Page 92 of Miss Delancey’s Tragicomedy

“Spite! The little fool.”

“Well, frankly, my lord, if that’s so, it makes no sense to blame Lynch.” Dessie rolled her eyes in the way that only she could. She adopted a tone haughtier than the Queen’s. “If Bitsy is not at home, we will be on our way. Come, Ophelia.” Ophelia would have liked to run, but she followed Dessie’s lead and they walked the long hallway to the door with great dignity.

Outside, they sprinted to the carriage.

“Home, John!” Dessie called out.

They rode away, carriage wheels rattling over the broken cobbles, staring wide-eyed at one another. Ophelia felt hollowed out. Too devastated to cry.

“Dessie, this just can’t be. Even if Trentham had a hundred different faces, I can’t believe any of them would be cheap.”

Dessie frowned. “No. But he is impulsive. Or he used to be. And he does have a temper. Though Lynch says he mostly controls it now.” She pressed two fingers to her chin. “I wonder…”

“Wonder what?”

“When they discovered she was missing. It’s been days since we’ve seen Trentham, so that’s no help. But if Lady Elizabeth just snuck out this morning, we might catch them.”

Catch them? Haring off on a wild goose chase would be Dessie’s idea of a plan. “Don’t elopements usually take place in the middle of the night?”

“In novels. Back when couples raced from London to Gretna Green in carriages, chased by irate fathers or brothers. But that would take days in real life.”

“Gretna Green?”

“It’s just over the border in Scotland. The rules are different there. You can get married with no license, no parental permission. And you don’t even need a parson. It’s terribly romantic.”

“Dessie! This is Trentham and Lady Elizabeth! There’s nothing romantic about it!”

“A race in a carriage might be. But nowadays, you can get there much faster and safer by train. Oh!” Dessie gave a little bounce. Then she banged on the roof and shouted, “Not home, John! St. Pancras Station! Hurry!”

The carriage swayed abruptly. Ophelia wondered if John enjoyed or dreaded taking them out.

“You don’t think they are still there, do you? At the station?”

“It’s worth the chance. The benefit of a carriage is you can escape London at your pleasure. But if they are taking the train…”

“They have to follow the schedules!” Maybe not so wild a goose chase.

“We might catch them. But, Ophelia,” Dessie reached across to grasp her hand, “you should come up with something to say if we do, because I haven’t the faintest idea what is going on.”

Neither did she. But Dessie and Eli had both told her to talk to Trentham if she wanted the truth. She had enough of his lies. If nothing else, she was going to get to the truth.

*

The new St Pancras station was massive, with the beautiful, red brick Grand Hotel, which was only partially constructed, adjacent. John did his best but couldn’t draw near enough to allow them to disembark next to the building. So they slipped out of the carriage, clinging close to its side as carriages and men on horseback whipped by, until they found courage enough to dart through the traffic, hand-in-hand.

When they reached the doors, Dessie let go and wiped her palms on her skirt. Her face glowed with excitement. “Phew! I boast about New York City, but Grand Central Depot didn’t prepare me for this.”

“Don’t tell Lynch. Or Daddy,” Ophelia warned. Dessie shouldn’t be dashing about in her condition. She pulled open the nearest door, and gasped with dismay as they stepped inside, into chaos. There must have been hundreds of travelers scrambling this way and that, many dragging trunks or pushing carts. Every woman appeared to have three or four children trailing behind.

Dessie’s whole body sagged. “We’ll never find them in here.”

They’d come this far. Ophelia was not giving up. She turned and buttonholed a man in blue with brass buttons, who looked potentially official. “Where would I go to get tickets to Scotland?”

“Scotland, eh?” He pointed. “Window eight. Over there.”

“Thank you, sir.” She grabbed Dessie’s elbow. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

Assaulted by the scent of tobacco, sweat, and cheap perfume, Ophelia tried holding her breath as she hustled Dessie along. They reached window eight. Thankfully, the line was short, and the crowd thinned here. She could breathe. She said as much to Dessie, who shook her head.