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“I gotta get yer out ‘o ’ere, Miss Kitty,” she whispered. “’I dunno ‘ow but ‘is Lordship seems ter fink yer ‘ere and ‘ere ain’t where yer can be if that’s wot ‘e wants, is it?”
In a panic, Kitty threw back the covers of the bed she was sharing with some other newly-arrived maid to town and stood, disoriented, in the middle of the room while Mrs. Mobbs bundled her discarded dress into a bag.
“Out the back, ’urry!” she whispered. “I”ll keep ‘im talkin’ in the parlor. Take the first hackney yer can get. It don’t matter where yer go, yer just can’t be ’ere.”
With her mind in a whirl, Kitty dashed out of the back door and into the cobbled laneway. She could hear Mrs. Mobbs raising her voice cheerily in greeting for but a second, before a passing hackney caught her attention and she darted in front of it, rapping on the door to make it slow.
“Just drive! As far as you can get away from here, and don’t stop!” she cried out, handing the jarvey a coin before leaping inside.
Only when they were well on the road and had put considerable distance behind them, did Kitty’s heart finally start to slow down and she felt she could relax.
Where could she possibly go? she wondered. Was her home in the village a possibility? But no, she hadn’t the money to go such a distance in a hired hackney, if it were even possible.
The jarvey had taken her at her word and was simply continuing, so Kitty relaxed back in the squabs and closed her eyes while her mind churned over the enormity of what had occurred.
Perhaps a lodging house on the outskirts would suffice. But at this hour? She’d be mistaken for a prostitute and refused admittance, even if she could pay.
For the moment though it was easier just to do nothing while the hired equipage rumbled through the streets. Kitty thought of the danger she’d just escaped and wondered what might be in store for her. She should have let Silverton take charge, but had wanted to prove that she’d not done this to gain his gratitude. She’d done it as much for herself as for him. And Lissa.
She must have dozed off, for suddenly the hackney was slowing. She looked out of the window and saw they were beyond the outskirts of London and that the river illuminated on her right was unfamiliar. The rank odor of rotting detritus wafted through the cracks in the door, and she held her nose at the stench while her stomach heaved.
Suddenly, she was frightened. The silence was unnatural. Not the hustle and bustle of London, but the eerie quiet of some country hamlet.
Where was she? This did not seem right. How long had they been driving? What instructions did the jarvey think he was following?
Then a more insidious question filtered into her adrenaline-flooded brain.
Whose instructions was he following?
She rapped on the roof to gain the driver’s attention, but he did not falter though he must have heard. The track they were following twisted and turned as it contoured the hedgerows by the river. Kitty had never been this far east of the city. She knew of no one who lived here.
The carriage lurched as it hit a deep rut, and Kitty was flung agai
nst the side, hitting her head and heightening her fear.
Last night, she’d been a guest at Debenham’s townhouse. She’d thought she’d been so fortunate and clever in achieving her aims with virtually no physical contact with Debenham. Then she’d fled to see Lord Silverton and to hand him the information he needed, before slipping away to the least likely place Debenham might find her—Mrs. Mobbs’s.
How then was she a prisoner? For that’s what she felt she was at this moment, thundering over the muddy roads toward who knew what.
She grabbed the doorknob, but the vehicle was traveling too fast to make it an option to throw herself out, even if she were able to fling open the door which seemed unyielding, even as she tried.
Dear God, if Lord Debenham were behind what seemed increasingly like an abduction, what might be the outcome?
Finally, the carriage slowed in front of a tidy little house on the banks of the river. It looked to be a mill with its large waterwheel slowly turning the sluggish water. Dawn limned the horizon, giving just enough moonlight to make out the eerie outline. Kitty hoped she might seize the chance to leave and run before the carriage came to a halt, but she heard a gate close behind them at the same time as a large, burly, balding man in a hessian apron and leather gaiters emerged at the top of the mill’s steps. He advanced purposefully toward the carriage, opening the door as it stopped, and shouting a few words to the jarvey before he thrust in a meaty hand and hauled Kitty out and onto the dew-covered grass.
“Welcome, Miss Kitty,” he greeted her, seizing her hand and pulling her up the steps. She was no match for him she quickly realized, and to struggle was pointless. He was so very much larger.
And he smelled. Of flour, but also of something stale and rank that made her eyes water.
“Who are you?” she managed as she stumbled over the threshold of the enormous, wooden-floored storeroom into which he pushed her. “What do you want of me?”
He ignored her, dragging her toward the open window from where she could see only a wide expanse of river, mudflats and reeds with, in the distance, a scattering of humble dwellings.
“Yer’ll ‘ave to stay ‘ere awhile. I got me orders, and I ain’t one ter disoblige when there’s so very much at stake ter line me pockets.”
Kitty rubbed her wrist where his grip had been vice-like. Her skin was red and sore.
“I have a performance to put on tonight,” she told him. Not that she expected that to hold much sway. “Do you know who I am? An actress. People will recognize me. Miss me. They’ll come looking for me. You don’t want to be accused of… of taking me against my will. And if you don’t release me, that’s what you’ll be guilty of.”
