If anything should happen to Livia? What about Charlotte?
As if he’d heard her question, Mott said, “She has a gentleman with her, someone you both know. Please, Miss Livia, go back and stay inside.”
She still hesitated.
Mott’s voice grew more urgent. “Hurry. There’s no time to lose.”
Her knees shook. How she hated to be so useless when Charlotte was headed toward danger. But Mott was right. She would help no one by not knowing what to do.
With another glance at the carriage house, Livia did as she was told.
“You would have made a pretty girl,”said Charlotte to Mr. Marbleton, now wearing Charlotte’s evening toque and her bright yellow silk cape.
He smiled cheekily. “Thank you. I take pride in passing for a comely woman, at least at first glance. You as a man, on the other hand, would not have attracted ladies by the gross.”
Charlotte glanced down at Mr. Finch’s mackintosh, which reached past her knees. Underneath that she wore a pair of his rough woolen trousers over her own pantalets. “Maybe they’d stay away before they learned of my genius. But afterward... I would need to beat them off with a volume of theBritannica.”
Their lighthearted words did nothing to dispel the tension in the carriage house.
“Ready?” asked Mr. Marbleton.
She nodded tightly.
He helped her up the coachman’s perch on the town coach and opened the carriage house doors, before getting into the vehicle. She eased the carriage into the lane and inhaled deeply.
At this point, the most likely place for them to be stopped was right here in the carriage lane. She shook the reins and urged the horses into a fast trot, much faster than was strictly safe.
Houses began to rush by. She was a competent enough driver, but she was much more accustomed to handling one-horse carts on sparsely traveled country lanes. While the night was getting late, this was still London during the Season. The major thoroughfares would be heavily trafficked and she had never driven under similar circumstances.
And she wouldn’t, if she couldn’t even get out of the carriage lane.
A man stood at the end of the lane, waving his arms, signaling her to slow down. She drove faster. The man waved more exaggeratedly. Over the pounding of hooves—and that of her heart—she could vaguely make out him shouting orders.
The houses blurred. He leaped out of her way. She yanked the horses into a hard right turn, followed by one more, and would have collided with another carriage if it hadn’t swerved.
Still she drove as fast as she dared, weaving between other carriages, cutting in front of fancy broughams with inches to spare, to the vocal displeasure of their coachmen.
Mr. Marbleton knocked from within the coach. She looked ahead and saw a large omnibus parked by the side of the street. She slowed and pulled as close to the vehicle as her skills allowed. The moment she passed the omnibus, Mr. Marbleton jumped out, so accomplished at these sort of things that he somehow managed to slam the carriage door shut behind himself.
When she glanced back again, he had already disappeared into the night.
She was almostat her destination when another, far more thorough attempt was made to stop her.
She complied immediately.
A man came up to the carriage. “Mr. Finch, we’ll need you to come with us, please.”
She recognized him: Mr. Underwood, Lord Bancroft’s right-hand man. “I’m not Mr. Finch.”
Mr. Underwood’s eyes narrowed. “Miss Holmes, I see. You are dressed as a man.”
“Much safer this way, don’t you think, to be driving at night?” she answered, climbing down from her perch. “And I must confess, Mr. Underwood, I’m not sure why you think my brother is involved in this. I’m only rendering some assistance to our family groom, who has served my sister faithfully over the summer.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, his name is Mott. He told me just now that he was in trouble with some unsavory people and needed to leave, and if I would please return the carriage to the company my father hired it from. I promised him I would see to it.” She cocked her head to one side and smiled. “Would you mind if I went on my way, Mr. Underwood?”
Mr. Underwood considered her. “It’s late, Miss Holmes. Why don’t you let us do that for you? I’ll see you home.”
