Willing Read Online Free PDF Page A

the servants.
    They led her out into the night air, and she found the drive already emptied of most of the other carriages. The footman opened her own carriage door to her as the gravel shifted under her feet. She found Roger Tims inside, his face gaunt as though shocked to see her. She smiled, gesturing to her new clothes, giving an eyebrow waggle, despite her expression betraying her own surprise at the gift.
    “Master wishes you a safe journey home, mum.”
    The servant bowed and closed the carriage door.
    “Good bit of help you were, Mr. Tims.”
    “Sorry. I’m sorry!”
    The driver hollered and the horses’ hooves clacked in the gravel as the carriage surged down the path. She glared at Roger a moment, then slumped back into her seat. Her body was warm; the place between her legs still tingled from the men’s hungry mouths, and sore from the wooden thing used upon her. She squeezed her legs together.
    “The well-to-do are a strange people.”
    Roger startled. “What?”
    “Lunatics. The lot of them.”
    “Shh!”
    “What? It’s just you and I, is it not?”
    Roger closed in, hissing his words as though the walls of the carriage were leaning in to listen. “The driver. He’ll hear you.”
    “Ha! Let him!” Constance pounded her fist against the roof of the carriage. “Ye hear that, lad? Your employer is a nutter!”
    “Constance!”
    She took a deep breath, blowing out through her nose in indignation. She needed to rail, needed to make a scene, do something, for if she didn’t, she might let memory settle, sink in, and twist her stomach. What had happened that night? What were all those people doing in their robes and masks, watching her be accosted by no less than four men – four noblemen, if she wasn’t mistaken? She leaned back in her seat, and turned her face toward the dark outside. What did that woman mean by, ‘Did it work?’ Did what work?
    She pressed her temple to the carriage wall and despite the late hour, succumbed to the racing of her thoughts. She wasn’t sure how long they’d traveled before the jostling of the road finally lulled her to sleep.
     
    “Constance! Oh, you’re back!”
    Berty’s voice betrayed honest affection, but her body language was that of a guilty child caught stealing treats in the kitchen. Constance blinked against sleep, raising an eyebrow at Berty. It was well past hours and the brothel had quieted down. Only a single customer remained in the bar, slumped onto his table, fast asleep.
    “Well, of course I’m back. And exhausted. I’ll be in my room.”
    “Josselyn!”
    Berty barked up the stairs and the blonde girl appeared in the hallway outside Constance’s bedroom door.
    “You bitch! What are you on about? Get out of my bloody room!”
    Berty touched her shoulder, but Constance shook her off.
    “Constance, it’s my fault. I told her to -”
    “You told her to go in my quarters? If anything is missing, Berty, I swear to you -”
    “It’s all here. All of it.”
    Constance turned to find Berty gesturing to a wooden box tucked just behind the bar. Constance glanced from the box to Berty’s face, saddened as though she bore some grievous news.
    “What in bloody hell?”
    “I’m sorry, love. Was doing a bit of rearranging.”
    “At four in the morning?”
    “Excuse me, Madam.”
    They turned to the sound and found the carriage driver standing there, his hat pulled low over his brow, his long riding cloak surrounding him, like a pillar of stone. He extended a hand to Berty, offering an envelope.
    “You have a good evening, Madam.”
    Then he tipped his hat to Constance. “And you as well, Miss.”
    A moment later the small gray haired man was gone, and Berty slumped against the bar, her hand pressed to her chest.
    “My god, Constance. What did you do?”
    Constance stared at her confused. The tone was startled, but sweet. Berty opened the envelope, letting Constance see the massive bundle of Pound Notes within – well over what she’d