by Amy Corwin
“Help me,” she demanded, turning her back to William. “Have you never unlaced a woman before? We have no time to stand idle.”
He set to work as a lady’s maid while Sarah leapt off the bed, catching on immediately. She ripped off her jacket and shirt, balled them up, and, after a brief hesitation, shoved them under the putrid pile of blankets in the corner. A pale hand flopped out onto the stone floor, almost like a pitiful gesture of supplication. Sarah covered it hurriedly with the ragged edge of the blanket, keeping her gaze averted.
“What about shoes?” she asked, pulling off her heavy work boots.
Lady Victoria pulled up her skirts to reveal a pair of blue kid slippers dangling by their laces and tied to a ribbon around her waist. Working diligently, William untied the straps and released the pins holding the outer dress in place. He helped her ease the heavy folds over her head. She pulled a chemise off next and handed it to him. He tossed both of the garments to Sarah, who turned to face the wall.
“What’s going on in there?” the guard asked from the hallway.
Heart pounding, William went to the door. He angled his body to block the view of Sarah from the small window. Then he fastened a smile on his face and laughed. “You know what women are like. Lady Victoria is weeping over the young lad.”
The guard snorted and started to unlock the door.
Lady Victoria quickly let out a loud sob and flung her arms around Sarah. Playing his role, William laughed again and shook his head as he gripped one of the bars in the window to hold the door shut. Blood pounded in his ears with tension.
Listening to Lady Victoria’s gusty cries, the guard shrugged and turned partially away. “One minute more—no more.”
With quick, deft motions, Sarah threw on the clothing. William stayed by the door while Lady Victoria helped Sarah gather up the folds of material and tie them in place.
“You’re not Samuel, are you?” Lady Victoria’s cool voice asked.
William glanced at the two women. Sarah’s shoulders went rigid at the question. Her eyes caught his, filled with panic.
“No, I’m not,” Sarah admitted at last.
“Are you…Sarah?”
“Yes, I believe so. I’m sorry,” Sarah said in a strained voice.
Lady Victoria reached beneath her own dress again and hauled out a clump of blond curls. “Put these on beneath the bonnet.”
Catching the wig, Sarah shoved it onto her head. A few hairpins dangled around the edge, and she used them to attach it as firmly as possible to her short hair.
He was shocked at the transformation. With the lace and curls framing her face, Sarah looked like a woman. A lady.
Lady Victoria had even remembered a pair of cream-colored kid gloves to cover her niece’s callused hands.
“Here, if you will allow me,” Lady Victoria said, moving around Sarah. She pulled a few laces and adjusted the folds. Then, moving to Sarah’s front, she paused with her hands near Sarah’s chest. “Do you mind awfully?”
“No.” Embarrassment darkened Sarah’s gray eyes.
Shoving her fingers down the front of the dress, Lady Victoria pushed Sarah’s breasts upward until they were prominently displayed. In fact, the thin chemise and narrow material of the bodice barely covered the soft mounds. There could be no doubt now that she was most definitely a woman.
Something tightened in William, catching at his breath until he looked away.
“There,” Lady Victoria said, “Call for the guard.”
“Guard!” he yelled. “We’re ready to leave.”
To William’s horror, Lady Victoria pulled the blanket off the corpse in the corner. With surprising gentleness, she rearranged Sarah’s abandoned clothing to cover him. Then she lay down on the tiled bed Sarah had used and pulled the blanket over her head. All he could see was a lump in the corner.
Before he could protest, the guard was at the door, rattling his keys. When he flung it open, Sarah brushed past him.
The guard waited, eyeing William. “If you’ve a mind to stay, sir…”
“No.” William walked past him, stiff-legged and ready to beat the guard senseless if necessary. He almost forgot and turned back to Lady Victoria, but at the last minute, he managed to keep his face pointed rigidly forward and an unconcerned smile on his lips.
To his surprise, Sarah took his arm in a tight grip. Her fingers trembled, and he pulled her closer, aching to place an arm around her. But he didn’t dare. His pulse raced, caught between fear of disaster and desire for Sarah.
The guard poked his head inside, stared at the two bundles, and slammed the door shut. He escorted them back through the complexity of the hallways, heading for the administrative offices. As they approached the main corridor, William noticed a great deal of activity. His tension increased. Officers shuffled about and some donned hats as if preparing to leave for the day.
“No need to disturb the administrator,” William said in a determinedly nonchalant voice. He slipped Sarah’s cold hand through the crook of his arm and pressed it reassuringly. “If you will just escort us to the door?”
“Yes, sir,” the guard said, clearly uninterested. He had his own hat in his hand. “I’m going that way, myself.”
There was no sign of Archer outside. Their hackney coach was gone, as well. The officer who escorted them through the gate abandoned them on the sidewalk. He turned abruptly to the left, shoving his hat onto his head and striding off. He whistled as he jammed his hands into his pockets, on his way home, or to a nearby tavern.
“Thank God,” Sarah said, breathing deeply and coughing as if to expel the foul air of prison. “Ouch!” she exclaimed, rubbing her foot. “These shoes are too thin.”
He pulled her along, glancing around for a hackney for hire. There didn’t seem to be any available in the vicinity of the prison. Determined to complete their escape, William hurried them down the street. And along the way, Sarah exclaimed and hopped every few feet as she stepped on other pebbles. Finally, she tried to shrug him off.
His grip tightened, and he hurried her forward.
“Hey!” He called, spotting a coach.
The vehicle stopped in front of them. The door opened and to their surprise, Mr. Archer pushed his head out.
“Get in!” He grinned at them, his eyes gleaming.
William flung an arm around Sarah’s waist and hauled her forward. He shoved her into the carriage ahead of him. When she settled inside, he climbed up and took the seat facing backward.
Lady Victoria sat next to her husband, smiling brilliantly.
“How did you get out?” William asked.
“I asked the administrator what he had done with my wife,” Archer replied archly. “I can’t tolerate incompetence, you know. When she never returned, I demanded to be taken to Mr. Pochard’s cell. A good thing I did, too. He was quite dead. My beautiful wife was distraught.”
“I see,” William replied, grinning. “And since the guard who took us to the cell left after his shift change, he was not there to say he had already escorted a lady and gentleman out of Newgate.”
“There, you see? The rules of the game are not difficult to follow.”
“Child’s play,” William drawled, wanting to punch Archer in his smug eye.
Archer grinned more broadly. “And I hear we have a niece instead of a nephew.”
Despite the evening gloom, William could make out a warm, pink flush rising up Sarah’s exposed neck to her tanned cheeks. His eyes strayed to her chest. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortably aware of her.
She must have caught the direction of his glance because her right hand rose. She rested it protectively over her bosom. His gaze lingered on her smooth skin. He remembered the taste of her lips and lithe, warm body.
“So you’re little Sarah,” Archer continued. “After all these years.”
“Years older, in fact. And not so little,” she replied. The shadows in the coach made it difficult to see her expression, but her strained voice rev
ealed her struggle to maintain a cheerful tone. “Did you get the box?”
“The box?” William asked, diverted by the warmth of her thigh. It pressed against his through the thin material of a gown, without the benefit of a petticoat.
“Did you get the box?” she repeated.
“No.” he replied. “Where is it?”
She turned toward him, her hand finally moving away from the soft mounds of flesh that glowed palely in the dim evening light. Hard work had not diminished her beauty. Far from it.
“I left it between the roots of the oak tree,” she said. “I thought you would go there once you knew they had caught me. You told me to hide there.”
“Oak tree?” Even to his ears, he sounded like a blithering idiot. He frowned as he caught her meaning.
“In front of Mr. Carnaby’s townhouse. The tree by the brick wall.” She enunciated clearly as if talking to a rather slow child.
“What box?” Archer asked.
William caught Sarah’s glance, although it was now too dark to see her gray eyes clearly.
“Come,” Archer said. “You must trust us by now. We’re your family.”
Again, Sarah looked at William. He could feel her indecision and part of him flared with triumph. She trusted him.
He turned to Archer. “It’s just a box of trinkets, really. Just a few things she managed to save when Elderwood burned. I told her I’d help her retrieve it.”
“I see.” Archer rubbed the bridge of his nose with a forefinger. “Perhaps we should nip over and visit this remarkable tree?” He thumped the roof of the carriage with his walking stick and yelled directions. “Now, Sarah,” he said, resting his hands on the stick. He studied her with a cool gaze. “I should dearly love to hear how you became a bricklayer.”
While the carriage rattled over the streets of London, Sarah told her tale again in her usual plain style. The description of her escape from the flames left Lady Victoria wiping the tears from her cheeks. Even Mr. Archer seemed disturbed enough to put an arm around his wife’s shaking shoulders and cough to cover his own reaction.
Despite William’s suspicion that the Archers might have engineered the fatal fire, he could not help but notice their closeness. Their years of marriage and even the loss of their child, had not dimmed the harmony between them. There was the sense that no matter what occurred, each partner could rely absolutely on the other.
With bitter longing, he realized how alone he was, and how Sarah must have felt all those years.
When the carriage slowed, William glanced out the window. They were in front of Carnaby’s house. Roused to action, William pounded the roof above his head and ordered the driver to continue around the corner. No sense in alerting the occupants of the house.
“I’ll get it,” Sarah said when the motion of the carriage ceased.
“No.” He pushed her back into the seat and climbed down, thankful that the sun had set. The lamplighters had not managed to light the lamp by Carnaby’s house yet. Darkness swathed the area with shadows. He slipped around the back of the tree and kicked the piles of rubbish. Then he used the toe of his boot to dig into the dirt. Nothing.
Nothing but a few half-bricks, leaves, and clods of clayish soil.
He felt around with his hands, but the hollow between the roots was empty. He returned to the carriage with a sharp sense of disappointment.
“It’s not there,” he said.
Sarah pulled off her gloves. She threw them onto the seat before she pushed him backward and clambered down.
“Get back inside,” he said, glancing around. “What if someone should see you?”
“What if they do? I’m a woman. Apparently.” She strode over to the tree, kicking her skirts out of the way as she went. Wedging herself between the brick wall and the oak, she bent down and scrabbled through the dirt. With increasing impatience, she tore away the debris, pushing her fingers down into the soil.
“Where is it?” she muttered. “It has to be here!”
William caught sight of the lamplighter. He was a few blocks away, but making his way slowly to where they stood. “Come on, Sarah. It’s gone.”
“It can’t be gone!”
He grabbed her arm. He pulled her to her feet before hauling her back to the carriage. Jerking open the door, he gave orders to the driver to take them to Second Son’s. To his irritation, Archer stuck his head out and countermanded the order, telling the driver to take them to Archer’s townhouse.
“Did you get it?” Archer asked as William climbed into the coach after Sarah.
He shook his head. “It’s gone.”
“I see.” Archer rubbed his nose again.
“All my money was in that box,” Sarah said suddenly. “Everything I own.”
Lady Victoria leaned forward and patted her on the knee. “Nonsense. You don’t need to worry about money, dear. You will live with us, now. We are your family, and we shall take care of you.”
“You don’t understand.” Sarah’s voice shook, and William almost made the mistake of putting an arm around her stiff shoulders. He watched her struggle for control. “I have responsibilities. Mr. Hawkins, for one. I’ve got to help him finish that wall. And he was planning to expand his business with a London office. What will he do, now?”
“Hire someone else,” Archer replied, airily.
“Yes, but—”
“You are exhausted, my dear,” Lady Victoria interrupted. “You must rest. I promise you, things will look better in the morning. Let us fret over you for a change.”
William, listening to them, wanted to believe the Archers’ interest in Sarah was benign. However, he couldn’t forget that someone was trying to kill her, and the murderer might just be Archer. He had to wrest her away where he could keep her safe.
“I need to get back to Mrs. Pochard’s boarding house. I gave her my word.” Sarah argued.
“But, Sarah, you cannot go back there. Surely you see that?” Lady Victoria asked. “Don’t you wish to live with us?”
“I, uh—” Her words stumbled to a halt.
William felt her tremble. He slid his hand over and caught her cold fingers. Suddenly, he had the sense there was more to her panic than her elevation in social status. Was she just tired, or did she remember something about the fire she wasn’t telling them?
Was she afraid of the Archers?
“This has been very confusing for Miss Sanderson,” William said. “I agree it wouldn’t be appropriate for her to return to Mrs. Pochard’s boarding house. Perhaps she would be safer at Second Sons.”
“Second Sons?” Archer asked, his voice rising in disbelief.
“Consider the fact that she was nearly shot while working on the garden wall behind your house. Obviously, someone has seen her there and is trying to kill her. She would not be safe in your house.”
“As a man,” Archer replied smoothly. “But she is a woman. There is no danger, now. We will protect her.”
“I disagree. She came to me to find the answer to this mystery. Until I do so, she’d be safer at Second Sons.”
“Oh, John,” Lady Victoria said, her thin hands twisting in her lap. “They don’t trust us—she thinks we tried—”
“Hush, Lady Vee,” Archer cut her off, covering her hands with his. “They think nothing of the sort.”
“Then why—”
Sarah shook her head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply—”
“It is not a matter of trust, Lady Victoria,” William said smoothly. “I merely want to protect Miss Sanderson. And because of the previous events, it’s wise to keep her existence secret for the time being.”
“A bit late for that,” Archer replied. “Your cards are already on the table. No use trying to hide your hand, now.”
“The important point is that we need to ensure Miss Sanderson’s safety. Do you at least agree with that?”
“Naturally.”
“Then I must insist she stay at Second Sons until I can determine who is behi
nd the attempts upon her life.”
After a glance at William's implacable expression, the Archers tried to convince Sarah to going with them when the carriage stopped in front of their home. They climbed out, but she refused to descend. She clung to William’s hand and shook her head, staring out the window with her jaw set at a mulish angle. To his relief, the Archers gave up, and Sarah stayed next to him, at least until they arrived at Second Sons.
William got out of the carriage and held out his hand to help her down. Preoccupied, she ignored him and jumped, stumbling over her skirts.
“You’ll be safe, here,” he said. Perversely, when she had been dressed as a man, it seemed less risqué to have her stay with him, unchaperoned. Now…
She stared at him before climbing the stairs.
While they stood dithering in the hallway, she said. “I would have been safe with the Archers. That wasn’t why I didn’t go with them.”
“You didn’t want them to know about the box?” he supplied helpfully, struggling with a dark desire to kiss her. Right there in the main hallway.
“No. Not that. Though I fear if we, or they, ever find it and discover what the papers mean, they may face the same danger as I.”
“You wanted to protect them?”
A frown wrinkled her forehead. He could sense her anxiety, and once again he felt a deep, aching need to enfold her in his arms.
“No—yes. Yes, of course. Do you think I want them murdered like everyone else?”
“No. I understand, but—”
“But I can’t be what they expect me to be,” she blurted out, her eyes fixed on his face as if fearful of his reaction.
He was about to smile and reply with a witticism when her expression made him stop. Very carefully, he asked, “What do you think they expect?”
A sad, half-smile flickered over her face. “They expect me to be a woman.”
“But you are a woman.”
“Not like they believe. Not like you mean. Do you think clothing makes a woman? I can’t put on a dress after thirteen years of living like a man. Relying on myself.” Her hands plucked at a fold of her skirt, twisting it between her fingers. “You must think I’m foolish, but I wanted to manage the new London office for Mr. Hawkins. I liked building walls. It didn’t matter that it ruined my hands and tanned my face. And I never minded when I went to bed so hungry and exhausted I thought I should die before morning. Those walls were important to someone, somewhere. Important to me. They kept everyone inside safe.
