There were very few ways to fake one’s death without leaving a body. She had finally concluded she would jump into the Thames, preferably in front of witnesses. People disappeared into the river all the time. Having grown up by the sea, she was a strong swimmer, something she did not think Lucien knew. It would not be hard to get far enough away and emerge from the river without notice, although she shuddered at the thought of actually swimming in that muck.
She wasn’t sure it would work; if he didn’t see her body, there was always a chance Lucien would not believe she was dead. If he didn’t, he would look for her, and she suspected a false name would not stop him for very long. He was a stunningly intelligent man. That coupled with his handsome face and the innate charm he used when it served him meant he had not yet lost a case in court. He would look for her. She had to make sure he would not find her.
She sighed, not realizing she still held her breath, and caught a whiff of smoke. It was a warm night, so neither she nor Lucien had lit a fire that evening. She glanced at Lucien and thought fleetingly of waking him, then decided against it. He was even more temperamental when roused out of a sound sleep, and her bottom was sore enough as it was.
She crept out of bed as quickly as she dared and grabbed her wrinkled gown from the floor, pulling it over her head and buttoning it. She slipped on her shoes and hurried downstairs.
The kitchen was filling with smoke. Theodora grabbed a towel from the table and placed it over her face. She started toward the kitchener to put out the fire she had neglected earlier, but then stopped. The grease she had spilled during dinner had crept along the counter toward the kitchener, and curls of black smoke now rose from it. She watched, mesmerized, as the grease flared and flames began to lick the seasoned wood of the counter.
She blinked, as much from the smoke beginning to sting her eyes as from the realization she didn’t have to swim in the Thames. She hurried to the hole in the wall where she had stashed the satchel. She removed it and replaced the brick. Her gaze darted around the room as the smoke grew thicker. She spotted the cookery book her mother had given her when she married, and on an impulse she grabbed it, clasping it to her chest as she began to cough.
Theodora rushed toward the door and grabbed a light wrap off a peg. She stowed the book in her satchel and adjusted the wrap around her shoulders. When she opened the door, the fire behind her roared with the added oxygen. She closed it quickly and inhaled great gulps of air.
Her eyes burned, her head ached, but she walked quickly around the house to the street. Fortunately Christopher Street was nearly deserted at this late hour. She stole a glance at the house behind her and saw smoke starting to curl around the windows. She spared Lucien a thought. It wouldn’t be long before someone noticed the smoke, and he wasn’t a particularly heavy sleeper. The chances were excellent he would wake in time to escape.
She shook her head to clear her thoughts. There was no time for regret, and certainly no room for compassion. Not for him.
As she rounded the corner onto Back Hill, she heard someone cry, “Fire!”
Chapter Three
Once she was safely away and her head cleared, she stopped to get her bearings. It had only been a day since she had replied to the countess, but she hadn’t enough money to find lodging for the remainder of the fortnight until she was to start work. If Lucien failed to believe she was dead, he would look for her in London, not in Durham, so she decided to head north. If the family was as eager for a new cook as the countess had implied, she hoped they would welcome her, even unexpected.
She had not left the house in so long she was having trouble remembering how to get to King’s Cross, though she knew it was not far. She dare not take a hansom; she smelled like smoke and would undoubtedly be remembered by the driver afterward. Besides, she was not sure she had enough money.
After a circuitous route in the wrong direction, she arrived at the station as dawn was breaking. Her feet ached, her heels blistered from the lack of stockings. She wrinkled her nose at the filth from the street which covered her hems. As she approached the station, she ducked into an alley and brushed off her clothing as best she could. She swiftly braided her long dark hair, tying it with a bit of string she found on the street. She wished she had some pins and a cap so she could tuck it away, but this would have to do.
She emerged feeling slightly more presentable and entered the station, which was beginning to wake along with the day. London’s workers bustled about, hawking newspapers, sweeping the station. She was a little bit amazed that somehow no one knew she had just left her husband asleep inside a burning house, but no one pointed at her and started shouting. As she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror on the wall, she thought she resembled a rather down-on-her-luck servant, pale and hungry. She supposed she was exactly that but hoped her luck was about to change.
There was no queue at the ticket window, which she took as a good sign.
“A second class ticket on the next train to Durham, please,” she said.
The clerk smiled sleepily at her. “Traveling alone, miss?”
“Yes.” She swallowed nervously but tried to look natural. She expected she was failing miserably, so she coughed and looked away.
“Caught a cold, have you?”
Theodora looked up. “Um, no. Just a tickle.”
“Probably the soot,” he said amiably. “It’s always troubling me mam.”
Theodora nodded, grateful when another traveler stood behind her and the clerk’s attention was diverted.
“That’ll be fifty-one shillings, three pence, please,” he said.
She pulled money out of her satchel and handed it to him.
“Here you are, then, miss. Platform 2.” He handed her the ticket and her change and looked at his pocket watch. “Departs at 8:30.”
“Thank you, sir.” She grasped the ticket and coins tightly in a sweaty palm and left the window.
The train did not leave for over an hour, and her stomach started to grumble. She rummaged through her remaining coins and decided she had enough for a cup of tea and a bun at one of the stalls in the station. Heading toward the nearest one, she saw a familiar figure walking toward her. She could not recall his name but knew he was a barrister who had dined at their home several years before. She did not think he had seen her, or if he had that he would recognize her, but she could not risk stopping now. She spun on her heels and turned away, walking swiftly toward the train platform.
She sat on a bench to wait, keeping her head down, clutching her bag in her lap, ignoring the empty feeling in the pit of her stomach. Soon enough she would be safe, with plenty to eat.
Finally the train arrived, and she was allowed to board. She walked all the way to the end of the second class carriages and found a seat near the window, hoping no one else ventured this far and she would be alone. Naturally, she was soon joined by a couple and their two small children. Nodding politely at them, she resumed her gaze out the window to discourage conversation. Fortunately they seemed tired, and it was not long before they were all asleep.
Theodora studied the young family. For all her apparent weariness, the woman smiled in her sleep, as if she were completely content. She rested her head on her husband’s shoulder, his arm tucked possessively around her. Her cherubic son cuddled on her lap, and her daughter curled on the seat beside her.
Theodora sighed to herself. Such domestic contentment certainly had not been her lot thus far. When she first married she had expected she and Lucien would be just like this couple. With the first beating, it became clear her vision was a fantasy. Nevertheless, she had continued to hope for a child. She had even believed, for a while, that a child would change her husband. But Lucien had no interest in children. They were noisy and messy, and he said he didn’t want to share her with anyone. Perhaps, she thought as she gazed at the sleeping family, it was just as well.
****
Theodora had finally fallen asleep, stirring briefly when the family dise
mbarked in York, leaving her alone. She slept surprisingly deeply until the train pulled into Durham. Clutching her bag tightly, she entered the station. Now that she was here, she wasn’t sure she had the courage to go to Longley Hall unannounced, even if she figured out how to get there.
She sat heavily on a bench outside the station and gazed down the hill at Durham Cathedral guarding the city from northern marauders. She had never been inside but had seen it from the train a number of times when her parents took her to London. She leaned back, and her stomach growled as the smell of the food being sold in the station wafted through the air. Needing to eat something, she went back inside and bought the tea and a bun she had denied herself in London. She let the steam envelop her face as she paused to give thanks for her meal, and for her escape from London. The woman selling the buns smiled at her and gave her a second pastry.
Theodora flushed and tried to give it back. “I only have enough for one, I’m afraid,” she said.
“That’s all right, dearie,” the woman said. “You gan ahead. You look like you haven’t eat in days.”
Theodora smiled gratefully. “Thank you, ma’am. I am rather hungry, and they smell delicious.”
“Aye, that they are, lass. Best in County Durham, me husband says.” The woman beamed.
Theodora thanked her again and returned to the bench. Taking a bite, she nearly moaned with pleasure. The buns were slightly sweet, warm, and practically melted in her mouth. She found herself thinking not of her flight from London, her possibly dead husband, how she was going to get to Longley Hall, or what they would say when she arrived, but of how to recreate the flaky pastry. She smiled to herself and bustled inside to ask the woman for the recipe.
After what seemed like only moments but was probably an hour, Theodora found herself outside again, a recipe for the buns tucked into her bag, and directions to Longley Hall in her head. It was only three miles away. The woman, whose name was Mrs. Barnes, had told her she’d be there in no time, and very happy to see her they would be, too, even if it was late and she wasn’t expected. The son of the Hall’s last long-term cook had lost his wife in childbirth, so she had left to care for him and his three young children. Since then there had been a succession of cooks in the big house, none of whom had lasted for more than a month.
“Is the earl’s family so demanding?”
“Oh no,” Mrs. Barnes had said. “The cooks were that awful! Her ladyship prefers to hire from the local folk, but the best cooks were already employed elsewhere, and to be honest, no others felt adequate to cook in such a great house. All that was left were folks who thought they were better than they ought to be but could cook nothing fancier than bubble and squeak! That last one, Mrs. Brown, oh, she was a piece of work.” Mrs. Barnes had pursed her lips in disapproval, which had only piqued Theodora’s curiosity.
The older woman had not been forthcoming with more details, so Theodora had smiled and said, “Well, I think I can manage a bit more than that, so perhaps they will let me stay.”
Mrs. Barnes peered at her curiously over her spectacles. Very seriously she nodded her head and said, “I hae a feeling you’ll do fine, lass.”
Feeling more confident than she had in years, Theodora started to walk.
****
The sound of coughing woke Lucien from a deep sleep. He sat up in bed, and a moment passed before he realized he was the source and the room was filled with smoke. Instinct took over and he called for Theodora, which resulted only in another mouthful of smoke. He looked around the room but could not see anything through the blackness. He felt for her on the bed, but she wasn’t there. She must be downstairs, likely even now going for help. He ignored the niggling at his brain asking why she had not awakened him.
He slid from the bed and crawled along the floor. He felt smooth fabric beneath his hands and realized it was the red cravat. He put it to his nose and inhaled the scent of her. He tied it around his face and continued to crawl. He could just make out the outline of the door when it exploded toward him. He flattened himself against the floor, arms over his head. When he raised it, the room was awash in flame.
He turned around and slithered quickly toward the French doors leading to the terrace. He rose to his knees, eyes burning from the smoke, his throat parched. He fumbled with the latch and shoved the doors open. The fire behind him roared as he flung himself onto the terrace, breathing in great gulps of air. He felt a cool breeze on his belly and realized he was naked save for the cravat over his face. He heard shouts from below and looked down; the normally quiet street was full of people. He fell to the floor, coughing, exhausted, only to feel strong arms lifting him to his feet.
“Can you walk, guv’nor?” a voice asked. “Just over here, we’ll get down the drainpipe.”
Lucien nodded. His head seemed disconnected from the rest of his body. He was only dimly aware of the stranger beside him, or the sounds of glass breaking in the room behind him, or the cool stone beneath his bare feet. He leaned against his rescuer and allowed himself to be led to the edge of the terrace and over.
Afterward, he sat on a bench across the street, clutching a blanket around him, and watched his house collapse. Theodora had not come out.
Chapter Four
Theodora’s confidence was short-lived. Rain had started before she had walked a mile in the pitch black. Within a few minutes, she was soaked to the skin. An hour later, the rain had tapered off, and the moon began to flirt with the clouds. Just when she thought she might be dry by the time she arrived at Longley Hall, a carriage overtook her. One of the wheels hit a puddle, drenching her in mud. She stopped and sputtered. The moon came out from behind a cloud and illuminated a face at the carriage window. A man, with beautiful, blue eyes that widened as they saw her. She gasped in surprise and felt a curious tingling in the pit of her stomach as their gazes met.
The vehicle didn’t even slow.
Theodora stared at the back of the carriage until it disappeared. She wiped the mud off her face and shivered. This, she thought as the rain started again, was a monumentally bad idea.
****
Jonathan Tenwick, Viscount Caxton, rolled his eyes at his mother. It was entirely wasted in the dark inside their carriage, unfortunately, so he let out an exasperated sigh.
“Mother, I still cannot believe you hired a cook from London. Who is this person?”
“Her references were impeccable, and she was unable to leave her current post to interview with me, and I certainly could not go to London to see her there.” Lady Judith Tenwick, Countess of Longley, said patiently, although there was a certain level of exasperation in her tone as well.
“It did not occur to you to have the housekeeper at Longley House interview her? Surely she could have made her way to Mayfair?”
Lady Longley said with exaggerated patience, “Mrs. Reynolds has been unwell. I did not want to overburden her.”
Jonathan thought the woman could hardly be overburdened, given how infrequently any of the family visited London, but refrained from pointing this out. “But how do you know, Mother, that her references were not falsified? She could be anyone!”
Lady Longley tsked. “Don’t be ridiculous, Jonathan. Who would do that?”
Jonathan sighed dramatically. “Really, Mother. For a woman of your advanced years, you are frightfully naïve.”
His mother sat up straight and regarded him with The Look, which he somehow had no trouble seeing even in the dark. It was something he could feel. “I do not care how old or wise you may have become at university, Jonathan, I am still your mother, and I do not care to be addressed in such a manner.”
Jonathan felt a pang of guilt, but only a small one. Although she possessed a rather whimsical temperament which was an undeniable part of her charm, his mother was normally a pragmatic person. Although she trusted their housekeeper, she oversaw every aspect of the household with a careful eye. The kitchen was a particular interest of hers. Nevertheless, he felt compelled to point out that
hiring a cook sight unseen, with references from someone they had never heard of, was perhaps a trifle foolish. He would pay dearly if he did not apologize.
“I am sorry, Mother, I am,” he said in a slightly pleading tone. “That was not very nice. But really, was it wise, do you think?”
“Jonathan, stop. Why is this so troubling to you?”
Jonathan thought for a moment and realized he wasn’t quite sure. It wasn’t, he supposed, unheard of to hire household staff without a personal meeting. “I don’t know.” He shrugged, feeling oddly helpless.
“I appreciate your concern, truly I do.” His mother sighed and patted his hand as if he were a small boy who had just done something stupid, but sweet. “No, we don’t know exactly where Mrs. Milsom comes from, or who she is, but frankly, we are a bit desperate. Sometimes we must trust our instincts. Mine, as you know, are seldom wrong.”
Jonathan heard a snort from the seat opposite, where his younger sister sat hidden in shadow.
“Julia, dear, are you coming down with another cold?” his mother asked in a syrupy tone.
“Of course not, Mother,” Julia said. “I am simply expressing my opinion as to your recent instincts regarding cooks.”
Jonathan was unable to hold back a snort himself, earning what he was sure was another Look, given the speed he sensed his mother’s head swiveled in his direction.
She sniffed. “I am sure I don’t know what you mean, Julia, and I will remind you what I just told your brother.”
“Mother, I adore you,” Julia said patiently, “but even you must admit you have had terrible luck with cooks of late. First there was Mrs. James, who tippled so much sherry that the food was either too cold, burnt, or so salty it was inedible, assuming it made it to the table at all. Then there was Mrs. Edgerton, who had learned to cook from her grandmother in Scotland and didn’t seem to be able to make anything but haggis.”
“Her haggis was very good, though!” Lady Longley interrupted.
Stirring Up the Viscount Page 2
