The village smelled of fish today, as usual, but there was the overriding smell of freedom that brought me a squeal of delight. The cobblestone streets opened into a fork, and I knew the left was the way to the milliner. People passed me in all directions, most with a friendly nod to offer. They had not forgotten the generosity my mother and father offered them each year at the Christmastide parties. I felt out of place each time I took the short walk to the village in my clean and colorful dresses, neat basket, and straw hats and bonnets. I was among the few families in Craster that did not struggle daily in need of money. But still all the people offered me respect, which was something you could not buy or sell.
Excitement pulsed within me with every beat of my heart, every breath I took. I had few qualms about my lies to Mama and Papa. They would understand that this was necessary for my happiness and my independence. They could not keep me here forever. I missed my aunt and cousin, and my uncle’s sister and son that often stayed at Rosewood in the summer as well. I missed those old hills and woods that I played in so often as a child.
There had only been two things I ever looked forward to living and growing up in this town: the annual Christmastide parties and the day I could climb in a carriage and travel to a much warmer and brighter place where I had friends and a handsome older boy to pine after.
I secured the ribbon of my bonnet under my chin in one quick motion. My hat had been in operations for weeks, and it was finally ready. With quick and determined steps, I made my way to the millinery shop and pushed open the heavy door. A bell rang above me and I experienced a moment of melancholy at the sound. Would I ever hear it again? I didn’t know if I could ever bear to come back here once I made my escape.
Fresh fabric and dye filled my nostrils, along with the enthralling smell of the rose perfume Mr. Connor used as a fragrance for the papers on the walls. The shop was dimly lit today, bogged down by the drab clouds and rolling thunder that betrayed rain. I tugged on my gloves and surveyed the store for Mr. Connor.
The sound of creaking floorboards and the rustle of fabric reached my ears from the adjoining workspace that Mr. Connor spent much of his time in. The narrow door opened near the back of the shop and he stepped halfway through the doorway before throwing his hands in the air.
“Oh, Miss Abbot!” He stepped away from the door and around the wooden counter, stumbling over a box as he went. “I was beginning to wonder if you had taken offense to my opinion of your color choice in your latest hat, to which I would be most contrite.”
I couldn’t help but smile at the man and his eccentric choice of attire. He wore a bright yellow waistcoat with an assortment of fobs dangling over his round belly, conservative knee breeches, and robin’s-egg-blue stockings. His waistcoat was embroidered with what appeared to be small birds, complete with a long tailcoat. His head was glistening with a sheen of perspiration from his work.
“Not to worry, Mr. Connor. Your opinions will never cause me offense, unless of course you claim that I look anything less than fetching in my most unconventional hats, much like the one we have been planning.” I smiled at his deep chuckle.
Mr. Connor held a cushion of pins in one hand and used the other to steady himself on the edge of the counter. I followed his gaze to the highest shelf on the right side of the shop.
“There you have it, Miss Abbot. The pièce de résistance. I hope you are pleased with the final product. I must admit, I have never been more entertained by a project before.”
“Perhaps you have not known me long enough.”
Mr. Connor’s graying hair was styled in what appeared to be an attempt at the Caesar style, and it was heavily waxed, for it didn’t move an inch when he threw his head back in laughter.
I walked to the assortment of shelves. My hat was there, at the very top. I stood on the tips of my toes in an attempt to see it closer but could only glimpse the feathers that I had chosen myself. I sighed in frustration. Why must I be so short?
Mr. Connor walked to the shelf and reached above me to lower the hat to my hands. “You will be the talk of the town donning this beauty, to be sure.”
I examined the hat in my hands. It was perfect. Turning to the mirror that leaned against the wall, I placed the hat over my dark curls. The brim was wide and heavy, where it fell low, shielding half my eyes and bathing the rest of my face in shadow. The hat was covered in a blue sheen of silk, with a basket-weaved edging and dramatic green ribbons that tied under my chin. The crown was rounded and tall, accented with an array of exotic feathers, strings of pearl, and three distinct red bows. It was large enough that I could tuck my hair inside and have my entire head covered.
This hat was to be more than a fashion accessory. If I intended to make my escape from this town without the spread of gossip, I needed to be as well disguised as I could manage. Gossip spread in this town faster than the shells washed over the shore. If the town did happen to recognize me, then at least I would be gossiped about while looking so staggering. I bit my lip against a smile.
“Oh, I love it, Mr. Connor! Thank you.”
He was beaming. “It has been a delight to have a customer that shares my taste in unwonted fashion. I must own, I was tempted to run up such a hat for myself.”
I turned away from the mirror and lifted the hat from my head. I smiled as I looked at the interior. A small tag had been pasted inside, my name written in the elegant hand of Mr. Connor.
“And why not?”
He chuckled, taking the hat and moving to the counter for a box. “There are far too many children in this town and I should hate to frighten them.”
Here was another person I would miss. My smile spread to my ears as I swept my gaze over the shop again. I would miss this shop as well.
“Thank you for being such a dear friend, Mr. Connor.” To my surprise, my eyes filled with tears.
“Have I upset you?” Mr. Connor looked down at me with round crystal blue eyes, deep wrinkles settling between his eyebrows.
I conjured up a smile. “Of course not.”
“It seems I have.” He rubbed his jaw. “Let us put that to rights, straight away.” With a look that almost appeared devious, he handed me the box that contained the hat. His eyes twinkled. “For you, Miss Abbot, free of charge.”
My jaw dropped and I looked at him with wide eyes. “I cannot accept such a service. You are much too kind!”
He shook his head. “There is no such thing as too much kindness, my dear.”
I didn’t know what to say. The old man looked down at me with mirth gleaming in his eyes at my complete bafflement. Mr. Connor had always treated my family and me with kindness, but never had he done something such as this. How could he afford to give away such a fine hat, surely one that took hours to make? In light of his kindness I now felt entirely like a selfish child.
“Mr. Connor, I—”
He held up a finger. “No more argument. You know very well that I will win any battle of the sort.”
I wrapped my arms around the box and wished I could show my gratitude in something more than mere words. I squared my shoulders to show my sincerity. “I thank you. How very generous of you. I will wear it at every opportunity.”
He laughed, a rasped sound behind it. “That is payment worth far more than pounds, shillings, and pence.”
I cracked one more grateful smile before turning to the door. “Farewell, Mr. Connor! Your generosity will not be forgotten by me, I assure you.”
“I do hope you shall visit again soon,” he said, shaking his head as I scurried out the door. I was bursting to tell someone of my plans to leave, and Mr. Connor was far too trustworthy a friend. Soon I would be spilling all of my secrets and fears to him. Hurrying down the road toward home, I mulled over my plan again in my mind.
The closest thing to a coaching inn nearby was called The Rook’s Nest, a small establishment that boasted three rooms and stabled one strong team of horses at a time. It was a two-mile uphill walk from the heart of the village,
which meant I would need to be leaving soon in order to arrive before nightfall and claim a place on the mail coach that would pass through once, then move on, heading south toward London. I would take the most inexpensive seat if possible, likely on top of the coach itself. It would be an uncomfortable journey but worth every second.
I had a letter prepared for Mama and Papa, hoping it would ease their worry to some degree. My maid would deliver it to them tomorrow, although she had no idea of its contents. It was brief and concise, with enough explanation, I hoped, to prevent Mama from fainting. It read:
Dear Mama and Papa,
I have secured passage to Dover by mail coach and plan to arrive at the end of the month. Please trust that I am safe and happy. Do not worry over me, for I will write you often and promptly upon my arrival at Rosewood. I am sorry you did not understand my desire to leave, but it is my sincerest hope that you will not punish me, or call me home for pursuing the thing upon which my chief hopes of happiness depend.
Sending my love,
Lucy
The sun was just a crescent at the horizon when I trudged along the final cobblestones that led to The Rook’s Nest. My feet ached from the walk, and my cheeks were flushed with exertion, thin strands of hair clinging to my neck and forehead. Fortunately, I had my hat to cover the mess that had become of my hair.
Stopping just outside the doors, I nearly burst into laughter again at the idea that I would be wearing my hat as I marched into the inn. Who could take me seriously with such an accessory? I choked back a giggle that would certainly dub me as a child. I didn’t care what other people thought of it. I loved it.
With one firm motion, I set the hat on my head with one hand and pulled open the door to the inn with the other. The entry was dimly lit and smelled of dirty travelers and cinnamon. The candles that lit the walls were melted to stubs, and cinnamon sticks and sage hung beneath them in an attempt to freshen the air and serve as decoration, I gathered. A faint step caught my ears and I turned toward the sound. A thin woman with her hair pulled back tight seemed to materialize behind the front counter. She walked around to greet me.
“Good evening, miss.” Her eyes caught on my hat and she dragged her gaze away with apparent effort. “How may we be of assistance?”
“I am waiting for the next available mailing coach to arrive,” I said, squaring my shoulders in attempt to appear as if I were an independent lady rather than a mischievous young woman who was hiding from her parents.
One pale eyebrow lifted as she puffed out a breath. “May we interest you in a meal before your intended travel?”
My gaze crossed the room to where a stoutly man sat on a wooden stool, sipping from a jug and eating toast from a tray. He caught me staring and gave a nod, cheeks full of his unknown drink.
I tore my eyes away. “No, thank you.”
The woman sucked in her cheeks and turned away without another word, bustling around the corner where she had appeared from.
The coach arrived not twenty minutes later, to my relief, and I rushed outside with my traveling trunk. The sky was almost black now, dotted with faint stars. It seemed the clouds insisted on blocking light even from the night sky.
This was a quick stop—there were not many parcels coming in and out of Craster. Feet racing over the cobblestones, I paid the driver his first sum for a top seat. I swallowed hard. Was I really doing this? My fingers fidgeted with my skirts as I looked up at the legs dangling down from the top of the coach. There were two men and three women, one with a young child on her lap. There was no room on the back of the coach for my trunk to be strapped down, so I would have to keep it with me, at least for the first length of travel. Inside the coach I could see the outline of faces. The horses that were being led away from us heaved in exhaustion, anxious for water and rest.
“Up you go, miss.”
I turned at the voice behind me. The coachman was bent over, ready to hoist me up onto the coach, making a step with his hands. I glanced over my shoulder at the fading coastline as the sky darkened. I wondered what Mama and Papa were thinking right now. Had Suzanne delivered the note yet?
There was a space directly between the woman with the child and an elderly man. The man extended his hand to help pull me up. I resisted the urge to turn around and run back to the safety of my house. I pressed my lips together and forced myself to nod. Taking the man’s hand I stepped into the hands of the coachman, shifting awkwardly and sliding myself into place on top of the coach. My legs shook and I drew a deep breath to calm my nerves. I hadn’t known it would be this terrifying. This terrifying and exhilarating. Tightening the ribbons of my hat, a laugh of disbelief escaped my lips.
None of my traveling companions were exiting the coach at this stop, so before long the coachman returned to the box and set the new team of horses moving. With an extensive creak, the wheels started rolling and I clutched my small trunk by the handle and used the other hand to keep my balance. Shifting my eyes to the side, I realized the old man beside me had been watching me, a wide and rather toothless grin on his face. He doffed his hat and looked at my own hat with curiosity. I touched it, pushing the brim lower on my face and giving him a shaky smile in return. When I looked away, I could feel the gaze of the old man still on my head. I cleared my throat, sneaking one more look. He was still grinning.
Perhaps the hat had not been my finest idea.
Turning my attention to the darkening sky, I tried to clear my mind. It would be a long, long several days, but I would not regret a moment. I closed my eyes as I left Craster, reminding myself that dreams are worth chasing, even if it means leaving behind comfort and ease for a time. It was long past time for me to move forward and take a risk. I had been living in boredom for too many years, sinking in monotony. Unmoving, cold, and always feigning contentment. It seemed that my dreams had been given to me so my heart had something to chase. After all, sitting still for too long without exertion has been known to make for a weak heart.
As the night breezes picked up and whipped my skirts and pulled at my ribbons, I felt the start of a smile—the kind that reached my eyes. And I turned my face up to the sky and breathed.
FOUR
Would ye like a hot meal, miss?” The voice repeated words I had heard from countless faces over the course of almost a week of travel. My stomach grew tight with a rumble and I looked up at the new face.
“Yes, thank you.” I breathed out a long sigh as I set my hat on the counter. It would not fit in my trunk, and my neck had begun to ache from the weight of it. The feathers had bent with the wind and the entire hat was caked in dust. No matter how unpractical it was, I couldn’t deny that it made me feel sophisticated and steered my mind from my undisciplined behavior for a time.
This woman was dressed neat and prim, and I noticed that her breath did not smell. Perhaps this inn would be more comfortable than the last five. The woman’s eyes surveyed my appearance with a look of concern. “And a washing? It seems ye’ve gathered a hearty helping of dirt.” She studied my face.
I ran my hand over my cheek, pulling back a pale brown smudge. My seat atop the coach had provided me with direct sunlight, which led to freckles and sweat. The sweat allowed the dust that billowed up from the road to stick to my face in a uniform layer.
Today had been particularly hot and dusty. I was certain I had never looked so homely in my life.
For the last several days we had traveled half the night, stopping every fifteen miles for a new team of horses and to deliver and load new packages. My arms were numb at each stop, and the muscles had been sore and aching from holding my small trunk and gripping the side of the carriage as to not fall off on the bumpy roads. To distract myself, I had thought of all the activities I would find to entertain myself during my stay at Rosewood. I imagined the color of the sky. We were nearing London, which meant that Dover was only a few days from my reach.
Deciding between washing or eating first, I decided to wash, reminding myself that I was not so
uncultured. Yet.
I opened my mouth to give the innkeeper’s wife my decision, but stopped at the sound of hearty laughter from across the room to my right. The fire was burning bright in the corner where a group of men talked and laughed nearby. My eyes swept over the room.
That was when my heart stopped.
The walls spun, and I choked on a breath.
Blood rushed from my head and I nearly lost my balance.
“Are ye well, miss? You are quite pale—”
Her words didn’t seem to reach my ears. My eyes were set across the room, where another man was sitting on a four-legged stool with his arms crossed, deep-set eyes surveying the sparse crowd. I made a sound—half gasp, half screech—and turned away from him so quickly the innkeeper’s wife jumped back a step.
I put my hand on my head, scrambling for my hat on the counter. Pushing it low over my eyes, I ducked down, tucking the last of my curls under the brim of the hat.
“’Ave ye seen a ghost?” The woman looked over my shoulder in confusion, eyes wide.
My face and heart were on fire. I closed my eyes and opened them again, darting my gaze between the woman in front of me and the door. How quickly could I leave? Five seconds, perhaps three? It was just in my imagination, I tried to tell myself. But then I sneaked another look over my shoulder.
Sitting by the fire, rubbing his hands together, was a man that looked precisely like Nicholas Bancroft. I stared, heart racing. How could it be him? Kitty had said that he married a woman in London. We were near London, so I supposed it was possible.
Peering out from beneath the brim of my hat, I studied his appearance in brief glances. He was turned slightly away from me, face illuminated by the dying flames. No. No, no. I begged fate to allow it to be an entirely different man, not Nicholas. It wouldn’t be fair. He had broken my heart but now I wouldn’t have a chance to break his. He was married. My hands shook as I studied the side of the man’s face.
“Come now, lady. We’ll have a nice cup a’ tea prepared for ye. Does’t sound like a welcome diversion?”
Road to Rosewood Page 3
