Ladies of the night propositioned him as he passed them but he paid them no mind; why would he when he had Martha at home? Finally he saw a man who appeared to be lower middle class, or in other words, a successful criminal who was doing well for himself.
“Excuse me, sir, I wonder if you can help me?”
The other man stopped and looked Lucien over.
“Aye, I might be able to. Depends what you're lookin' for.”
“Documents,” Lucien said. “Two birth certificates to be exact.”
“Aye, I might be able to help with that. Who are they for?”
“Two women. One 19 years old, the other 30.” Martha had told him to change the ages slightly, so that they would be harder to follow. He didn't know for certain that Mary would be accompanying Honoria, but if not they would just have to find another woman who could pass for 30.
“When do you need 'em by?”
“Is tomorrow too soon?”
“Nah, should be fine. It'll cost more though.”
“How much?”
“Two pound each.”
“If you come up with the goods, I'll make it five, how's that?”
“Very decent of you, sir. Do you have any preference as to names?”
“You can do that?”
“I can't promise but I can try.”
Lucien considered the offer for a moment. Mary was a common name but Honoria wasn't. Even if this man could find a birth certificate in that name, it would still be an obvious trail to follow.
“The older girls name should begin with M, the younger with H, is that possible?”
“Aye. Meet me back here tomorrow, five in the morning, before the navvies get here for work.”
Although it would mean an early start, it should enable Lucien to slip out of the hotel unseen, so he agreed.
He arrived early the next morning but the other gentleman was already waiting for him. He handed over the birth certificates and Lucien looked them over. One was in the name of Helen Mallard and the other, Mary Breckenridge. He smiled at the coincidence; at least one lady would get to keep her name. They looked to be real, to his untrained eye.
“Where did you get these?” John asked.
The other man hesitated for a moment, and then decided to answer.
“Orphanage. Those that come of age get given their documents when they leave, those that don't, they hang onto their documents for a time.” In other words, those who died, which wasn't uncommon in orphanages.
It relaxed Lucien to know that they were genuine documents and he handed over five pounds.
“I wonder if I might ask a second favour of you?”
The man shrugged.
“I need tickets purchased for some journeys than can't be traced to me.”
“Sounds possible. When and where?”
“Any ship sailing to New York next Tuesday, or as close as you can get. Two tickets in the names on these certificates, second class, if you can, not steerage or first class. Another ticket to France, in the name of Honoria Arundell. That one should be first class.”
He nodded. “Can do.”
Lucien handed him a further twenty pounds, more than enough to cover all three fares.
“What should I do with the tickets?” he asked.
“I'll come by in a few hours, on my way out of town. Will that give you enough time?”
“Aye, ticket office opens at nine and I'll be first in the queue.”
“Then meet me by the Cunard offices. And thank you.” Lucien shook his hand and walked back to his hotel. The hotel was still mostly asleep when he got back and no one seemed to have noticed his departure or return, although he knew that many of the staff would be awake and working behind the scenes.
He returned to his room and began working on some correspondence, until his breakfast was brought up to him. After that he packed and was ready to leave. His driver carried his case down to the carriage and Lucien nonchalantly mentioned that he had to stop by the port for a few minutes. The driver didn't question it and Lucien had him stop on the road so that he couldn't see where Lucien went. He collected the tickets, paid the man an extra five pounds for his silence, then returned to Marchwood Hall.
Chapter Thirteen
Honoria had been on tenterhooks for days wondering when 'it' was going to happen. She had been veering back and forth, wondering if she had the courage to go through with this. Could she really leave Malcolm for... well that was just it, she didn't even know what the future might hold for her.
Then she would remember her baby, who had just begun to move inside her, and how Malcolm had murdered him or her. She couldn't stay and she knew that if she gave in now, not only she, but any other children she might have, would be subject to a lifetime of tyranny. Even if she could stand it for herself, she couldn't allow defenceless children to be subjected to Malcolm’s temper.
Malcolm had finally returned at the weekend but she had kept to her room and remained non-responsive when he came in. He had largely left her alone and returned to London on the Sunday afternoon. Not once did he even try to apologise. Perhaps if he had, he might have changed her mind but his complete lack of remorse for murdering their child, only served to strengthen her resolve.
She resumed her afternoon walks once he was gone and wondered just when Martha and Hope were going to come for her. She headed into the trees, as she had been doing for the past few days, but tried not to get her hopes up too far.
She hadn't gone very far when movement from her left caught her eye and she turned to see Hope riding towards her on Shelly, with MacDuff trotting alongside as usual. She smiled as Hope trotted closer but it quickly faded as the reality of what was about to happen dawned on her.
Hope didn't have time to reassure her friend yet, so she simply offered her hand so that she could pull Honoria up onto the horse.
“But my-”
“We have to hurry,” Hope urged. “If you are to disappear, you can't go back for anything. I have packed what you will need for now and you will have the money to buy anything that you don't have.”
Honoria took the hand and allowed herself to be pulled up behind Hope. She sat behind the saddle, her legs to one side of the horse, and put her arms around Hope's waist to steady herself.
“Hold tight,” Hope warned, and urged her horse into a gentle canter.
Honoria clung tightly to her friend as they headed deeper into the forest, until they stopped at the edge of the Marchwood estate, beside a pony and gig.
“It's all right,” Hope assured Honoria, who had clung tighter as she saw a strange woman with the gig. “This is Mary, my aunt.”
Hope disentangled Honoria's arms and Mary helped her down to the ground. Hope then jumped off and tied her horse's reins to a branch.
“Mary is going with you,” Hope explained as she went to the gig and retrieved a bag. “She'll explain the whole plan to you but don't worry, I'm sure you two will get on well together.”
“You aren't coming with me?” Honoria asked Hope, looking confused.
“I can't,” Hope said, putting the bag down and turning to her friend. “Our plan is to make it look as if you were attacked but if I am missing also, Malcolm will know that we've run away.”
“Won't he still guess?” Honoria asked.
“Perhaps, but he won't have any proof and that is what counts.” Hope enveloped Honoria in her arms. “I wish I could go with you. I'll miss you.”
“And I you.”
Both women had tears in their eyes and clung tightly to each other, until Mary coughed politely, reminding them that time was of the essence.
“Here.” Hope said, pulling away and handing Honoria the bag. “You must change into these clothes. They're middle class, so you won't be so easily recognisable.”
“But-”
“Mary and I will turn our backs,” Hope assured her. “There is no other way. If you go into town dressed as you are, people will remember you.”
Honoria nodded and too
k the bag around the other side of the gig, to afford herself a little additional privacy.
“What about the pony and gig?” She asked as she changed.
“The gig is an antique, something my grandmother used to use. Her house and stables have been closed since her death five years ago; no one will miss it. The pony is from our stable. When you get close to the station, unharness the pony and release him. I left the gate to his field open, so it will look as if he escaped. Hide the gig as best you can, push it into a river, or over a cliff, or just leave it in woodland if you can't find anything better; the denser the better.”
“What if the pony doesn't come back?” Honoria asked.
“A horse is nothing compared to your safety,” Hope explained. “How are the clothes?”
“They fit,” Honoria said, that was just about the only nice thing that she could say about them. They were black and grey, thick and the fabrics were nowhere near as delicate as she was used to. They were wool and cotton if she wasn't mistaken, rather than linen or silk, which she usually wore. Still, they were comfortable and warm, and she doubted that she would have much use for her fine gowns where she was going. “What happens now?”
“We will travel to Manchester in the gig,” Mary explained. “Hope has taught me how to drive it, then we will catch a train to Liverpool. The station is much busier there, so we should blend in more easily. We'll stay overnight at an inn in Liverpool, then tomorrow we sail for America on the RMS Scotia.”
“America!”
“We can start new lives there,” Mary explained. “We have new names and birth certificates, so we will be hard to trace and once in America, we can go wherever we want to.”
“How are we to keep ourselves?”
“Mary has enough money to last you for a while but once you have an address, Father will send you a remittance each month,” Hope explained. “You must write to Earl Marchwood at the Penchester glove workshop though. Do not send anything to the Hall, the workshop in Marchwood or addressed to me.”
“Will that be safe?”
“We have many American buyers, so a few more letters will not look out of place. Of course, if you have anything private to say, you can enclose another letter for me, inside the one you send to father.”
“I'm done.”
They turned to see a very different looking Honoria standing before them. All Hope could think, was how odd she looked but Mary smiled, pleased with the transformation.
“Perfect,” she exclaimed. “I've packed plenty more clothes and the necessities we will need.”
This was it then, Hope realised. She wasn't just losing a friend, but also a much loved aunt too, and her eyes began to sting with tears.
“Oh, look at me,” Hope said, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief.
Mary knew how Hope felt and took her niece in her arms.
“I can't believe I'm never going to see you again,” Hope said, her voice trembling. “Either of you.”
“I'll miss you too.” Mary assured her. And she would, but she was more practical than Hope, not to mention, worried that their plan would be discovered. She knew she would feel the loss of her family keenly, but right now she needed to be clear headed. There would come a time for tears, but for now she must be strong. “I'll write as soon as we dock,” she promised.
“You'd better.” Hope pulled away and dried her eyes again.
Honoria came around the gig and hugged Hope. “Thank you.”
“Be happy,” Hope told her friend. “And write regularly.”
“I will,” Honoria promised.
“We must go,” Mary urged. “The longer we wait, the more chance we have of being discovered.”
Hope nodded and let go of her friend.
“Come on,” Mary untied Hope's horse and stood beside it, ready to give Hope a leg-up. Hope accepted and got back onto her horse.
“Be safe,” she told them both.
“And you,” Mary said pointedly. Malcolm would be furious, and there was no saying what such a man would do if he ever discovered that Hope had helped his wife to leave him. “Here,” she handed Hope Honoria's dress, then got into the gig with Honoria, as Hope turned and rode off.
Hope's vision was blinded by tears for a while, but her horse was well used to riding around the estate, so she didn't have to worry too much about where she was going. She could just make out the stream as they came to it, and Hope stopped Shelly and dismounted. She took Honoria's dress and began to rip and tear it, as though it had been torn from her.
She heard footsteps behind her and turned, panicked, but it was only her mother so she breathed easily once again.
Hope looked to the sack that her mother was carrying, realising what was inside, and she laid the torn dress out on the ground.
Martha nodded by way of greeting, then pulled a chicken carcass from the sack. It's neck lolled, clearly broken, but it hadn't been bled or plucked yet. Laying it on the ground, Martha took a knife and cut its neck, then held it by its feet over the dress to cover it with blood.
With that done, Hope tore a slightly bloody lace cuff from the garment, which she placed on a branch, securing it tightly as if it had been caught and torn from the dress. Martha then took the knife and stabbed the dress, three times. She cut some bloodied, fabric coated buttons from the bodice, which she left on the ground, then Hope threw the rest of the garment into the stream and watched it float away. They didn't know if the blood stains would still show after being in the stream, which is why they had left the bloodied cuff and buttons.
Perhaps the dress would get caught up and lend credence to the theory that Honoria was attacked and abducted, or perhaps the dress, the cuff and buttons would never be discovered, and Honoria's disappearance would remain a mystery.
Mother and daughter looked at each other, nodded, then Martha silently helped Hope back up onto her horse and they went in their separate directions.
Martha rinsed her bloody hands in the stream but she had worn a dark navy blue dress today, so if there was any blood on her dress, it wasn't visible. She placed the chicken carcase back in the sack and headed back towards her gig. About halfway back, she turned the sack upside down and left the chicken for the local wildlife to dispose of. She threw the sack away a little later.
Her gig and pony had been left in an old dilapidated house which Lucien had recommended. As a boy, he had walked these lands many times and had discovered this ruin, using it to play in. Once it was a very home, probably about the 1600s, but it had fallen into wrack and ruin. The roof was missing and only two walls remained, but it provided shelter from prying eyes, which is why she had tethered the pony up here.
The path back to the estate track was rough but it wasn't far, and Martha was soon driving the familiar tracks back to the mansion.
Chapter Fourteen
Although she regretted the pain and worry that it would cause her grandmother, Lizzy, Hope had also seen to it that Mary looked to have been abducted. Unusually, Mary left school at lunch time, claiming to feel unwell. Hope had met her in the woods between the school and her house and together they had made their way to her grandmother's gig, which Hope had left in the woods earlier, dropping Mary's embroidered handkerchief on the way.
Lizzy wasn't expecting Mary home until the evening, so she would not be missed until possibly as late as 6pm. Honoria on the other hand, had perhaps an hour until she was missed. Hopefully the fear of their master would keep the staff from acting decisively, but it would surely not be very much longer until a search party was formed. As such, Hope cantered around to the other side of the estate as quickly as she dared, so quickly that MacDuff even had trouble keeping up with her.
Once on the south of the estate (the same direction she had been seen riding out in) she slowed to a leisurely walk and she and MacDuff made their way back to the road and home. She passed three farms on her way back and said 'hello' to those she saw, pausing to have a quick chat with Mrs Green, who was hanging washing outside h
er farmhouse. It was an inane conversation about the possibility of rain, but Hope thought it long enough to be memorable, should she need an alibi.
When she turned away, she trotted home and handed Shelly over to the stable boy as she went inside.
Although she did her best to appear calm, she was a bag of nerves inside. Not only was she worried about discovery, she was terrified that something would go wrong and Mary and Honoria would somehow come to harm. They would be taking back roads and lanes to Manchester until they were closer, when they would be able to blend in with other travellers.
She headed to her mother, who was waiting for her in the back parlour. Afternoon tea was being laid out; her mother must have called for it when she heard Shelly's hoof beats.
“How was your ride, darling?” Martha asked.
“Very good, thank you.” Hope sat down beside her mother. “Did you check on Lady Elders cape?”
“I did, it's coming along beautifully. I think she'll be very pleased with it.”
“Good.”
“Thank you, Jane, I'll pour,” Martha told the housemaid, who curtseyed and left.
Hope visibly deflated and finally let her distress show through. Martha reached out and squeezed her hand.
“You must stay strong,” she advised softly.
Hope nodded and sat upright. Martha pulled her husband's hip-flask from her sewing basket and poured a healthy measure in Hope's tea cup. She silently nodded that she should drink it, then after a brief debate, she poured herself a measure, although it was slightly smaller than Hope's, before she hid the flask once again.
Each quickly drank their spirit, then Martha refilled the mugs with tea, to disguise the spirits that they had ingested and added four sugars to Hope's tea, knowing that nerves drained a lot of energy.
“Are you hungry?” Martha asked.
Hope shook her head, feeling far too queasy to eat, so although Martha put a small slice of cake on Hope's plate, she ate part of it as well as her own, so it would appear that both women had eaten.
Martha kept up most of the conversation whilst the tea was removed, then she got her embroidery out and suggested that Hope did the same.
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