Hide in Time (31 page)

After eggs, ham, and some freshly baked
bread, Adam seemed keen to leave. Laura stayed at the table and ate
everything that had been left, which wasn’t much.
Unfortunately, she’d not seen one of the serving girls approach
as she picked up a slice of ham. The girl ran screaming into the
kitchen blabbering about the place being haunted. Laura scurried up
the stairs to wait outside Adam’s door. She daren’t wait
by the carriage in case he didn’t take it. He’d be
unlikely to ride Holly or Black. Would he walk? No, the case was far
too heavy and he’d not want it to be on show. A thought
occurred to her, she’d find it difficult to follow him if he
hired one of those wheeled Sedan Brouette things. They’d become
unfashionable, so maybe she’d be all right. She could keep up
with an ordinary sedan chair if he took one of those.

He did. Laura thought she might have to
trot to keep up but it seemed almost as though she could glide; a
worrying development. She’d grabbed some bread before leaving
and threw the chunk at some scrawny children who, of a certainty, did
not know where their next meal was coming from. Their despair was
banished temporarily by disbelief as ‘flying bread’
appeared and fell at their feet.

She was relieved when Adam alighted by
a coffee-house in bustling Fleet Street. She caught a glimpse of St
Paul’s at the top of Ludgate Hill and remembered Matt reading
something of Alexandra’s; she was doing well this time, she was
not likely to lose a foot surely? Time was passing and she must act
quickly. It shouldn’t be this difficult. She should have been
more bold when he was dressing. She followed him inside where he took
a table in the corner by a small window and ordered coffee. The walls
were a coffee cream colour with chocolate brown highlights and small,
brass-framed looking glasses – no, she must say mirrors. She’d
love a cup of hot chocolate. It was still only noon but the premises
were filling up and the gossip was all about Napoleon. People were
swapping newspapers, pouring steaming beverages and generally
sounding anxious.

A man cordially asked permission to
join Adam at his table and called for some fresh coffee. He
introduced himself. Nathan someone, not that it mattered, not in the
overall scheme of things. Laura had tried to take advantage of Adam
being distracted, but had failed again. “Just in need of a
moment’s respite,” the man added in a friendly fashion,
“Long journey up from the coast this morning.”

Adam nodded amiably, “You’ve
made good time then.”

“Time is everything to me.”

Adam lifted his head from studying his
papers; written all over his face was the look one gets when one
knows someone but can’t quite remember who he is. “Forgive
me, I think I should know you.”

“Let us say that in a few days
time, you most probably will.”

Adam returned to studying the papers
he’d been poring over in the carriage the previous evening.
Laura stood close and parted his hair at the back of his neck. Adam
swatted the imagined insect. A moment later, compelled, she lifted
the silver chain. It would be visible while it touched his skin –
she’d have to be quick and because he’d tucked it inside
his cravat, she’d need to pull firmly.

A boy stood in the doorway and yelled,
‘Latest on Napoleon.’ The man opposite Adam turned,
clicked his fingers and the boy brought a newspaper. This was her
moment. In a flash she jerked it and pulled out the ring Xandra had
made for her and looped it over his head. She had now retrieved the
copy ring and she carefully put it on her finger. Adam ran his
fingers around the top of his cravat. Distracted by his
deliberations, he did not recognize his loss.

Laura looked at the set of papers that
was absorbing his attention. They were lists of companies. He
appeared to have graded them and allocated money. She looked across
to the man opposite and moved so she could see what he was doing.
Much the same sort of thing, it appeared. He had two headings.

1. News of victory

2. News of defeat

Surely for Adam it wasn’t a
question of thinking, or waiting for news like the poor man sitting
opposite? Adam knew the outcome. Was he still uncertain? Laura
flitted alongside Adam’s table companion and looked at the
columns marked ‘News of victory’. She compared them with
Adam’s. Many were the same; Adam had researched thoroughly and
made notes. She paused. Hmm… if we win, the trade routes will
open up again and the commodities that have been in short supply
until now will be available again – oh I see. Of course, that
meant that the alternatives might not be used any more. When
Wellington defeated Napoleon, there would be a huge shift in company
fortunes.

She was in danger of forgetting the
very thing she had come for. She moved back behind Adam and slipped
her diamond ring from her hand. His diamond ring. She threaded the
chain through it and placed it around his neck. She had returned what
was not rightfully hers.

He put his hand to his neck and found
Laura’s original ring which he pulled out to view. So startled
was he, that he overturned his coffee cup and had to call for a
cloth. In seeking assistance, he caught sight of someone glancing
over his table companion’s shoulder and attempting to see the
information. Indicating the offender, Adam said quietly, “If
your papers are confidential, sir, you may wish to view them more
discreetly.”

Laura could do one more thing for him
before leaving. Just in case he needed reassurance, she must
sufficiently agitate him to get him to the stockbroker before his
anxiety outweighed his faith. Into his ear she whispered, “For
your unending charity, you have been granted precious knowledge. Go
now and put it to good use.”

The colour drained from Adam’s
face and he quickly tucked away the diamond ring. “I must take
my leave of you, sir.”

The man opposite attempted a bow from
the cramped position of his chair and responded, “I wish you
well in these uncertain times.”

“I thank you, sir.” Then,
unease conquered, he took up his case and stated, “I believe we
shall win.”

“I await such tidings.” The
man hesitated before he whispered, “Many will think otherwise.
Prices will plummet – then is the time to buy. Remember timing
is everything.” Adam’s curiosity was aroused: the battle
was still raging but this stranger also seemed to think Wellington
would win. The man tapped the table gently and continued in a
confidential manner. “With a strong west wind, the news of
Napoleon’s defeat will be delayed. Be sure to buy low, when
others panic – and sell a short while after the official news
of victory. Make your instructions to your broker very clear."
There was a moment's pause before he added, "And explain to no
one.”

Adam considered, and Laura felt he was
probably thinking exactly as she was. Why was this man giving such
emphasis to his words? Had he valued Adam's tip-off to such a great
extent? Who was he? Why was he so very certain?

Laura followed Adam from the coffee
shop, somewhat concerned by what this Nathan had said. She relaxed –
he must know more than he was letting on. Adam hailed a sedan chair
and asked to be taken to his stockbroker. Laura watched until he was
out of her view; she had seen him for the last time. She turned to
face the opposite direction. Matt deserved to have a wife without
missing toes or, God forbid, invisible feet.

She hurried across the bridge and found
the coach from Southwark to Canterbury. She peeked inside, there were
already three passengers seated, but room enough for her. It would be
a long journey, probably stopping overnight at The Bull in Rochester.
It was imperative to think about the future and not the past. The
past had been dealt with. She had put things right. She looked down
at her foot and said aloud, “I must think of the future for my
foot’s sake, I must… well, put my best foot forward and
– oh no that’s corny – stop it, Laura.” Her
laughter turned to tears. She shook and sobbed.

One of the passengers alighted saying
she’d catch the next coach. Another lady passenger attempted to
take her place but changed her mind when a second lady also hurriedly
descended the steps from the carriage. Still Laura sobbed and her
tears only subsided when Parson Raffles, of all people, climbed
aboard jovially proclaiming that God moves in mysterious ways and
loudly thanking the ladies who had vacated their seats. “Appointment
at the cathedral,” he explained to the one elderly gentleman
remaining.

Laura hoped he meant Rochester and not
Canterbury – he took up so much room – though it had to
be said he was excellent company. This afternoon his spirits were
higher than ever and, after the briefest of introductions, he
chattered away to the other passenger, a Mr Brown, as if he’d
known him all his life. Laura’s interest grew and her tears
subsided.

“Wind’s picking up,”
said Parson Raffles. “If it’s a westerly it’ll
speed our journey.”

“Delay news from the battlefields
though. Ships will be forced to tack.”

“I have followed the news until a
few days ago when the joy of my forthcoming marriage ousted it from
my mind,” Raffles said with a smile. “To realize one is
to be married comes but once in a lifetime.”

“My congratulations to you,”
responded the other man heartily. “From good family, is she?
Needs to be of good breeding to carry out a parson’s wife’s
duties, I would say.”

“Oh yes, she understands duty.”
Parson Raffles sucked in his lower lip. “I’m sure she
will grow to respect all that is required.”

“When you say you realized you
are to be married, what, pray, did you mean?”

“Ah, I have yet to ask my dear
Emmeline.”

“Good God!” exclaimed Mr
Brown which he hastily followed with, “Forgive me. I
blaspheme.”

“Nonsense,” responded
Raffles, “God is indeed good, especially in the context you
have chosen.”

Laura’s smile grew. He hadn’t
changed. He had a way of turning people’s thoughts around. But
who was Emmeline? She must be the ‘poor relation’ the
Carpenters frequently mentioned whenever they wanted to congratulate
themselves on being far removed from the rest of society. They used
her as some kind of benchmark.

“I am absolutely certain she will
accept my proposal for she winked at me when I made reference…”

“She winked?”

Ah, it was definitely that Emmeline.
The one with the nervous tic.

“It was the only response she
could have made at the time without causing consternation. She has
just taken up residence in the house of my great friend, Mr Adam
Leigh-Fox.”

Laura took a deep breath. Dear Adam,
all waifs and strays were welcome to shelter at “Foxhills”.
She wondered what Emmeline had done to find herself in need of a safe
haven. Parson Raffles positively bounced along, as much from joy as
from the well-sprung coach, regaling his travelling companion with
plans for the future. He must see the bishop first and with this
thought, his face fell, jowls causing him to look comically stern.
“Ah, the good Bishop” he said raising his eyes to study
the roof of the carriage. “Would that he might say the same of
me.” He would ask Emmeline immediately upon his return, he told
the traveller. All of his usual discretion had deserted him. It’s
strange how oftentimes we tell complete strangers more than a close
friend, Laura mused. She must not fall asleep. That ‘oftentimes’…
no one used such a word in her new life – was she slipping
back? She shuddered.

While the parson enthused about the
delights of this wonderful world, the other man grasped his cloak
from where he’d tucked it alongside him. “Damnably cold
in here. I beg your pardon, parson, but I’m beginning to see
why those women gave up their places.”

Laura ignored his unwitting reference
to her presence; she preferred to gaze at the silver ring on her
finger, the one Xandra had made as a gift but never managed to give
her. Fate seemed to decree that Adam, as the highwayman, took it from
Xandra and now she had taken it from Adam as a reminder of two
special people. She closed her eyes and felt warmly contented, like a
cat curled in front of an open fire. Adam would soon be rid of Jack
who would be tied to the redoubtable Charlotte Carpenter, no longer a
loose cannon, safe and in more comfort than he deserved. Adam would
also be very rich. The case had contained more gold than she ever
imagined he could rustle up. Adam was usually prudent but he
obviously felt this was a small risk worth the taking. Laura allowed
herself an indulgent smile; it was, after all, no risk at all.
Wellington would win. History could not be changed – ask
anybody! No one would believe it possible. Parson Raffles might, of
course. He believed in miracles.

Parson Raffles also ignored the remark
about the cold. His mind was taken up with warm thoughts of weddings.
After a while he voiced them. “I have also to conduct two
weddings quite soon and a third a little later.”

“Time of year,” chipped in
the cloak-clad man with a raised eyebrow. “An expensive time.
We’d best hope for an end to this war soon. Do you think
Wellington can defeat that Frenchman?”

Parson Raffles thought for a moment.
Then he slapped the seat next to him. “Even without Miss
Carpenter’s eyes, I think he will rout the Frogs.”

Mr Brown looked puzzled.

“She has eyes that would be very
useful in battle,” said the parson gravely.

Enlightenment dawned. “Ah, I see,
a woman who can kill with a look. Not one of those soon to be
married, I hope.”

“Indeed, indeed,” chuckled
Parson Raffles, then hastened to add, “Mercifully not to me.
Those eyes will be put to excellent use.” He thought for a
moment. “All for the best, all for the best.” Jostled and
not entirely in his element, he still managed a smile as he said,
“Ah, the future – what joy it holds.”