get.

Now for one last run of the gauntlet. Her ear against the door, Maude heard nothing. She knew rationally that a mere ten minutes, maybe less, had passed since she’d brained John with the decanter, yet it seemed like forever. If he were alert and functioning now, she’d not leave the house alive, not after what she’d done to him.

Again, she made a quiet sweep at the bolt and cracked her door. The hallway was dark and vacant. Good! Let him stay in a stupor for the rest of eternity. Quickly, she descended the stairs, pausing at the bottom. All was still, not a sound or movement. She ran for the kitchen; she would leave by the small back door. Pausing only to grab Joe’s old cap from the peg by the door, Maude stepped out into the cold, rainy dark.

Chapter Four

Blast the rain! Blast the dratted ruts in the road! And most of all, blast the now former groom who had carelessly lamed his favorite horse this morning and had delayed his return to London until now. He should have been in the city several hours ago. The earl’s carriage, expensive and well-sprung, nevertheless bounced mercilessly on the slippery and pitted road, a sea of icy mud hiding the ruts.

“We’ll have to make better time than this, Hobbs!” shouted Radford, leaning from the carriage, oblivious to the sleet and rain driving in his face. He could see Miller’s Bridge up ahead and knew they had traveled only a few miles.

“Can’t do no better, m’lord. Not without risk to the ’orses!” Hobbs shouted back, his voice almost drowned by the competing din of rain, horses’ hooves, and creaking carriage.

Blast everything! Of course, Hobbs was right. It would be foolish to let a card party, albeit a curiously important one, lame yet another horse. Normally, being late would not matter, but tonight the match was against the Duke of Sommesby, and later in the evening, of course, there was a planned rendezvous with the lovely Bella D’Amico.

Radford snapped open his pocket watch, but could not make out the time on the dial in the darkness. He snapped it shut impatiently. Well, it had been eight-thirty when they had managed to get away after consultation with the head groom, and that must have been less than a quarter of an hour ago. Two hours to London should put him at White’s at ten forty-five or so, a respectable hour, given that crowd. And then, after the game....

He sat back against the squabs, a lascivious smile curling his lips. Bella was simply ravishing, an Italian actress of many talents, on and off the stage. Such Mediterranean delights! And all for him...at present. Radford had no illusions about the lady’s past or her future, but for now he intended to enjoy her exotic charms exclusively, and if she cost him a pretty penny in baubles, it was money well spent.

Without warning, he was thrown forward to the floor of the carriage. He heard the high, frightened whinnies of the horses, then he felt them rear as the coach lurched wildly. It teetered from one side to the other, threatening to tip over completely, then came to rest at a drunken angle.

“What the devil? Hobbs,” he shouted, “are you there? Are you all right? Hobbs!”

As quickly as he could, Radford untangled himself from his ungainly position. He had come to rest nearly upside down, his head and neck wedged against the front seat of the carriage. He could feel the unnatural and painful stretch in his back. With a groan, he eased up and straightened. He was rewarded with a severe shooting pain, but at least nothing seemed to be broken. Radford pushed at the carriage door which refused to budge, then swore at it and pushed harder. It gave on the third try, nearly spilling him into the mud.

“Hobbs! Where are you?”

Radford stepped down, an unusually long drop because of the peculiar angle of the coach. The mud came up over his ankles, sucking at his boots and threatening his balance. He heard a low moan from the front of the coach and started forward. Thank God, Hobbs was still alive but how badly was he hurt?

“All right, Hobbs, I’m coming as fast as I can!” he called. He could see the horses stamping nervously and in front of them he could make out a figure bent over.

“Are you badly hurt, man? What the devil spooked those horses?” Radford reached Hobbs and crouched down beside him, his hand on the coachman’s shoulder.

“This ’un, m’lord, is wot done it,” said the kneeling figure.

“What are you talking about, man? What have you got there?” Radford looked down and, indeed, there was a small figure lying in the mud. “My God...a boy! Is he badly hurt? Did we run him over?”

“Well, yes, m’lord. In a manner of speaking we did. I couldn’t see nothin’ in the dark and the rain, and all of a sudden there ’e be. I guess ’e didn’t ’ear us until the last minute. ’E turned sudden-like, and tried to scramble out of the way, but ’e must ’ave slipped in the mud. It’s mostly ice anyway. The one ’orse, she shied, rather than run over ’im and that spooked t’other. I didn’t rightly see what ’appened after that.”

Radford’s hands had been busy while Hobbs explained. He pushed back the cap from the boy’s head. Yes, there it was. A nasty egg on his forehead, and small cuts on his face. His chest was moving up and down regularly, but he was unconscious.

“Well, we can’t leave him here to freeze to death.” Radford sighed. His chances of making the card game were growing more remote. “Do you recognize the lad, Hobbs? He must be from around here.”

Hobbs peered into the muddy face. “No, m’lord, can’t say as I do. I was born and raised around ’ere and this ’un, ’e don’t b’long to none of the families I know.”

“Is the coach damaged? The horses look all right.” Hobbs and Radford made a quick survey of the tilted carriage and, finding no structural damage, righted it.

“Let’s push on then. It won’t do us any good to go back now if the boy’s not local, and if he is, we can send him back tomorrow. Lift him carefully, that’s right,” Radford said, Hobbs at the lad’s head, Radford taking his legs. “Ease him down gently now, on the seat. I don’t know how badly he’s hurt.” The boy stirred and moaned as they placed him across the seat.

* * * *

Maude became conscious of a jolting pain. Like a red-hot sword embedded in her forehead, it throbbed in rhythm with each jolt. She was soaked through to the skin and had no idea where she was or how she had gotten there. Not that it mattered, really. Nothing mattered but the pain. She tried to open her eyes but all was dark, open or shut, as far as she could tell.

“Lie still, boy. Don’t try to move yet.” A voice pierced through the blackness. It hurt just to listen. “Here, boy,” came the voice again. “Try and sip a bit of this.”

Maude felt something cold and metallic at her lips, then the searing heat of a large gulp of brandy. She sputtered and coughed and opened her eyes. For a long moment, she looked around, uncomprehending, her eyes coming to rest on the Earl of Radford. With a gasp, she tried to rise, only to groan and sink back as a pain shot through her head.

“I wouldn’t try that just yet, boy, if I were you,” said Radford. “You’ve had a bad knock on the head by one of my coach wheel spokes, I think. How did you come to be out on a night such as this?”

Think, Maude, think! How could she answer such a question? Her head felt so muddled, and it hurt so badly. What to say? She stared back at him, her eyes dull with pain and confusion.

“Well, it’s all right, boy. We’ll wait till you’ve got your wits back. Just rest now. I’m taking you to my home in London. My housekeeper can send for a doctor if you need one, then we’ll see about getting word to your people that you’re all right.”

Maude closed her eyes, grateful for the reprieve. He thought she was a boy; so far, so good. And they were bound for London, also good. It hurt so much to think. Maybe she could just rest a bit, then sort it out. She felt a woolen coach rug being pulled over her. She sighed and turned into its warmth. Just a little rest. She’d had such a bad night....

Radford smiled to himself as he looked at the waif’s muddy face. The child was not badly hurt, he thought. He could go right on to White’s after a quick change into dry clothing. He looked down at his boots. His valet allowed as how there was no worse gentleman in London as far as boots were concerned.

* * * *

A jolt of the carriage caused Maude to swim up from her uneasy sleep. Her head still ached, but the brandy must have dulled the pain a bit and the carriage rug kept her warm. She deemed it the better part of valor to lie as if still asleep for now. She presented, she hoped, the very picture of innocent slumber, while in truth, her mind was swimming in muddled circles as she tried to work out her next few moves. A little late, she thought ruefully, to be thinking through the details. Not that the beastly John had allowed her the time to do any sensible planning. Well, for good or ill, here she was in the carriage of her old nemesis, but as long as he did not learn her identity and got her safely to London, all might yet be well.