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A spate of nerves made her stomach flutter as she boarded, and she realized she’d not eaten since breakfast. It didn’t matter. She didn’t think she could eat until this was finished and Janet was out of danger.
The carriage lurched into motion.
“Tell me again,” prompted Will from the floor as they exited the carriage house and proceeded out into the weak sunlight.
“You’ll remain hidden until after I hand off the letter at Rutherford’s. On the way back, Mr. Young will take a different route—one that passes by Mr. Farnsworth’s. Somewhere along the way, you’ll leave and make for St. James.”
“As soon as I arrive, I’ll send a message to let you know all is well.”
She glared at him. “No. You must first send for help, and then you may send me a message.”
“Of course,” he amended.
Silence fell.
“I’m so frightened,” she said softly. “What if someone follows us back?”
“We’ll have at least one shadow, I’m sure, but I’ll be ready. You must be prepared for any resulting backlash. Until she discovers I’m really ‘Lord Huxton’ she’ll think you’ve sent your ‘Mr. Woodson’ to get help. Don’t trust anyone attempting to gain entry to the school unless they speak the word.”
She nodded. They’d agreed to employ code words in order to help differentiate between friend and foe and ensure the verity of any messages passed between them while separated. The words they’d chosen were unknown to any but the two of them. The first was “Hélène.” After that had been used, they would switch to her father’s name and so on, each communication using a different word. She’d never told anyone else about her life in France. Only Will knew the names of her family members.
As the carriage wended its way to the market, Will fired question after question at her. When he ran out of inquiries, he reached up and held her hand in silence.
It was strange seeing him laid across the carriage’s floor looking up at her. And it was a great comfort. At first, she’d wanted to drop him off along the way to Rutherford’s, but he’d insisted on coming with her. Despite the risk, she was glad.
The carriage began to slow, and Will released her hand to reposition himself.
Keeping her eyes off him was a challenge, but she managed, instead looking at the jeweled watch she wore on a chain around her neck. It was nearly seven. She scanned the market square near Rutherford’s, searching for the man in the red waistcoat spoken of in Boucher’s letter.
There. The portly fellow stood to the left of the store entrance.
When the carriage stopped, she forced herself to wait patiently for Mr. Young to come and let her out, praying Will was out of the line of sight when the door opened. Her legs shook, her muscles tensed in readiness to launch into motion the instant the handle turned.
“Don’t look at me or speak,” whispered Will below. “Not now and not when you get back in. They’ll be watching.”
She cleared her throat to acknowledge the warning, and then the door opened and she was out, the door shutting behind her solidly. Reaching into her pocket, she gripped the handle of her pistol and headed straight over to the man in the red waistcoat. Without preamble, she extended to him the letter in her other hand.
“What, no polite word of greeting?” asked the fellow lightly. “An’ she said you was a ‘proper lady.’” He let out a derisive snort, and then unfolded the parchment to glance at it. “Well, you’ve done your part, I suppose,” he said with a nod. “This had better be the fellow she’s looking for, or she’ll have your skin for her boots. You don’t want to get on the wrong side of my mistress,” he warned with a nasty grin. “The last one what did it lived to regret it—for a little while anyway.”
She said nothing.
His leer faltered. “Off you go, then. And remember—we’re watching. Don’t do anything stupid, eh?”
Keeping her eyes trained on the man in what she hoped was a frigid rather than frightened stare, she backed away until a line of pedestrians passed between them, at which point she turned and all but ran back to the carriage. Climbing in, she let out a heavy sigh of relief. The entire time she’d been out there, exposed, her back had tingled and twitched in anticipation. To her utter surprise, neither blade nor bullet had pierced it.
With a sharp rap on the roof, she signaled Young.
A hand reached up to clasp her shaking fingers, and she took it without looking down.
“Did he say anyth
ing?” said Will after they’d been moving for a while.
“Wait,” she whispered through clenched teeth, releasing his hand. She tapped the roof three times with the tip of her parasol. After a moment, she heard two responding thumps from Mr. Young’s booted heel. “As far as he can tell, we are not being followed and he can see no suspicious observers, though I don’t suppose that means much.” She then relayed the conversation, which held nothing of use.
“It would have been nice if he’d let slip some hint as to her location, but I doubt anything he’d have said would be trustworthy,” said Will. “He’s only a courier.”
“The turn is coming up,” she warned. He was to exit just as they entered the square and blend in with the passersby. It was a daring and daft plan, but the odds were in his favor that no one would see him leave if he got out on the inside of the turn.
