“Don’t worry, Miss Stanton,” he rasped, once again toying with the shovel. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”
She ran.
Chapter 14
By the time she reached Bournemouth proper, Susan’s shift stuck to her back and her lungs were afire. She had never been so terrified in her life. She had to get out of this godforsaken village before escape ceased to be an option.
It was now more imperative than ever that she win the hearts of every breathing body within the town’s borders.Someonehad to help her escape before she stopped showing up one day. Otherwise, all the giant would have to do is say that she’d gone back to her parents, and her face would never cross their minds again.
Susan stumbled. Was that what was happening? Were all those tiny plots “visitors” who had “gone back home”? She forced her feet into motion. That would not happen to her. It would not.
As for Lady Beaune... Shewouldrescue her, at the earliest opportunity. Whom should she tell first? Mr. Bothwick? No. He was a particular friend of the very fiend who had locked her in the cellar. Even if not complicit in the actual crime, Mr. Bothwick had already chosen his allegiance. But then whom could she go to? The townsfolk? How would she know who was or wasn’t already in the giant’s pocket? Risking her own freedom wouldn’t help either of them. She needed an outsider. Someone guaranteed to be impartial.
The magistrate. Perfect. No one else could be expected to confront the woman’s husband.
But until Mr. Forrester returned, Susan would continue attempting escape on her own. To do that she needed friends and horseflesh. Money, of course, could easily buy both people and beasts, but as she was stuck without coin, she would have to employ an alternate method.
She slowed to a stop when she reached the motley collection of ramshackle buildings rising from the jawbone of the sandy shore.
Where to? The only structures apparently open for business were the dressmaker’s (where she really would need a heavy purse if she were to win over those cold fishes) and the tavern, which she supposed would have to do, given the lack of alternatives. At least there would be live persons.
She pushed open the swinging door and stepped inside.
The wild-haired barman looked all but terrified to find her within his walls again. The drunks who had crowded her before cleared a berth as wide as if she carried the plague. The priest was the one person who didn’t leap back in horror upon her appearance in the tavern... and by the number of empty tumblers on his table, that might have been because he was no longer capable.
Nonetheless, the priest had to be the most upstanding citizen present. And when he was not in his cups, perhaps a key source of aid. If he was sober enough—and openminded enough—to take her seriously. Or at least offer shelter to her and her cousin.
“I’m Miss Susan Stanton,” she informed him when she reached his table. She bathed him in her sunniest smile.
He glanced up, blinking owlishly, then returned his focus to the glass in his hand, which he couldn’t quite keep on a straight trajectory to his mouth.
She didn’t bother to hide the slow death of her smile. Definitely not sober enough to help. All right... next plan. Her parents’ money would get here soon enough. It had to.
“A round for everyone,” she announced, opening an arm in a gesture wide enough to include the entire room.
The barman didn’t move.
How Susan hated the loss of having the Stanton name be just as good as gold.
“That is,” she continued as merrily as possible, given his lack of exuberance, “if you might extend me a spot of credit until my allowance arrives next week?”
“Aren’t ye the new chit staying wit’ Ollie?” piped up one of the drunks.
“Aye, she’s one ofhisall right,” put in the other, sotto voce.
In a flash, the barman burst into motion. “Your credit’s just fine here, miss. Sit, sit. What can I get you? Name it. Anything. I’m Sully, by the way. At your service.”
“Nothing for me, please.” She climbed up onto a stool and recounted the patrons. Three. Just three. “But a round for the rest, if you would.”
“A round for the rest,” he echoed, pouring, “and a wee bit of French brandy for the lady.”
“That’s truly all right, I—”
“No, no, there’s plenty, honestly, and more any moment, know what I mean? But of course you do. I’ve seen the company you keep. Truly, drink up. Drink, drink. There’s a girl.”
Susan found herself swallowing her first taste of French brandy. She was positive it was illegal to possess. Treasonous, even. But she supposed if an MP came to investigate her for a simple glass of brandy, he could rescue her from this hellhole. If not, she could always steal his horse and hie back to London that way. A hysterical giggle bubbled from her throat.
Sully frowned, concerned. “There, there, miss. Maybe not so fast, now. There’s plenty, mind you, but I don’t fancy—that is to say—”
