Since the bloody tutor, Mrs. Hinds, had arrived shortly after Cat’s acceptance of Roffe’s offer to become his apprentice, Cat had, for the months since, engaged in a delicate balancing act to keep Emma as her lady’s maid. Mrs. Hinds did not approve, which was not so very surprising, as Mrs. Hinds approved of very little to do with the Roffe household.
And yet the tutor had accepted a place here. That spoke to the woman’s desperation and gave Cat another hint that there were further secrets in this household. Hints and hesitations from Singley, the cook, and even Emma made her think that the servants here had as many things to hide as Roffe did with his thieving.
Hinds was not as happy an addition to the household as those already there, though. She found Cat’s insistence on keeping Emma as a lady’s maid distasteful to say the least. She felt the small staff — augmented only by a new maid-of-all-work, a timid creature named Lexie who rarely left the servant’s quarters except to work, and even then, bolting from any room as soon as someone else entered it — was a sign of the household’s common origins. That Cat herself could not be referred to as Lady nor Roffe as Lord caused her to sniff with disdain.
That the titled family she’d last worked for had sent her packing when they could no longer pay her wages, or so the whispers Emma passed along said, made little difference to her opinion. The Roffe household was built on commerce and commerce was beneath one so grand as Mrs. Hinds. She felt, she’d told Cat often enough, that this was merely an unpleasant interlude before she once again found a place in a Great House. In the meantime, she deigned to teach Cat the ways of a proper lady, never failing to remind her charge that Roffe’s money could never properly buy him, nor Cat, acceptance in those circles.
For Cat’s part, she merely ignored the woman’s rants on proper breeding and birth. It was not, after all, as though she was truly seeking a place in Society. No, Roffe had made it clear to her that these lessons were simply to give her the facade she’d need at times as his apprentice.
“Aping my betters,” as she says. I do wonder what Hinds would do if I told her I planned to use her teachings to steal those betters blind.
“I wonder what she has in store for me today?”
For the most part, Cat didn’t mind the lessons themselves. She could see the use of being able to move in all kinds of circles, especially the upper circles of society. She might think much of what Hinds had to teach was silly, but that didn’t mean it was useless. Some of it was even quite enjoyable.
The reading, for instance, once Cat became proficient at it. The house had an extensive library and Cat had found that reading books was quite a bit different from reading the random words Mother Agnes scratched in the dirt of an alleyway.
“That’s the thing what’s got her riled,” Emma said, still keeping her voice low. “A message come at first light an’ that Mister Clanton’s comin’ by mid-morning.”
Cat’s spirits lifted at that. She still thought the valet, Clanton, was a vile fellow. More so since she’d had to spend so much time with him, but she did enjoy his lessons far more than those of Hinds.
Clanton, she’d found, was quite a bit more than a mere valet. More of an assistant to Roffe in his real work, with myriad skills that fascinated Cat.
The first inkling of those skills had come shortly after Cat had accepted Roffe’s offer, when Clanton had come into the dining room and presented her with a bundle of papers. All worn and aged, but with a warning to be gentle as much of the ink might not be dry.
Papers that clearly named her one Catherine Somersby, daughter of James and Anne Somersby. Anne being the sister of one Edward Roffe, master artificer, and both James and Anne being deceased. Birth, marriage, and death certificates all bundled together, along with the deceased couple’s express wish that their daughter Catherine be cared for by her uncle. And with the stroke of a valet’s pen, Cat had become Catherine, and Roffe’s legal ward.
“Well, that will certainly make for a more pleasant day,” Cat said with a grin.
She’d actually come to look forward to Clanton’s visits, which occurred about once a fortnight. In addition to being a forger, he was also quite accomplished in mimicry and could ape any number of dialects, a skill which he drilled Cat on relentlessly.
He never spent more than a day at the house, but would arrive in the morning and leave to return to the city before sunset. Cat would spend the day closeted with him in a locked room practicing — the scandalous nature of Cat being closeted away unchaperoned with a male servant nearly sending Hinds into apoplectic fits.
Clanton would simply start talking to her in one dialect, which Cat would have to answer in the same. Then he’d change, expecting Cat to follow and alter her speech to his. She sometimes felt like she was taking a verbal tour of the country, from the West to the very steps of the Bow Bells.
“‘At’s the other thing,” Emma said, her face turning serious. “Message says ‘e’s not stayin’, but that yer to go with him back to the city. You alone.”
“This is quite improper, Mister Clanton.”
Cat stood by the coach and four Clanton had arrived in, attempting to repress her amusement. Mistress Hinds had been put out to find that Clanton was returning so soon after his last visit — when she’d discovered that he intended to take Cat away, unchaperoned, she’d been beside herself.
“Most improper, and not at all what I expected when I agreed to take this position.”
I do believe she’s in a tizzy, Cat thought, biting her lip to keep from grinning. I’ve never seen a tizzy before.
Clanton said nothing, simply slung the single valise he’d allowed Emma to pack for Cat onto the coach.
“Mister Clanton!” Hinds stalked toward him. “Have you nothing at all to say for yourself? I simply cannot believe that a fine gentleman such as Mister Roffe would allow his ward to travel in such a … a scandalous way. With no accompaniment whatsoever.”
Clanton secured the valise to the rear of the coach and opened the door. He jerked his head at Cat to enter, but before she could do so Hinds grasped her arm and held her back.
“No. No. Not at all. I shan’t allow it. I may not, in good conscience, allow such a thing. Simply, no.” She ended with an emphatic nod of her head.
Cat thought she might actually be sniffing with disdain while she spoke.
Clanton stared at Hinds for a moment. Cat could see a small muscle in his neck twitching. She’d noticed early on in her lessons with the valet that this was a sign of his displeasure.
He stepped toward Hinds, stopping more than arms’ length away, but Hinds took a step back regardless, pulling Cat with her.
Clanton reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper, then held it out to Hinds.
“And what is that?”
Clanton grunted, as though speaking to the woman was a great effort.
“Reference.”
Hinds’ eyes widened and she took a further step back, as though the paper held some contagion.
Clanton waved the paper at her, then dropped it to the cobbles. When he spoke, he dropped his voice into the lowest accent of the city’s gutters.
“Stay ‘er go as y’like, but bugger off, either. If yer stays, then y’don’t question the master, see?”
Hinds fled back into the house and it was all Cat could do not to burst out laughing.
“Should you feel the need to slit that woman’s throat some dark night,” Clanton said, “I’ve a fine spot for the body.”
He turned his head to meet Cat’s gaze for a moment before returning to the coach. A shiver ran up Cat’s spine. Clanton had always spoken quite roughly during their lessons, but she’d found it more amusing than anything. Despite his ability to mimic accents, he was still a gentleman’s servant, after all. Cat had grown up in the streets amongst those who’d slit a man’s throat for the scent of a pence, what could a gentleman’s valet know of such violence?
In the moment their eyes met, however, she’d thought he
was quite serious.
She took a deep breath and started for the coach, but Emma rushed forward from where she’d been waiting. She wrapped her arms around Cat in a hard hug.
“Be careful,” Emma whispered into Cat’s ear, then released her and stepped back.
“I’ll be all right,” Cat assured her. “Whatever Mister Roffe wants of me, I’m sure I’ll be all right.” She smiled to reassure the other girl, wondering at the sudden warning. Neither Emma nor the other servants had ever said a thing against Roffe. “Do you know how long we’ll be in the city, Mister Clanton?”
Clanton grunted. “Long as is required, I expect.”
Emma glanced at Clanton, then hugged Cat again, hard.
“Don’t trust him,” she whispered. “Neither of them.” Then she dashed off for the house.
Cat watched her go for a moment, but Clanton grunted again and she hurried for the coach. Clanton climbed in behind her and pulled the door shut. He rapped on the coach’s ceiling and the driver put the coach in motion with a jerk.
Clanton glanced out the window toward where Emma had gone, then settled back in his seat and closed his eyes.
“Pretty girl.”
The coach ride to the city fascinated Cat. She’d been unconscious when Roffe had taken her to his house, after all, and she’d never been out of the city before that, so all she knew was Roffe’s manor, the small village, and the city itself. She’d had no real idea how far from the city Roffe’s manor was, and it surprised her how far they had to travel. She counted seven villages, each growing progressively larger and busier, before they reached the outskirts of the city — and those outskirts seemed to go on forever.
Several times she thought she recognized the area they traveled through, but then the coach moved on to somewhere unfamiliar.
Finally, the coach came to a stop.
Cat followed Clanton out of the coach and into the house. The house was as finely furnished as the manor, but much smaller. Cat was a bit surprised that no servants at all greeted them, but she had no time to question it as Clanton started up the stairs and gestured impatiently for her to follow. He opened a door at the end of the upstairs hallway and gestured her through into a bedroom. This, too, was finely appointed, but smaller than her rooms at the manor.
“Will you tell me now what this journey’s purpose may be, Mister Clanton?”
Clanton said nothing, he simply dropped Cat’s valise on the floor and returned to the door.
“Are there servants at all? Shall I unpack my own things or would that be improper here?” Cat frowned. It had been quite a long journey and they’d not stopped for anything to eat. Breakfast had been a long time away and she was hungry, which gave her little patience with Clanton’s obstinacy.
“It’s growing late, Mister Clanton, will there be a meal? Should I prepare a meal?” Would the man not speak at all?
“Food’s in the kitchen,” Clanton said. He tossed a small roll of leather at Cat’s feet. “Just come down when you wish to eat.”
He closed the door.
Cat’s brow furrowed. Clanton had been acting quite strangely the entire time and it disturbed her. It was as though he was deliberately distancing himself from her. They’d not grown close at all while he tutored her in dialects at the manor, but he had at least talked some. Now it was as though he wanted nothing to do with her.
She thought she might change clothes before going down to eat, but she had little in her valise. When Clanton had limited her to the one bag, she’d assumed there would be clothing here in the city somehow, but a quick check of the room found none.
Curious, she picked up the roll of leather Clanton had tossed to the floor. She untied the thongs holding it closed and unrolled it to find a collection of long, thin, metal picks. Cat knew what they were, she’d seen them on the streets a time or two in the possession of one of the boys who’d been taken up by a proper band of thieves.
Why would he …
With a sudden realization that filled her with anger and horror, she rushed to the door and turned the knob, only to find it locked.
Chapter 10
Cat quickly dismissed the idea that trapping her in a locked room might be some sort of odd joke on Clanton’s part. Neither Clanton nor Roffe had ever struck her as prone to any levity. No, this was a test.
She sat down on the edge of the bed and examined the lock picks. They were all of different shapes and angles, finely made, and seemed to be of good steel. She had the beginnings of an idea of how locks worked and were picked from those in the gang who’d been pulled up out of the gutters to become proper burglars. Some of them had come back a time or two to brag about their new status to old mates. So, she knew it had something to do with moving pins inside the lock in some way until the lock would open — the details of how one went about it, however, were a mystery.
Still … most of those taken up were certainly not the brightest. If they could learn the way of it, how hard could it be?
An hour later she was willing to admit that, though not the brightest, those boys must have been attentive in their training.
“Damn it all! You buggering, cack-handed twat!”
Cat flung the latest lock pick she’d tried across the room and sat back on her heels.
She thought she had the way of it, at least in theory, but the practice evaded her. She scrubbed at her face with one hand and ran the other through her hair. The hair had finally grown out a bit, so she no longer looked like a new-shorn sheep. Not so long as it had been before she’d been taken up by Mister Roffe, though, and she was looking forward to it growing longer than that, now that she didn’t have to hide being a girl any longer.
Cat noted that it was growing dark. She’d been trapped in the room for some time and she was growing both colder and hungrier. There was no food in the room, nor any wood or coal to start a fire, but she found she could do something about the darkness at least. A few moments with the fire striker had the gas lamps lit and she took the opportunity to warm her hands over the flame.
She shivered and her stomach growled, bringing her attention to the gnawing ache in her middle.
Sheltered, a lit room, and breakfast this morning, yet I’m thinking myself cold and hungry?
She thought of all the nights she’d spent huddled in an alleyway, soaked to the skin, and with her last meal a fond memory of days gone by.
Soft. I’ve grown soft.
She considered that for a moment, then shook her head.
No. There’s no virtue in starving on the streets. I’ve known hardship and now I’ve known comfort and plenty. Of the two, by God, I’ll keep the second.
The test, the challenge Clanton had set her, was not, at least to her mind, so much to pick the door’s lock, but to get out of the room at all.
“Food’s in the kitchen,” he’d said, “just come down and get it.”
His expectation might be that she’d pick the lock, but there was more than one way to achieve a goal.
She looked around the room, searching for some other way out.
Unfortunately, determining that there was none did not take long. Her rooms were on the back side of the house, overlooking the courtyard and carriage house. It was only the second floor, so she was confident she could find some way down the house’s walls, but the windows were barred and it took but a moment to determine that the space between the bars was too small to allow her to pass.
The window in her dressing room was similarly barred, and the door that led from there to the water closet was locked as well.
The fireplaces, one in the bedroom and one in the dressing room, were both unlit, but she didn’t relish the thought of trying to make her way out through one of them. She doubted she was small enough any more to do such a thing.
Cat began searching the room again with new determination. She would not allow her situation to make her soft, it would make her harder. Hard and determined to never return to that life on the streets, no matter the cost, she vo
wed.
She hefted the fireplace poker and returned to the window.
The space between the bars might be too small for her to fit through, but only just. She tried using the poker to lever the bars farther apart, but there was nothing to push or pull against. Then she tried prying at the edges of the bars, to see if the entire casement might be dislodged, but stopped as the poker began to bend.
She stepped back and tried to think, eyes darting from the door to the lock picks to the window bars and back to the poker in her hands.
The bars were not so close together that she needed much more space, she thought. Only an inch, perhaps two, and she’d be able to slip between them. She had only to bend them a very little bit.
Cat stripped the beddings from the bed and used one of the sharper lock picks to start a tear in one of the sheets, tearing off a strip. Then she wrapped it around the window bars, from one of the center pair to outermost, and tied it off.
The night had clouded over and a drizzle started, wetting her clothes as she stood at the window and making her feel even colder.
She slipped the poker through the loop of cloth and began twisting it tighter and tighter. Her knuckles were barked painfully more than once trying to force the poker to turn past the bars, but she thought the bars were starting to bend just a bit.
Then the loop of cloth tore and she muttered oaths as her hand slammed into one of the bars with the released force.
But the bar had bent a bit, she saw. Just a bit, but noticeable when she looked for it.
Cat tore another, wider strip of cloth from the bedclothes and carefully folded it along its length, then returned to the window.
It seemed harder to turn the poker with the thicker cloth, but she kept at it, forcing the rod round and round. With each turn she thought she could hear the iron bars groan a bit, or perhaps that was just herself. Finally, she felt she could force the poker no farther.
She examined the bars. They had bent. Both bowed in the middle and she measured the distance with her hand. The gap between the two center bars was perhaps an inch greater at its largest, but still not quite enough to get her entire body through, she thought.
Of Dubious Intent Page 7
