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CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE
The city felt quieter than Edwina ever remembered though she had crossed the streets at night countless times. Yet, she had always had company, her father or Lizbeth or someone else, with her. Alone on the bench of the carriage, she tried to sit close to the window, such that if anyone saw her passing through town, they would know she was alone.
Her nerves felt fragile by the time they arrived in Hyde Park. She jumped at every sound, even the wheels of the carriage bouncing across the cobblestone street. The air was warm, hugging close to her, and in her anxious state, she felt perspiration building up on her back. When the carriage slowed to a stop on the Old King’s Road, she leaned out of the window dramatically.
“Francis, what has happened?” she cried.
“Horse has thrown a shoe!” Francis called out.
“Unbelievable!” she shouted in mock surprise. “What can be done?”
“Let me stop and look at it,” Francis said, climbing down from the driver’s box. Edwina leaned out the window, watching as he lifted the horse’s foot, peering at it this way and that, obviously stalling. Edwina let out a sigh.
“What is taking so long?” she asked impatiently in a tone that she found annoying, even to herself.
“Well, I’m not sure what I should do, Your Grace,” he said.
Groaning dramatically, Edwina opened the door of the carriage and climbed out. “What do you mean you do not know what to do?” she cried. “Can you not just… fix it?”
She came to stand next to Francis and the horse, who threw his head in confusion.
“I think I might need to go back to the house to get another horse,” Francis said with a dramatic shrug.
“I cannot walk all the way back to the house!” Edwina cried.
“Well, I am sorry, Your Grace, but there’s nothing more to be done!”
Edwina could not help but be impressed by Francis’s acting. He seemed genuinely flustered and helpless though she could tell just by looking at the horse’s hoof that nothing was amiss. Their voices carried in the dark night, but Edwina worried if it would be enough to attract the Monster.
“You would just leave me here alone?” she asked, her voice tightening with fear, some of which was genuine.
“I will be back in no time,” he promised, bowing to her. “I promise, I’ll hurry.”
“You had better!” she called after him as he hurried down the road.
Once Francis disappeared down the road, she felt gooseflesh rise on her arm. She hoped that the men had gotten in position quickly enough and that they watched her even now, looking out for anyone that might approach. For a moment, she debated sitting in the carriage for comfort or standing out beside it for exposure. She rubbed her arms, despite the warm night.
Minutes dragged on, and no one came up or down the road. She paced back and forth along the side of the carriage, stopping to look down the road one way then back down the other. Sighing, she stopped and leaned against the carriage.
In the quiet darkness, she doubted herself. She could indeed wait every night for a week and never run into the man attacking women. He could see her and not choose her as one of his victims. Worse yet, everyone could be right, and she could be in grave danger. Nervously, she started pacing again.
Out of the darkness, she heard the call of a bird which pierced the silence and made her heart jump. She looked up, surprised, only to find a small phaeton coming down the road, a man alone in the driver’s seat. Her breath left her chest, and she pressed her back against the carriage door.
As the man came closer, she noticed that he wore a mask, but his skin underneath the mask had been painted white with red marks. She started to pant, fighting the urge to run. This had to be the man they called the Monster of London. He stopped one a couple of yards away from her.
“Having some trouble, My Lady?” he asked.
“My horse threw his shoe!” she replied, trying to sound calm. “My driver has gone for help.”
“What a shame!” he replied, climbing down from his phaeton. Edwina wanted to shrink away and run for help but tried to remain planted where she stood. “Do you need help, perhaps?”
Something about his voice sounded familiar. She tried to tell herself she imagined the sensation as he came closer. He stood at least two heads taller than her. In the darkness, she could only make out the paint, not any of his features.
“Oh, that would be wonderful,” she tried to tell him happily. “I am not sure what can be done, though.” With each step, he drew closer until he was so close that she swore he could hear her heart pounding in her throat.
“What a shame such a lovely young woman such as yourself is out alone on a dark night like this,” he said in a low voice. “Do you not know how dangerous it is?”
“My driver will be back shortly, I assure you,” she breathed. If she reached out now, she could touch him. She could smell the man’s cologne on him, sickly sweet. His waistcoat looked to be the latest fashion of the men in theton, made from a rich brocade. She looked down at his hands, but they were gloved in fine leather. Everything told her that he had to be a gentleman though he did not deserve the title.
