Marry in Haste – Chapter Seven

“Open up!” I pounded on the door of the townhouse, the early morning thick and dark around me. Not even the link boys were out to put out the street lamps, it was that early. I had instructed our tiger, Jacky, the young boy who rode on the back of my husband’s curricle as groom, to wait for me in the street. He kept throwing me nervous glances over his shoulder. Something was making the horses restless, and the thought that evil could lurk even in the streets of Mayfair made me shudder. “Open up!” 

I heard voices on the other side of the door, and Felicity Sinclaire flung the door open with a look of such overwhelming relief upon her delicate features that I was momentarily stunned by it. When she saw me, the relief melted away, replaced by a look of deep repugnance. “You!” 

I pushed past her when she tried to shut the door, and she turned on me, her eyes half-crazed. 

“This is your fault, you know!” Felicity raised her hand as though she would slap me, but when the Sinclaire’s butler, Barnes, approached from the parlor, a grave look in his eyes, she seemed to crumple in on herself. “Please–” she swallowed, hard. “But where is that boy with the doctor? He should have been back by now!” 

She ran a hand through her pale hair, which was quite wild, and it was then I realized that what I had taken for shadows on her sprigged muslin dress was in fact bloodstains.

“Where is he? What’s happened?” I demanded, fear making my voice shrill. Felicity took a step back, and I realized she was in a state of shock, for she began to tremble when I raised my voice. I took her by the elbow, leading her to the window seat, and she sat completely rigid, hands clenching and unclenching her skirts. I dropped my voice to nearly a whisper, though desperation lent an edge to it. “Is everything all right, Felicity?” 

“We were going to the stables to fetch Domino,” she began, her words all tumbling out in a rush. “He didn’t want me to come. I’m a lady, you see, and I shouldn’t be exposed to rough crowds. But I wanted to be there. I threw a tantrum, I insisted. If you would be there I knew I could not stay behind.” Her eyes were glazed, she was trapped in the prison of her thoughts. “Footpads attacked us. Sinclaire fought them, but they were big, and many.” She rubbed her arms. “They tried — they tried — they pulled me down. They were laughing. Laughing!” Felicity’s eyes welled with tears, as though she forgot to whom she spoke. She balled her hands in her skirts. “I screamed and screamed! No one came. I picked up a rock –” she held up her hand, her nails were ragged and crusted with dried blood. “They wanted to take turns. They were arguing. I could hear the other two beating him. They had clubs. I was so frightened.” In a small voice, she admitted, “I wanted my mother.” 

I took her hand, gently. “But you had a rock.” 

Her eyes stared far beyond me, and I shuddered at the darkness I saw there. “I had a rock,” she repeated. “He said he’d never seen thighs so pretty.” She squeezed her eyes tight. “I hit him with the rock and he stopped laughing. I hit him again and again until he shut his mouth. And then I…” Felicity shuddered, drawing in on herself. 

I noticed her lady’s maid had come into the hall. The girl passed her a glass of sherry wordlessly, and sat on the other side of her mistress. Felicity leaned against her, and the girl patted her back. “My lady, my lady,” she whispered. “He is alive, my lady. You saved him.” 

Felicity drew in a ragged breath, taking a sip from her glass, and seemed to steady herself. “I crawled to Sinclaire. His sword was lying in the street. The three of them were taking turns kicking him, like a dog.” She stared into the golden depths of the liquid. “I picked up the sword. And I stabbed one in the back. It went through him like a needle in silk.” She stared at her skirts, and it was as though I could see in the gory splatter a man’s life fading away. “There was so much blood, so much…” Felicity was lost inside her memory, she stared out the window to the street, placing her fingertips on the glass. “They turned on me and took the sword, and I was screaming, Sinclaire, Sinclaire, get up, get up! But he didn’t… And then the watch came, and the footpads ran away, except, except… There was blood everywhere. Sinclaire was cursing, and when I tried to help him up, he looked at me like I was a demon!” She covered her face with her hands. “The Duke has won, don’t you see? Why couldn’t you have let my husband alone? Why did the two of you have to drag him into this? Why, Lady Perdita?” 

I had no answers for her. My mind was spinning with questions. “How do you know it was the Duke?” 

Her brow crinkled. “Sinclaire meant to beat the Duke. He said…” and I could hear his voice, as though he spoke in my head. “‘Though I am not a man for revenge, Felicity, it has been a long time coming.'” Her voice turned bitter, and inexpressibly sorrowed. “I told him to throw the race in the Duke’s favor, to let all of this die. But he doesn’t listen to me. I could be any girl on the street, for all he cares.” 

I took her hand, it was cold and limp. “Felicity…” 

She pulled her hand away from mine, as though I were a viper. “Do not try to pretend as though you are the innocent in all of this! You will ruin men until you can be stopped. Did I not warn you?! You have ruined enough good men already, must you ruin the Duke as well?!” She shuddered, and clasped my arm, hard. “Please, where is the doctor?” 

I shared a glance with the maid, and when Felicity pressed her nose up against the window, peering out into the dim blue expanse of the early morning, I whispered, “How long has she been like this?” For she seemed quite unlike herself, almost mad, though I dared not say it aloud. 

“Only since they returned. My lady drove the master home,” the girl whispered. “And he is awake, but he will not see her.” 

“So the doctor has –?” But the girl was nodding slowly. 

“There is laudanum in that tea, but she cannot rest, she blames herself, y’see. Countess,” belatedly, the girl bobbed a curtsey to me. “She had this in her hand.” The maid reached into her pocket, and my blood ran cold. “But what does it mean?”

The girl turned her hand, and dropped the thing in my palm. A knucklebone. The world seemed to blur for a moment, and the chill wracked me to the bone.

Game, set, match. 

•••

When I returned to the carriage, I was shaking. Barnes had informed Felicity that Sinclaire was asking for her, and she had dashed from the hall to see him. I knew where I was not wanted, I should not linger. And yet… And yet the urge to see him was so overpowering it nearly trumped all common sense. 

“My lady?” Barnes knocked on the carriage window. I opened the door. I knew he could see my state of distress, for his face turned grave and he passed me his handkerchief wordlessly. Beside me, Violette batted her lashes at him, and he blushed a deep shade of crimson when she flashed an ankle in the process of rearranging her skirts. 

“Thank you, Barnes.” I raised a brow at Violette, I did not mean to lose another maid to marriage, especially not a good one. But I knew her to be discreet as ever, for she was at the Sinclaire townhouse as often as I myself was, when Felicity was not in Town. Violette studied her nails, looking bored, as though Barnes was not sneaking glances in her direction. 

“Lady Perdita, you must know that Mr Sinclaire will not race today.” So why do you remain? his unspoken words sounded like a death knell. Barnes passed me a sealed letter. “For Mr Marlcaster, my lady.”

I broke the seal, I did not care, and scanned the brief contents. Footpads in the dark… Be warned… Do not tell Perdita. 

I crumpled the paper up. “Barnes, I will take it from here. Tell him…” I swallowed. 

“If my lady would like to leave a message, I will make sure Mr Sinclaire receives it.” Barnes gave me a stiff bow. 

I rolled the knucklebone between my fingers, staring at it. And then it came, hitting me like a bolt of fire from heaven. 

Perdita… racing down Rotten Row so fast she could beat the Devil himself.

I popped my head out of the carriage and addressed the tiger, I knew now what I must do. “Jacky, I need you to give me your clothes.” 

The boy stared at me with eyes wide as saucers. “Wot?” 

Violette plucked at my sleeve. I could see horrified understanding dawn in her eyes, but why she should be alarmed, I knew not. Surely she knew me well enough by now to know that I would not be swayed by the thought of Society’s disapproval. I pushed the thought of Ned’s reaction to the back of my mind. 

I turned to Barnes. “Tell him I will see this through, no matter where it leads.” 

Barnes was momentarily taken aback. He stared between Jacky and me, and then a look of surprise passed across his dour visage. “My lady?” 

“I will race for Edgewater. Tell Mr Sinclaire that he need not worry about me.” I said it with utter disregard, as though I cared not a fig for my reputation, but the truth was, I was sorely frightened. What if the Duke tried to kill me?

But he must be stopped. An old snake is still a snake, until it is defanged. What had my grandmother said? He will not stop until he ruins the pair of you. 

Let him try, I thought. Damn him, he has tried enough!

“I will end it now,” I vowed, and the wind carried my words from me to the dawning east, and into the morning. 

•••

Once we were near the stables, I made Jacky slow the carriage down. We exchanged clothes quickly, I wrapped him in my cloak and bade Violette drive the carriage home before it was missed. 

“But madame!” she cried, blue eyes wide, “What do I tell the master?” 

“Who is your loyalty to, Violette?” I demanded, for I had quite lost my patience. Time was a luxury, and I did not want to stand in the street explaining myself to my servants, especially not decked out in Edgewater livery. Without my skirts I felt naked, free, and wicked all at once, it was utterly disconcerting. “You will tell him nothing! He needs his rest, not to be fed idle gossip by servants! The two of you will get in that carriage, and slip back into the household without saying a word!”

“But the ‘ead groom, m’lady — ‘E’s a real dragon!” Jacky piped up. “‘E’ll stripe me back if I show up in yer skirts!” 

I breathed out my nose in irritation. “You will do as I say. Go back to Grosvenor Square, and do not breathe a word to anyone. Violette, I am sure you can devise a scheme to get Jacky to his bed and to squirrel away my clothes. After all, I know you, and if anyone in the household is an expert at subterfuge, it is you.” I fixed her with a frosty look, and knew she understood me. After all, I was not the only one in the household to slip in late to their bedchamber. “I shall return in a few hours, and no one shall know I ever was away.” Henrietta, I was sure, would be beside Ned’s bed, pouring poison about me into his ears, but it could not be helped. 

The servants exchanged worried looks, but before Violette could protest more, I slapped the rump of one of the horses, and then they were off, trotting down the city streets, a faint light on the horizon casting them into a faint glow. I turned my back on the sun, and slipped inside the stables.

The place was already alive, though I should have expected as much. With a confidence I did not feel, I sauntered down the aisle, approaching a groom who was busy forking hay. When he saw me, his eyes bugged out of his head, and my eyes popped as well, but not because I was a woman dressed as a man. 

“My God!” he cried, and then his arms were around me, dropping the pitchfork with a clatter. “Lady Perdita?!”

“Luke Harper!” I gasped, and he let me go, looking me up and down with the ghost of a smile on his dear, familiar face. “But how did you know it was me?” I touched my red hair self-consciously. Violette had pinned it sharply back and tucked it beneath Jacky’s hat. 

Luke rubbed the back of his neck, but he was unable to stop smiling. “You have a face a man does not forget, not even if it takes him a lifetime.” He hugged me again. “And anyone could tell you are a woman.” He looked pointedly down at my chest, and I tugged the coat around me. “Why are you running around in the dark dressed like an Edgewater groom? What mischief have you cooked up?”

“What makes you think I do mischief?” I pretended affront, but could not sustain it, and slipped into a smile. In truth, he knew me too well. “And what of you? How came you to be back in London? I thought you had joined the army!” 

Luke grinned, picking the pitchfork back up and leaning it against the stall. The horse pushed its head out, nudging him in the shoulder. “Aye, but I’m back. Haven’t you heard, the war with France is over? Or has marriage to that rakehell stripped your sanity as well as your feminine wiles?” Luke looked pointedly at Jacky’s breeches, and raised a questioning brow. “I take it you’re sneaking off to see Mr Sinclaire race the Duke down Rotten Row at dawn.” 

I gaped at him. Truly, the race was the Talk of the Town. “No! I mean, yes! I mean…” 

“Shhh,” Luke lay a finger to my lips, pulling me around the corner. Heavy footsteps hurried past us, and Luke looked down at me. “Are you running away? Be honest. For God knows, I will spirit you away to Paris if you but say the word.” Luke looked down at me with that familiar sincerity I had always adored. Once, a long time ago, I had felt a tendré for this man before me, before my heart had been turned by Sinclaire’s kisses (amid other things). Before I had eloped with Ned, and… I had to look away. 

“Luke, I…” he was looking at me with such a gentle understanding in his eyes, I could not bear it. “Yes. I need a horse. The fastest you have.” And I prayed to God he would forgive my deception. 

“Ah, that would be Ghost. This way.” Luke walked me down the aisle until we came to a dark stall. “She was sent as a gift to the Prince Regent by a queen of an unknown kingdom, but she’s born of the moonlight and the wind, not meant to be a high-stepper in the fashionable hour.” He looked at me as he said it, and I knew he did not speak of the horse, but of the Princess Perdita in his stories, so long ago. Luke made a clicking noise with his tongue, and opened the stall door, leading a silvery white mare out. “Ghost, this is Lady Perdita, a dear friend of mine.” 

I held out my hand, and she nosed my pockets. “I’m sorry, girl, I don’t have anything for — oh!” Luke put a lump of sugar into my hand, and her lips brushed my palm, tickling me. I stroked her nose. “Ghost, would you like to run a race?” 

She understood me at once, I knew it, for she tossed her head and let out a loud whinny that seemed to shake the stables to their rafters and to call down the rays of the moon. All of the other horses answered her call, and the aisles erupted in a cacophony of neighs. When I looked at Luke, he was staring at me anew, wonder and horror warring upon his features. 

And then, we both heard a shout. 

Luke had Ghost saddled so fast I was amazed. “I’ll distract them. Hurry! If you take a shortcut through the park, you can be at Rotten Row in twenty minutes.” 

“Luke…” I started to say, stricken. “I did not mean to…” To what? To lie to him? To cause him to lose his place? 

“Go on, then,” Luke said gruffly, and he pulled the stable doors open. Outside, the sky was beginning to blush, to pinken at the edges. “Race for Edgewater, Lady Perdita! Make your father’s memory proud. But if you still wish to run away to Paris, when all of this is over…” he did not give me time to answer, but slapped Ghost on the rump, and then we were away before the shouts of Thief! Stop! filled the deep blue morning. 

•••

I clung to Ghost’s back as we cantered through the streets, folk turning to look at us on their way to market with wonder in their eyes. Perhaps she was made of moonlight, or perhaps once she had belonged to a fairy queen beneath the barrow mound, born on Midsummer’s Day. Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Remember me to one who lives there… “Enough,” I whispered. And then we were dashing through the woods, and I could hear the roar of the crowd in the distance. I drew up short before we reached the edge of the trees, and looked on the track. 

There was the Duke, boasting of his exploits to a rowdy crowd of men. Some I recognized from the Peerage, the Viscount Holloway was there, Mr Chambers, Viscount Westonly, a handful of Cyprians with painted faces, and two dozen or more of others, not just the gentry, but journalists and broadsheet balladeers as well, trying to pretend as though they had just happened to be in that exact spot at that exact moment. 

“…So, he has not shown his face! I knew that it was all bluster! He raced me once, and lost! Let it be heard in every drawing room in London –” he paused mid-rant when his horse caught the scent of mine, and let out a loud neigh, stomping his hooves in the packed dirt of the road. 

Heads swiveled around. There was nothing for it. Pulling my hat down over my eyes so that I appeared a low villain, I nudged Ghost in the flanks, and we emerged from the trees. 

A flurry of excited chatter rose up from the crowd. That’s neither Marlcaster, nor Sinclaire… I heard the Countess’ husband was thrown from his horse just yesterday. Has Edgewater sent a servant to represent their house? How utterly diverting! 

One of the Cyprians, a black haired woman with a heart shaped patch on her cheek, squealed loudly, jumping up from her precarious seat atop a phaeton. “Two hundred pounds on Edgewater!” The Cyprians fluttered their fans in excitement, each signing too fast for me to note, but it was not the chatter of Cyprians I cared for. She caught my eye and winked, I was sure she had seen through my subterfuge and knew me for a woman. She nudged the aged Viscount beside her, whispering something in his ear trumpet, and his eyes nearly fell out of his head as he gaped at me, agog. I would need to take matters into my own hands, and fast. 

I drew close to the starting line, keeping my face turned away from the duke. “I race for Edgewater,” I said in a low voice, as low as I could make it. “Tell me again where the finish line is.”

“Typical bravado from Marlcaster! Did he not tell you, boy?” The Duke spat, near frothing at the mouth at the shift in the crowd’s attention. 

Edgewater, Edgewater. The whispers grew and grew, and the Duke’s face turned a mottled red. The madder the old bastard got, the harder it would be to beat him, for he was like a mad bull when he got his hackles up, and I did not relish the thought of being on the business end of the horns. 

The Duke narrowed his eyes, but I pulled the corner of my hat down, my face in shadow. “We race from here, loop through the wood, and back to the starting point.” A devilish smile touched his lips, and I wondered what evil he had planned, but it was too late. The pistol cracked, and we were off.