Chapter Three
Moira silently slipped into her bedchamber. A lamp flickered on the small table beside the bed. Her lady’s maid jumped up from the rocking chair and curtsyed.
“You may go, Betsy. I believe the rest of the household staff is enjoying some sweet treats in the kitchen. I shall call if I need you. Right now I wish to have some time to myself.”
The dark-haired maid replied with another dip. “Yes, ma’am.” She left the room.
Moira turned the lock on the door and quickly moved to the high wardrobe at the other end of the room. She found her tapestry-covered valise, set it on her bed, and pulled it open. Gathering her underthings from her wardrobe drawers, she stuffed them into the mouth of the hungry bag. Next she slipped a couple of her frocks from their hangers, rolled them up, then stuffed them into the valise. She packed a few special trinkets and, of course, her Bible, recalling the last time she was forced to pack quickly.
She’d been only ten years old, some eight years ago. Her parents received the notice from their church’s Missions Board: they would go to Uganda and minister to the villagers there.
But this was not ministry. This was escape.
Moira paused to consider her impending actions. Could she trust Mr. White? Did it matter? She’d welcome death, so any life had to be better than marriage to Major Nettles! Besides, Moira saw something in Mr. White’s azure gaze, a spark of candidness, so rare these days, and it won both her respect and trust.
Moira packed the rest of her belongings, making sure to take her stockings, her warmest wrap, and sturdy leather everyday booties which properly covered her ankles. Then, tying on a wide-brimmed hat and with a lighter shawl around her shoulders, her best slippers still on her feet, she quietly made her way down the servants’ stairwell in the back of her uncle’s manor. She could hear laughing wafting up from the kitchen. It was almost too easy. Within seconds, she was outside where carriages lined the drive.
The crisp snap-snap of two fingers claimed Moira’s attention. She stared in the direction from which they’d come. Mr. White stepped out of the shadows, took up her valise in one hand and clasped her elbow with the other.
“This way,” he whispered.
She followed him as they slipped in and around the parked carriages until they reached one that appeared to be a hired hackney coach. After tossing her bag up to the driver, Sam opened the door and helped Moira inside. He mumbled something to the driver before climbing in and closing the door. He sat on the bench beside her. Her bare forearm rubbed against the fabric of his frockcoat.
“We’re going around to the front to pick up Sir Nathaniel, so you might want to think up some tale as to why you’re sharing our hired hack this evening.” Mr. White leaned forward. “Since you asked to be a spy, consider this a test to prove your worthiness of the role.”
Moira lifted her chin. “I shan’t disappoint you.” She rummaged through her mind, back over the volumes she’d read recently—Shakespeare, Henry Fielding, Maria Edgeworth, Fanny Burney, and Daniel Defoe. What would the pirate Captain Singleton do in such a situation?
By the time Sir Nathaniel strutted to the coach, she’d decided the less she said the better.
The professor climbed inside. “Why, Miss Kingsley,” he declared as he sat opposite her and Mr. White. “What on earth are you doing in here?”
“Shh…” She placed a gloved finger against her lips. “It’s a surprise for Major Nettles.”
“A surprise?” Several moments of laden silence lapsed. Moira held her breath. At last, Sir Nathaniel broke into laughter. “A surprise! Of course. Oh, my dear girl, I just adore surprises.”
The coachman closed the door and, with a slight jerk, they were off.
She sat back and smiled, her gaze bouncing to her American companion. “Thank goodness Mr. White agreed to help me, or I wouldn’t be able to pull it off.”
Sir Nathaniel chuckled some more. “Tell me…what is the surprise?”
She pulled her chin back in mock insult. “I won’t say. Why, that would ruin everything.”
“Of course. Of course.” He dissolved into more laughter and leaned forward to slap Mr. White’s knee several times. “Imagine that. A surprise.”
“Imagine that.” He gave Moira a slight jab. Looking her way, he rolled his eyes, causing her to giggle softly.
Thank God Sir Nathanial is in good humor tonight. One catastrophe averted. Hopefully no more would follow.
After some twenty minutes of polite chitchat, they reached Sir Nathaniel’s quarters. Mr. White promised to see Moira back home and pay the driver for the hack. The older man was pleased with the plan and whistled all the way to his front entrance.
Mr. White swung himself across the way and took the vacated place opposite her. He leaned back against the bench and churned out a long sigh. “The man is particularly affable after a few glasses of rum and good food in his belly.”
“And did I pass my first test?”
“Yes, and I congratulate you on your quick thinking.”
“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever told me.” Moira hid her wide smile by focusing on the passing scene outside the window. Lamplights glowed at front entrances and people strolled along the streets, mostly men.
“Surely you have heard better compliments than that.”
“Nay, I have not. My parents didn’t believe in what they called puffing me up with vain words, but I always knew when they approved or disapproved, by their expressions.”
“I find that quite sad.”
“What, that flattery leads to vanity and pride?” Moira shrugged. “It’s true, and it’s been many a good woman’s downfall.”
“Name one.”
“Queen Marie Antoinette.”
“Hmm…”
“She lived a life where those closest to her fueled her pride to the point where she couldn’t see her people’s needs, couldn’t hear their cries as they starved in the streets.”
“Well, I cannot disagree with you.” As the carriage passed a well-lit row of establishments, Moira glimpsed the smile on Mr. White’s face. “You, Miss Kingsley, are quick-witted and intelligent. You will go far.”
“Thank you.” A blush set fire to her cheeks.
“So now I shall begin your official training.” Mr. White leaned forward. “As a spy.”
Moira’s lips ached to smile with the pleasure threatening to burst from inside of her, but she controlled her emotion. Being a spy, after all, was serious business.
They rolled on in silence for quite some time. All was dark outside the carriage window; the only light emanated from the carriage’s two outer lamps, which threw long eerie shadows at them. The air turned heavy, filled with the fresh, salty scent of the sea. It evoked a myriad of memories, but Moira forced them into the smallest corner of her mind. Were they about to board a ship bound for the American colonies?
Despite all the questions swirling in her brain, Moira said not a word. And she wouldn’t cave to her growing sense of trepidation. However, she sensed that Mr. White wouldn’t toss her into the sea as he threatened, and she would be free from marrying a man whose very presence made her skin crawl. The outcome was well worth the risk.
A short while later, the coach jerked to a halt.
“Wait here.” Mr. White opened the carriage door and disappeared into the night.
Moira fought to control her excitement. She tried to recall all she’d heard about the New World and the colonists. Many were still dedicated to the Crown. She’d have to take special care to avoid them, lest they turn her over to Uncle Tyrus again.
The carriage door opened suddenly, giving Moira a start. Mr. White leaned inside and offered his hand. She placed her gloved fingers in his palm and climbed from the carriage.
“Miss Kingsley, allow me to present Mr. John Huff.”
She regarded the slim man and replied with a small but polite curtsy.
“He’s a trustworthy dockhand who will see to it that your valise finds its way aboard the Seahawk.”
“I thank you, sir.”
He gave a snort and eyed Mr. White. “You’re sure ’bout this, Sam?”
An impatient-sounding sigh parted Mr. White’s lips. “Quite sure. Now do the job I paid you to do.”
“Aye.” The barrel-chested Mr. Huff grumbled but did Mr. White’s bidding.
Mr. White tossed a couple of coins to the carriage driver, who then slapped the reins and the vehicle pulled away.
“Now, Miss Kingsley, your first official lesson is about to begin, so pay attention.”
“I shall hang on to your every word.”
He offered his arm and Moira slipped her hand around his elbow, allowing him to guide her into an establishment called The Hungry Bear. One step inside and a glimpse of the surroundings told Moira that Papa would disapprove of the place. Beneath a smoky haze, women with ratted hair and immodest dresses milled about. Men bellied up to the bar and drank from large glasses of ale or rum. The latter’s pungent order mingled with the smell of baked biscuits and hung heavily in the air. Mr. White removed his hat and led her to a table. He politely held out a banged-up wooden chair.
Moira sat, noting that, besides the working women, she was the only female in the place. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if Mr. White intended to leave her there, but she remembered he’d said only minutes ago that her valise would be loaded onto a ship.
One of the serving wenches sashayed to the table and rubbed Mr. White’s shoulders before leaning against him seductively. “What’s your pleasure tonight, mister?”
He untangled her arms and moved her away. “Two plates of the house special. One glass of elderberry wine for the lady, and I’ll have a cup of ale.”
The working woman noticed Moira, seemingly for the first time. Moira took no offense. She was accustomed to surprised reactions. Papa used to joke that Moira was an invisible fairy that only special people of God could see.
No doubt she’d make a perfect spy.
The serving wench sauntered off, presumably to fetch their supper.
Mr. White leaned forward. “Have you taken note of the women in this place?”
“Of course.” Moira jerked her chin at such an insult. “I have two eyes.”
“Don’t judge them too harshly. Life is difficult for women without means to live. Many of these soiled doves are mothers during the day and harlots at night while their children sleep, unaware of their mothers’ professions.”
“I do not judge them or anyone else. That is the Almighty’s job, not mine.”
“And how much money do you have, Miss Kingsley? How do you plan to pay for your passage and even your supper tonight?”
“I have plenty of money.” Did she? “It’s not on my person, but…”
“But what?” Mr. White sat back and folded his arms.
“My father left me an inheritance.”
“And where is it?”
“I assume it’s in the bank.”
“Hmm…” Frown lines creased Mr. White’s forehead. “That does pose a problem, doesn’t it?”
Moira shifted, feeling uncomfortable now. She’d never had to consider her finances before. “Yes, I suppose it does.”
The serving wench carried a large tray to their table and deposited two plates of food and the drinks in front of them. The smell rising from what appeared to be beef stew was not at all unpleasant and Moira’s stomach rumbled, reminding her she’d had very little to eat today.
Mr. White caught the woman’s wrist as she turned to go. “Tell us your name that we may leave a word of recommendation for you with your employer.”
Her smile looked rather mechanical. “Dolly is m’name, sir.”
“And, Dolly, do tell how you came to be working here?”
She yanked her hand free. “None of yer business how and why. Do you think I’d be here if I had a choice?”
Mr. White gave a careless shrug and Dolly scurried away.
His gaze slid to Moira and she realized she’d learned her first lesson. She had no money to pay for her escape aboard the Seahawk, no coin to cover her meal. In short, she was in no better situation than Dolly.
“I find myself in quite the conundrum, Mr. White.”
“I’m glad you realize it.”
Moira arched a brow. “But you have known it all along, haven’t you?”
He nodded and lifted his fork. “We best eat whilst the food is hot.”
Moira closed her eyes and murmured a quick prayer of thanks and then ate the surprisingly tasty stew atop a biscuit. After devouring half her portion, she couldn’t eat another bite.
Mr. White waved Dolly over.
“Now what?” she said, her hands on her broad hips.
“Do you know a man…the Baron Kingsley?”
Dolly snickered. “Of course. All us girls know him.”
Moira’s face suddenly felt like she’d been in the sun too long. Surely the woman wasn’t referring to Uncle Tyrus. He was a pillar of righteousness.
Wasn’t he?
“The baron graces us with his presence at least once a week.”
Moira’s heart skipped. Surely not!
“Isn’t it true that Baron Kingsley had come down in the world until his niece came to live with him?”
“’Tis true, all right. He owed everyone money. But the hearsay is his niece brought with her an inheritance in the nick of time.” Dolly tossed her head and the straw-like mass on top of it barely moved. “And the baron is doin’ his best to spend it, that he is. Why, he’s been right generous to me.”
Moira’s mouth fell open. How dare this woman spout such lies! She glanced at Mr. White, whose darkened gaze warned her to keep quiet.
“And what of this prince of a fellow…a Major Nettles? I met him this evening. He’s to marry the wealthy niece.”
“Prince, indeed!” Dolly snickered. “I’ve got a six-inch scar on me breast that says he ain’t no prince.” She glanced Moira’s way. “He likes to swordplay, you see, and he got a bit too…playful. I thought he’d cut me in two.”
“The knave!” Moira had no problem believing Dolly’s story. “What a horrid, evil man.”
“Pity the niece.” The serving wench shamelessly pulled down her already low-set neckline. “Look what he done to me. Just look!”
“I see.” Moira swallowed hard, her gaze fixed on the fat pink scar running downward on the harlot’s well-rounded, pale flesh.
“Imagine what the man will do to a wife? She’ll be his property, to do with as he wishes.”
“Yes, I can imagine.” She sank back in her chair, praying her escape plans would somehow come to fruition.
But that raised the issue of money again.
Mr. White pressed a coin into Dolly’s waiting palm. “Thank you for your time.”
She inspected the coin. “Anytime.” She adjusted her bodice and sent Mr. White a seductive look. To his credit, Mr. White didn’t return the gesture.
Moira lowered her gaze and studied the scarred tabletop.
“So what have you to say of all this, Miss Kingsley?”
Moira brought her gaze to his. “I have learned that I’m penniless as we speak, while my uncle is scandalously spending my inheritance.” She bit down hard, trying to contain her anger. Be angry and sin not as God’s Word said. But Papa would be outraged if he knew what Uncle Tyrus did with the money he’d set aside for her.
She reclaimed her emotions. “I’m also certain now that my suspicions of Major Nettles are no longer suspicions, and I wish for escape more than ever.” She tipped her head. “But how?”
Mr. White drained his mug. “Never fear, Miss Kingsley. We only have one visit to make tonight and all will be well.” He leaned toward her and rewarded her with a charming smile. “I have thought of everything.”