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“Does this room at the Horse and Crown include dinner?”
“Yes.”
I sighed in relief. It had been a few days since I’d eaten a hot meal, and I was ravenous. Pippa’s bread and vegetables, as grateful as I’d been for her charity, were only just enough to sustain a body.
“Shall we, then?” I asked, eager to eat.
He grimaced. “I’d hoped we could wait until dark. I believe it would be easier to sneak you into the room as a woman at night—”
“And then out the following morning as a boy.” I nodded. I was impressed with how meticulously he’d thought this through. “We’ve an hour or so yet before the sun sets. I’ll wait near the stream. Come for me when you’re ready.”
Benedict nodded once in agreement. “I will return soon.”
* * *
The room at the Horse and Crown wasn’t much better than any of the servants’ quarters I’d slept in over the previous months since leaving Mrs. Moulton’s school, but there was something about the safety of the situation that made me sleep deeper than I’d expected—straw mattress and all. Washing the filth from my body and sliding under the thin blanket had been exactly what I’d needed to feel like a person again and not a disheveled urchin.
Benedict gave me the clothing he’d procured when he first showed me to the room last night. I stood in the faint glow of my one candle in the darkened early hours of the autumn morning and stared at myself in the small looking glass nailed to the wall. Despite having a maid to attend to me for most of my life, I’d spent the last few years alone, and thus had grown adept at fashioning my own hair. If my maid had opted to travel to England with me when I had left Sweden after my mother died, I would not have gained this skill, but she’d chosen to remain there, and I was glad of the talent I now possessed.
The breeches fit well, if a little too snug, and the shoes and stockings were just a smidge too big, but for the most part, the outfit was comfortable enough. I wrapped a length of linen around my chest in lieu of stays—hoping it would provide a flatter effect—and the shirt Benedict provided was large and loose enough to hide any hint of my feminine curves. If not for my long hair, I think I very much resembled a young lad in the service of his esteemed gentleman.
If only I esteemed Benedict, then I would completely fit the part.
I touched the ring tied to a string around my neck, safely tucked beneath my shirt. It was my mother’s and much too flashy to be worn when playing such a role, but neither could I bear to be parted from it. I was her spitting image, but if I kept my voice silent and my face hidden, no one who knew my mother would recognize her in me. She was much too glamorous to be confused with a servant boy.
A soft knock rapped on my door, and I moved quietly near it.
“Thea?” Benedict’s voice, familiar and low, was a comfort I had not expected until it reached my ears. I opened the door and ushered him inside quickly. The candle light washed over his plain traveling clothes, his black coat long and thick, his curly hair perfectly mussed—just chaotic enough to give me the desire to straighten it for him.
He stepped back and appraised me slightly.
“We could fool everyone, I think.” I lifted a lock of my long dark hair. It trailed over my shoulders and down my back, loose and freshly combed. “If not for this. Do not ask me to cut it, for I won’t.”
Something flickered in his eyes, evident in the warm light from the candles, but was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “I don’t wish for you to cut your hair. I thought you could wear a cap.”
“Oh.”
“Was it not with your things?”
I went back to the chest set against the window and looked about. The room was so dim I hadn’t noticed the dark lump of fabric fall to the floor. I lifted it and grinned. The small, brown wool cap was perfect.
“Can you fasten your hair up?” he asked, suddenly dubious as his gaze trailed the length of my dark locks.
“Yes.” I moved to the looking glass and plaited my hair, then coiled it around the crown of my head and pinned it in place. It was as flat as I could make it. I secured the cap over my curl of braid and turned to Benedict with my hands on my hips. “Well, what do you think?”
He was quiet for a moment, sweeping his gaze over me in unabashed perusal. “Perfect.” He cleared his throat and swirled his fingers in my direction. “Except for the hands.”
“What is wrong with my hands?” They were certainly possessed of enough calluses and cuts to pass as a servant’s.
“That position is not servile in the least. No one will believe you to be in my employ if you look so contrary. You oughtn’t rest your hands on your hips.”
I dropped them to my sides. “Better?”
“Not quite.” He circled me slowly, rubbing his fingers pensively along his jaw. “Perhaps behind you?”
I clasped them lightly behind me and bent my head the most delicate way I could.
“That is much better.” He paused. “You should stand this way more often. It is pleasantly peaceful.”
