Temptress in Training

by Susan Gee Heino

  “We can make it,” Miss St. Clement said, and she was just shifting to move out from where they hid when the shrill woman’s voice was heard again.

  “It took three hired boys to bring it down from the boudoir. Are you certain the two of you can manage it out the door and into your wagon?”

  “Of course we can manage,” one of the men grumbled back at her. “Now step aside so we can get it up in the cart.”

  At every bang and clunk the woman shrieked out cautions and directives, yet none of it seemed to have any effect on the men. They were silent, from what Sophie could tell. Probably just eager to get their item loaded and be away from this screeching taskmistress.

  At length the sounds led Sophie to imagine the item—large, whatever it was—being shoved into the wagon and the boards slid into place at the rear to hold it there. Yes, finally the task was done and the men would be moving the wagon. There was hope the young women might still get to the mail coach on time.

  “There, now that’s a job well done,” the woman said with grudging finality. “But just see you get it to Oxford in good condition. And be glad my mistress ain’t sending it off all loaded up and heavy. This is going to be a birthday gift for her sister what’s got five brats and no place to never put nothing. So keep it tidy.”

  “Never you mind, woman. We’ll get it there in one good piece, we will. Now your mistress will be giving us a tidy little something for coming all the way to Town just to get this thing.”

  “Yes, yes. She’s got your fee. Told me to take you down to cook to get you something for your afternoon meal, too. Come inside. I’ll send a boy out front to stand with the horse.”

  The men were all in favor of this idea and quickly let the woman lead them back into the house. So they wouldn’t be moving that wagon out of the way just yet. Drat, but this would certainly slow things down.

  “We’d better hurry,” Miss St. Clement said. “She said she’d send a boy out to watch the horse. If she does, there’s a chance that he’ll see us leaving the alley. Then when our friend waiting for us at the other end comes down here hunting us, this boy will be able to tell that boy where we’ve gone.”

  Sophie peered out into the alley. Fortunately there was no sign of any boys at either end. Yet.

  “Let’s go!”

  They darted out, moving quickly toward the wagon. They’d squeeze by and be on their way in no time. Things were going to work out, after all.

  “It’s a good thing Lord Lindley didn’t tell Mr. Fitzgelder we were hiding in that room last night,” Sophie said. “Else Mr. Fitzgelder might guess we were headed for Warwick to warn your friend and not even need one of these boys to tattle on us.”

  It sounded foolish the moment she heard herself speak it. Miss St. Clement must have thought the same thing. She stopped in her tracks, wedged between the wagon and the cold brick of the nearest building. Sophie plowed into her, but the woman didn’t even have to open her mouth for Sophie to know what she must be thinking.

  “Then just why did Lindley send that boy after us?”

  Sophie gulped. Indeed, that was a fair question. It was more than a fair question—it was the only question. If Lord Lindley had sent someone to follow them this far, then he would know they weren’t simply running back to the theater district and whatever friends Miss St. Clement must have there. The logical assumption, then, would be that they were leaving town. And everyone knew the logical way to leave London—for anyone who did not have a carriage at their disposal, at least—was to pay passage on the mail coach.

  That boy had trailed them this far; he likely could guess their destination. If he lost sight of them on the street, no doubt he’d simply go on ahead. He’d be waiting for them at the coaching house! Or worse, it wouldn’t be merely a boy in Lindley’s livery waiting there. She and Miss St. Clement might show up to find some of those grown men Mr. Fitzgelder seemed to favor for committing unthinkable acts of violence.

  “Lindley must already have an idea where we’re going,” Miss St. Clement said, confirming Sophie’s fears.

  “And he likely knows how we’re planning to get there. They’ll be expecting us.”

  Miss St. Clement nodded, tapping her finger on her chin as she thought. It would seem that their valiant effort to save this Lord Rastmoor was thwarted before it even began. What were they to do?

  What a pity they weren’t wealthy like Lord Lindley; then they would have funds to hire a private carriage, one none of their pursuers might recognize. They could travel in comfort and happy anonymity.

  And then she realized what she was gazing at.

  “Miss St. Clement…”

  “I’m trying to think of a way out of this, Sophie.”

  “Yes, I know, but—”

  “We simply must get to Warwick in time to warn Anthony!”

  “Yes, I know, and I think—”

  “If we only had another way out of town.”

  “Miss St. Clement, I think I found us one.”

  A simple nod of her head toward the wagon caught the young woman’s attention. There, in the back of the wagon, was a huge clothespress lying on its back. From what the woman had said a few moments ago, they could expect to find it empty.

  “Let’s see if we’d fit!” Miss St. Clement said, moving back around to the rear of the wagon and hoisting herself up.

  Sophie did her best to follow, but she was not as appropriately dressed for climbing as Miss St. Clement was. It hardly mattered. In a moment’s time Miss St. Clement had hopped up and yanked open one of the heavy wooden doors on the cabinet. It was, sure enough, empty. There was more than enough space for two female stowaways.

  Miss St. Clement smiled down at her and reached a hand to help her up.

  “You’re a genius, Miss Sophie,” she said. “Now hurry before anyone sees us.”

  HE HARDLY HAD TIME FOR IT, BUT LINDLEY OBLIGED Eudora’s note and was now seated in the woman’s cloyingly perfumed sitting room. She kept him waiting a good ten minutes, and by the time she swept in, dressing gown floating and hair perfectly coiffed, his fingers hurt from drumming them on her center table.

  “I’m really in quite a hurry, Eudora. What on earth is so pressing that you summoned me over here only to keep me cooling my heels so long?”

  She was obviously unconcerned about his impatience. “Lindley in a hurry? That is rare indeed. Off to Fitzgelder’s to visit a certain seamstress again?”

  Oh, hell. She couldn’t have called him here just to discuss that, could she? Surely she knew him well enough to realize Fitzgelder had been misinformed when he brashly announced Lindley had been shagging Miss Darshaw.

  “Eudora, I understand you have a certain fondness for the girl, but do you really suppose I would be so careless as all that? You know where my interests in Miss Darshaw lie.”

  But Eudora simply smiled and glided into the seat across from him. He’d stood when she entered, so now he sat again. Bother, he really did not have the time for this foolishness.

  “I’ve seen for some time now where your interests in Miss Darshaw lie. But I didn’t expect you would stoop to forcing yourself on her.”

  “What? I never!”

  “Ah, so it’s like that, is it? She was ever appalled when I suggested the notion of furthering acquaintances with any of my generous clients, but I always wondered if perhaps her mind could have been changed were you to ever enter into the discussion.”

  “You mean you had men asking for her? And you would have happily procured her for them? Good Lord, Eudora. I thought you told me she was not here to be used that way!”

  But Eudora merely shrugged and turned coolly to the tea tray that had been set up beside her. “A woman of her stature will hardly end up being used for anything other than that, my dear Richard. I would have certainly never forced her into it, but why should I stand in the way of letting the girl profit from the good looks the Almighty himself saw fit to give her? Oh, don’t glare at me that way. I was not the one making use of
her at Fitzgelder’s house last night.”

  “Nor was I, let me assure you.”

  She allowed him a sideways glance, that familiar smirk on her beautiful face. “That’s not what Fitzgelder seemed to believe.”

  “He was misinformed. Purposely.”

  Now she raised an eyebrow to go with that dubious glance. “Oh? If you thought claiming you’d marked the girl as your own would somehow discourage his attentions toward her, I daresay you only succeeded in the opposite. Even when quite swimming in his cups last night the man seemed fully intent on seeking her out the very moment he returned home.”

  “Well then, he must have been sorely disappointed. She was long gone by the time he returned.”

  This actually produced something other than the coy expression that generally graced Eudora’s face. “Oh? Gone where?”

  “I don’t know.” And it was true, at the moment, at least. Surely by now Miss Darshaw and her companion were on the mail coach and traveling north. Somewhere. “She was planning to leave town.”

  This left Eudora looking positively surprised. “Leave town? How? The girl has barely a penny to her name. And she certainly won’t get far traveling alone, not with her pretty face and hopelessly naive disposition.”

  “She wasn’t alone,” he was most happy to inform her. “She has a husband now.”

  If Eudora seemed surprised before, she was absolutely flabbergasted now. He supposed he ought not dangle her this way, but for some reason he didn’t quite trust her with the truth where Miss Darshaw was concerned. Not now that he’d learned the older woman had tried to talk the girl into a life of depravity with the rest of the girls in her stable. Sophie Darshaw was above that. Not much, but certainly a tiny step, at least. Just as Eudora should have been.

  “She and her new husband were leaving, putting the girl’s past behind them and starting anew,” he announced.

  Eudora met his eyes with a straight, steady gaze. “Where?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Where are they going?”

  “How do I know that? I’m certainly not the girl’s keeper. That’s up to her husband now, I suppose.”

  “What’s his name?”

  He supposed he should have just dashed off the obviously false name the actress had been using, but something gave him pause. Overall, he trusted Eudora, of course, but somehow he just couldn’t bring himself to divulge this. The woman was just a mite too eager for the information. Lindley hedged.

  “I don’t know that she mentioned it.”

  “She told you she married yet she didn’t tell you the fellow’s name?”

  “I didn’t ask her, I suppose. It’s not as if Miss Darshaw…or rather, Mrs. Whoever-she-is-now…and I spent hours in lengthy conversation. I merely greeted her by her maiden name and she simply informed me she’d become married.”

  “And you didn’t question her?”

  “Contrary to what you apparently believe, my interest in Miss Darshaw…or whatever…is not all-consuming. I wished her well and promptly put the matter from my mind.”

  “Not entirely, it would seem,” she drawled, coy again, “as clearly you found time to indicate to Fitzgelder that you’d been on the most friendly of terms with the newlywed. You knew he’d be ragingly jealous.”

  “I knew he’d be easily misled. I’d been found out exploring a room in the man’s house where I had no business being. You know my suspicions of him; you know I could ill afford to have him question my presence there. So, I concocted a reasonable story.”

  “That you had been in that room shagging the seamstress.”

  “Yes.”

  He defied her to doubt that. After all, it was every bit the truth.

  “Well, then. I suppose we should be thankful that he believed you.”

  “If, in fact, he did. I cannot be entirely certain with him.”

  She nodded, allowing agreement. “He is cagey, indeed. Yet he is a man, and men are simple creatures. Surely he’ll become obsessed with the girl now that she’s gone and you claimed to have succeeded with her while he was left wanting, so to speak.”

  “Plus the fact that he’s taken the notion she absconded with something of his.”

  Her brow furrowed, a thing vain Madame generally would not allow to happen. “What, Sophie stole something? I cannot believe it.”

  “No, nor do I. But he seemed quite convinced.”

  Eudora actually laughed aloud at that. “And just what on earth would he say she stole from him?”

  “Jewelry, he says.”

  “What? She would never. The girl is as honest as…er, what sort of jewelry?”

  “What sort? I haven’t the foggiest. Look, Eudora, I’m sure it’s to her credit that the girl made such a favorable impression on you during her years here. I’m happy that you care so much for her well-being. But if you don’t mind, I truly must be on my way. I’m late as it is.”

  She sighed as if he were little more than a tedious child. “And what on earth is it that cannot wait but has the great Earl of Lindley rushing off this way?”

  “A wedding,” he replied simply. “Out of town.”

  “A wedding? How quaint.”

  “Yes, so if you can possibly spare me for a few days, I must be on my way.”

  She nodded as if she were graciously dismissing him. He’d already begun to rise with or without her permission.

  “Very well, Richard, but do let me know if you should happen to learn anything of our dear Miss Darshaw’s whereabouts.”

  How on earth did she expect him to learn anything about that? He would, of course, but he truly could not see how Eudora should expect it of him.

  “Of course,” he said with a simple bow to her. “Good day, Eudora.”

  “Come see me the moment you’re back from Warwick, my dear Richard.”

  “As you wish.”

  He gave a mild smile and let himself from the room. He cared a great deal for Eudora; loved her, he supposed. She was one part of his life he would never regret—he knew that for a fact. But by God, he also knew he had never told her where the wedding he was attending would be held.

  Chapter Five

  Sophie was only too happy to stand up straight and stretch her limbs. She wasn’t at all certain which had been worse, the ride from London to Oxford in that awful, cramped cabinet or today’s journey from Oxford on the overly crowded mail coach to…well, to wherever it was they were. She stretched her arms painfully over her head and grimaced at Miss St. Clement.

  “Surely we must be near Warwick by now,” she mumbled, noting the small size and shabby nature of the posting house they had stopped at.

  Miss St. Clement frowned. “No, the driver claims this is some place called Geydon. Warwick is nearly an hour north of us.”

  Sophie managed to hold back the curses she felt creeping onto her tongue. Despite what Miss St. Clement seemed to feel, Sophie was an adult and perfectly permitted to adopt such language should she so desire. Trouble was, right now such language would draw the wrong sort of attention. For the last leg of this journey she’d been the demure Mrs. Clemmons, riding in sweet silence beside her dear husband.

  “If Warwick is only an hour away, why on earth are we stopping here?” Sophie asked.

  It appeared Miss St. Clement was every bit as frustrated as Sophie. “The driver claims there is something wrong with one of the horses we took on at Banbury. I, however, believe it is more likely the driver has some sort of arrangement with the owner of this dilapidated establishment. I suppose we will be prevailed upon to dine here, or perhaps even spend the night and finish the last leg of our journey tomorrow.”

  For shame. How unfair to take advantage of weary travelers like this, not to mention the Royal Mail that would be delayed due to such tactics. Then again, Sophie did have to admit she was a bit hungry. And certainly a night’s sleep sounded like a slice of heaven to her. Miss St. Clement knew her well enough to recognize what Sophie had hoped did not show on her face.
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  “You wish to see about supper, don’t you?”

  Sophie nodded, sheepishly. “If it is only an hour or so more before we find your friend…”

  “Very well. I daresay I could do with something to eat, as well. The driver assured us we have time.”

  “Of course,” Sophie said, already dreaming of a plate full of something warm. “He and the innkeeper could hardly turn much of a profit if the coach was set to leave again before we all had time to purchase a meal.”

  “Come along, then.”

  Sophie followed her friend—who was still carrying on her charade as a now very rumpled young man—into the posting house. It was dim inside though the sun was just now beginning to set for the day. The sooty windows let in very little of the orange glow from what appeared to be a lovely evening. Pity they could not be spending it in activity any more pleasant than hiding from their pursuers.

  Although, since climbing into that farm cart a day and a half ago they had not seen any signs of being followed. It had been a stroke of luck to find that big, empty cabinet. If Lindley’s boy had come down that alley looking for them, he hadn’t thought to check inside. The simple men who had been hired to haul the cabinet didn’t think to look in it, either, through their daylong journey. Aside from a rather jarring, rumbling ride all the way from London to Oxford, Sophie could hardly complain about their manner of escape. It seemed most efficient.

  They’d arrived in Oxford yesterday at just about this time in the evening. Hungry and exhausted from the constant worry that their drivers would notice them, they were only too eager to climb out when the wagon finally stopped. Oh, certainly the drivers had stopped several times along the way, to eat their lunch, look to their horse, and whatnot, but always it appeared they were out in the middle of nowhere. At that final stop, when Miss St. Clement pushed that heavy door up and they chanced to peek outside, they recognized the familiar safety of civilization.

  As soon as the driver and his companion left the cart to go to the door of the modest home that must have been their destination, Sophie and Miss St. Clement took their chance. They clambered out of the cabinet and made a dash for the next street. She could not be sure if anyone even noticed them. They ran and ducked around corners and buildings until they were certain anyone following at that point must be lost. It was rather exhilarating, as a matter of fact. Sophie was becoming quite proud of herself.