remembered his meeting on the beach the night before, and the crucial business discussed there.
Was it possible Bradford had overheard them? As soon as the ladies left, he went to the inn where he was registered and called for his curricle. A curricle traveled at a faster pace than a carriage; he was in no fear of losing them. He would not overtake them before they stopped at an inn for the night. His dealings could not be executed on the King's highway in broad daylight, unless he wished to turn highwayman.
Chapter Four
They drove for four hours, stopping only once, to make a change of team, before continuing on to Maidstone, where they were to take lunch. Miss Simons hired a private parlor, where they could ease their bones in privacy from the merciless jostling of a carriage in a hurry.
"I expect I should have had the letter taken out of the valise and brought in with me," Vanessa said with a twinge of conscience:
"I should not think it at all likely Boney's spies will root through your linens, my dear. They have better things to do," her aunt replied with a lifted brow.
"Papa did say to behave as though it were an ordinary trip, so perhaps it would be best not to call attention to the valise," Vanessa rationalized.
When eventually they went out, the valise was still strapped to the top of the carriage. "We took turns grabbing a bite so the carriage would never be abandoned," the groom whispered aside to Miss Bradford.
"Did you think that necessary?" she asked, wondering why it should be so, when the letter, for all they knew, was with herself.
"In case anyone should try to sabotage the carriage—smash up a wheel or axle," he explained. "Since we got a late start, we don't want to risk any more delays."
"No one tried such a thing?" she asked, becoming alarmed.
"No, no. Not with one of us there the whole time. You won't be dallying around town, ma'am?"
"We shall leave at once," Vanessa answered, concluding the servants were taking her errand more seriously than she was herself.
It was back on the road, for another long jolt all the way to Tilbury, before they stopped for the night. The shadows were lengthening, and while they might have covered a few more miles before darkness actually descended, Miss Simons announced, when she saw the signs of a town before her, that she would not travel another inch that day, if she carried in the letter word of an assassination attempt on the King himself. Vanessa too was weary, and agreed. As she got down from the carriage, her toe caught the edge of a cobblestone, and the sole of her old blue slipper pulled away a little from the upper.
"What a nuisance! And I haven't packed another pair. What shall I do, Auntie? This will be flapping and making it impossible for me to walk before we reach Ipswich."
"Take a run down the street and see if the cobbler's shop is open, while I hire us a room. What a shabby place it is, to be sure. The White Swan—no imagination. There is nothing but George's and Swan's and Greenmen from one end of the country to the other. Hurry, Nessie. We want to be sure of a private parlor.''
"Gretch, will you personally look after my valise?" Vanessa said. She was embarrassed to tell him why. "My jewelry is in it," she said instead, to ensure his closest scrutiny.
"Nay, Miss Bradford. I’ll go with you to the cobbler's, and Harrow will look after the valise," he told her. Gretch, the groom, was the senior servant, who felt it his duty to tend the letter.
She hesitated, wanting him to stay behind. "Now, miss, this is no time to be thinking I'm not fancy enough to go with you. You'd prefer Harrow's smart livery, I know, but your papa told me to guard you, and guard you I shall." He turned back to the footman. "Look sharp there, Harrow, to Miss Bradford's valise," he ordered before leaving.
After a hasty walk down the street, they found the cobbler's blinds drawn for the night. With a sigh, Vanessa looked at her slipper. It was not actually
Was it possible Bradford had overheard them? As soon as the ladies left, he went to the inn where he was registered and called for his curricle. A curricle traveled at a faster pace than a carriage; he was in no fear of losing them. He would not overtake them before they stopped at an inn for the night. His dealings could not be executed on the King's highway in broad daylight, unless he wished to turn highwayman.
Chapter Four
They drove for four hours, stopping only once, to make a change of team, before continuing on to Maidstone, where they were to take lunch. Miss Simons hired a private parlor, where they could ease their bones in privacy from the merciless jostling of a carriage in a hurry.
"I expect I should have had the letter taken out of the valise and brought in with me," Vanessa said with a twinge of conscience:
"I should not think it at all likely Boney's spies will root through your linens, my dear. They have better things to do," her aunt replied with a lifted brow.
"Papa did say to behave as though it were an ordinary trip, so perhaps it would be best not to call attention to the valise," Vanessa rationalized.
When eventually they went out, the valise was still strapped to the top of the carriage. "We took turns grabbing a bite so the carriage would never be abandoned," the groom whispered aside to Miss Bradford.
"Did you think that necessary?" she asked, wondering why it should be so, when the letter, for all they knew, was with herself.
"In case anyone should try to sabotage the carriage—smash up a wheel or axle," he explained. "Since we got a late start, we don't want to risk any more delays."
"No one tried such a thing?" she asked, becoming alarmed.
"No, no. Not with one of us there the whole time. You won't be dallying around town, ma'am?"
"We shall leave at once," Vanessa answered, concluding the servants were taking her errand more seriously than she was herself.
It was back on the road, for another long jolt all the way to Tilbury, before they stopped for the night. The shadows were lengthening, and while they might have covered a few more miles before darkness actually descended, Miss Simons announced, when she saw the signs of a town before her, that she would not travel another inch that day, if she carried in the letter word of an assassination attempt on the King himself. Vanessa too was weary, and agreed. As she got down from the carriage, her toe caught the edge of a cobblestone, and the sole of her old blue slipper pulled away a little from the upper.
"What a nuisance! And I haven't packed another pair. What shall I do, Auntie? This will be flapping and making it impossible for me to walk before we reach Ipswich."
"Take a run down the street and see if the cobbler's shop is open, while I hire us a room. What a shabby place it is, to be sure. The White Swan—no imagination. There is nothing but George's and Swan's and Greenmen from one end of the country to the other. Hurry, Nessie. We want to be sure of a private parlor.''
"Gretch, will you personally look after my valise?" Vanessa said. She was embarrassed to tell him why. "My jewelry is in it," she said instead, to ensure his closest scrutiny.
"Nay, Miss Bradford. I’ll go with you to the cobbler's, and Harrow will look after the valise," he told her. Gretch, the groom, was the senior servant, who felt it his duty to tend the letter.
She hesitated, wanting him to stay behind. "Now, miss, this is no time to be thinking I'm not fancy enough to go with you. You'd prefer Harrow's smart livery, I know, but your papa told me to guard you, and guard you I shall." He turned back to the footman. "Look sharp there, Harrow, to Miss Bradford's valise," he ordered before leaving.
After a hasty walk down the street, they found the cobbler's blinds drawn for the night. With a sigh, Vanessa looked at her slipper. It was not actually
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