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"You can do this," she snarled through gritted teeth to herself. Leaving the feather duster forgotten on the desk, she shoved the boarding pass into the front pocket of her apron and ran. Though her feet were itching with the urge to go straight out the front door and run to the docks, she instead forced herself up the staircase to the first floor where Lady Clara's bedroom lay in the east wing of the house. If she was to pretend to be her, she had to at least look the part.
The river Seine will carry me to the docks, and from there, I can board the ship,she told herself over and over, growing more determined that her plan would work as she stripped her own clothes and threw them into the hearth where she had already stoked the fire earlier that evening ready for the lady's return.
She wouldn't be needing them again. She didn’t think about what might happen if she were caught because the truth was, either way, she would never need that awful scratchy uniform again. No matter what happened, she would never seemaison de ville lilasagain. She was certain of it. She would rather die than spend another moment in service of the Vigneault family.
Picking a plain and yet clearly expensive dress she had often seen Clara pick for journeying long distances, Penelope struggled into it. Though they were roughly the same size, Penelope was slightly more curvaceous, and the dress was snug. It was also more than a little difficult to tighten and tie the lacings at the back of the dress, making it abundantly clear why Clara always insisted upon her doing it.
Adding a pair of gloves, careful not to cause too much pain to her injured hand, and a hooded emerald cloak to cover her face, she took one glance in the mirror and decided it would have to do. With two pins from the vanity table for her hair, she fled from the room with the boarding pass in the pocket of her stolen cloak.
Guilt threatened to overwhelm her, but she quickly reminded herself of all Clara had put her through over the last few months, all the pain and heartache she had suffered at the hands of the Vigneaults, and it hardened her heart to it.
With one final thought, she headed back down the staircase and further still to the kitchens, where she found a piece of paper to write a quick farewell note to Betsy. Refraining from giving away where she had gone, she left the note on the kitchen counter and allowed only a single tear to fall before going to her room to collect the small purse of coins that her mother had been saving for her until her death.
So far, Penelope had yet to dip into them, yet she knew at that moment they might be the very thing to help her plan succeed. The small purse of copper coins wasn't much, but it might be enough to get a hot meal or even a carriage ride somewhere if she was pushed to do so.
Placing the purse in the pocket alongside the boarding pass, she put her hand over them for several deep breaths and mentally prepared herself for what she was about to undertake. With shaking hands and knees that threatened to buckle, Penelope escaped the house that had once been the home she wished never to leave. As she raced away under cover of darkness, all she could feel was relief and a deep sense of grief at the thought of leaving the place her mother had meant to be a safe haven for them both.
Having second-guessed the idea of travelling down the Seine, Penelope hurried to the nearest carriage stop, where carriage drivers often hitched their horses to posts. As luck would have it, a man had just hitched his horse for refreshments after ferrying people back and forth from the current ball at some nobleman or other's home.
Penelope approached him as confidently as possible, silently reminding herself,I look like a lady.
"Good sir," she said politely as she approached the man holding a bucket of water for his horse to drink.Please be as kind as you appear to be,Penelope prayed, hoping that the man's kindness to his horse would relay to her.
Turning towards her, the man instantly dipped his head respectfully, and Penelope was relieved that at least her outfit had tricked him. Clearing her throat, she hoped that the education the late Comte had afforded her was enough to get her past this first obstacle.
"My Lady, have you need of a carriage? the man asked. He was an older man with kind brown eyes, and his smile helped ease Penelope's fear just a little.
"Yes, sir, I do," she said, straightening her back and looking the man in the eye. "I am in need of getting to the nearest docks. Can you help me?"
At that, the man raised his eyebrow and looked over her shoulder.
"You alone?" he asked simply, eyebrow raised. For a moment, Penelope second-guessed the plan she had been formulating in her mind. How could it possibly look that a lady would be travelling entirely alone?
It's too late to turn back now,she realised. Having burned her uniform and fled during the middle of the night, having stolen her mistress's clothing and boarding pass, if she turned back, she would be arrested or, worse, killed.
"I am, sir. Is that a problem?" she asked, hoping to embody a little of Clara and her sarcastic, entitled self.
The man shook his head and glanced down at her hands as he added, "No luggage?"
"None. sir," she replied with a curt shake of her head. "I am afraid it is an emergency and must travel light."
Penelope bit the inside of her lip, hoping that she hadn't taken it too far. The last thing she needed right now was for this old man to take it upon himself to be her hero and try to help in an emergency that wasn't even real.
"I must get to the docks with post haste, sir," Penelope insisted quickly before the man could have a chance to think on anything else. "Can you help me or not?"
"What do you think, Betsy?" the man asked, no longer talking to Penelope, and for one wild moment, she expected the St Clairs’ cook to step out from behind the man. A horrendous sense of loss and pain surged through Penelope the moment she realised the man was talking to his beautiful black mare.
For an instant, Penelope wished it had been the cook come to drag her back home, but instead, she found the driver nodding and moving to open the carriage for her.
Penelope quickly learned that working-class men were all too trusting when it came to pretty-faced young ladies with their fine clothing and bejewelled hairpins. Having taken several minutes inside the carriage to straighten herself up and pin up her hair properly, she rested for the rest of the journey to the docks knowing it would be a very long night.
The church bells that rang alerted her to the fact the clocks had struck four in the morning. Soon the sun would rise, and the Comte and his family would return home to find her gone.
Finding theWhite Rose,the ship written on her boarding pass, she hurried onboard, a startled shipwright looking at her sleepily from where he had obviously been supposed to be on watch.
"Where is your captain?" Penelope demanded. Her legs were trembling from her run up the gangway, and the way the ship swayed on the water wasn't helping.
"Ex … excuse me?" The young man cleared his throat and straightened up on the wooden bucket he had upturned to use as a stool.
