Page 49 of The Ladies Road Guide to Utter Ruin (The Ill-Mannered Ladies #2)

49

Julia and I spoke first to Weatherly about the mission.

“Would you like to sit?” I asked him when we called him back into the drawing room.

“I would prefer to stand, my ladies,” he said. He did so, before us, hands neatly behind his back, his full attention upon us.

“We have something to ask you, and please do not feel under any obligation to say yes,” Julia said.

We outlined the plan to go to France with Lord Evan and Mr. Kent—as far as Mr. Whitmore’s strictures allowed—and the dangers of moving through enemy territory. Throughout, Weatherly nodded, and I could see he had already made up his mind to accompany us. It was in the set of his jaw and the squaring of his shoulders. Even so, I had to make sure he understood the true danger of the mission for him, alone, before he made his decision.

“There is one further danger that you will face if you decide to come with us, Weatherly,” I said.

“What further danger?” my sister asked me, for I had not mentioned it to her before Weatherly’s arrival.

“Bonaparte’s reinstatement of slavery, my lady,” Weatherly said.

I heard my sister’s intake of breath. “The fiend.”

It was not recent news—the reinstatement had occurred ten years ago—but my sister did not follow politics or the subject of slavery laws with as much attention as Weatherly and myself. We had both assisted in Mr. Wilberforce’s abolitionist efforts and, upon the news of Bonaparte’s perfidy in 1802, had grieved for the many hundreds of thousands of people who would consequently be held in bondage.

“But you are a free man, Weatherly,” Julia said.

“I am a free man on British soil, my lady. There is a legal assumption of freedom here. It is not so certain in France. Not anymore.”

“It adds to the danger for you, my friend,” I said. “I meant what I said in the forest. There is no obligation for you to accompany us on this mad quest. We will understand if you decline.”

Weatherly acknowledged my restatement with a sober nod. “Thank you. However, your father saw something within me, my ladies, and offered me the chance to live like any other free British man. Upon my departure from his house to take up my position at yours, he asked me to ensure your safety and well-being. I gave my word I would do so.” He gave one of his rare smiles. “So I will come to France, and I will ensure your safety.”

“Oh, Weatherly, are you certain?” Julia said softly.

“I am.”

“Thank you,” I said. “And we will ensure your safety.”

“Then we have every chance of success,” Weatherly said.

The choice of our second servant had prompted some debate between Julia and me, for we needed a lady’s maid and we both had stalwart, discreet women serving us. In the end we decided to ask Tully. Most lady’s maids knew some French—it was a general requirement of the position—but Leonard, Julia’s maid, only knew some French phrases, whereas Tully had learned the language at her Huguenot grandmother’s knee.

We decided it was best for me to approach Tully alone, for we did not want the presence of both her employers to influence her decision. As I dressed for dinner that night, I told her about the mission and asked if she would like to accompany us.

“You are asking me to come with you to France?” Tully asked, looking up from pinning my bodice into place. Her large blue eyes had widened into round astonishment.

“You would be serving both Lady Julia and myself, and it will be very dangerous.”

“Into France. Where the war is?” she asked. “On one of your adventures?”

“Yes. I cannot tell you anything about the mission, but it is for our king and our country. If you do not wish to go, then there will be no repercussions. Your position is safe. You are free to decline. Think on it carefully.”

“I do not need to, my lady. I wish to come.”

Although I was pleased by her enthusiasm, I felt it my duty to counsel caution. “Are you sure? It is a big decision to make so quickly.”

“I am sure.” She pressed her steepled hands to her small chin, suppressing, it seemed, an expansive celebration, for her eyes were alight with it. “Before I came here, my lady, I was a scullery maid, then a kitchen maid, and then a housemaid. It was all honest work, my lady, do not get me wrong. But it was small. I was small.” Her steepled hands curved into the tight shape of a ball. “Then you gave me the chance to be your lady’s maid, even when I was not the most qualified of those who came for the position. My world has grown so much.” Her hands opened into a blooming of fingers. “I have been to so many places, bought disguises, even sewn a dagger sheath into your sleeve. Now you ask me to help you achieve something truly big in this world. Something important. Of course I will come.”

I remembered back to my interview with Tully: the petite young woman with the sweet, round face who had stood before me, nervous but with a direct gaze and a hint of humor. Perhaps I had recognized her kindred, adventurous spirit, even then.

So, now we were six.

···

The town of Walmer, situated on the little eastern foot of England, was a rather charming sea-resort town with a handsome Tudor castle and a nearby naval marines garrison. Despite the presence of the marines—or perhaps because of it—the town was also ideally placed for smuggling. Only twenty-five miles separated the shorelines of England and France.

Twenty-five miles that we would soon be crossing. At night.

I looked out of the carriage as we navigated a particularly narrow street, the windows of some of the higgledy-piggledy houses on either side already aglow with candles in the dusk.

Yesterday, in London, I had received a note delivered by a small boy who had run off before I could question him. The note was brief and unsigned:

Last night, 2 Bedford Street suffered a catastrophic fire. The house is destroyed. Fortunately, no one was injured within the house or in the dwellings on either side.

May your travels be safe and successful.

As we departed London, I asked John Driver to take us past Bedford Street; a little out of our way, but I had to ensure Whitmore was telling the truth. Sure enough, the home of the Exalted Brethren of Rack and Ruin was now, ironically, completely ruined. Perhaps it was a little ghoulish to take delight in such destruction, but I reveled in the sight of its blackened beams and crumbling bricks. The club would, I knew, eventually open its doors elsewhere. Still, if the delay of their hideous activities saved just one woman from a terrible death, then that was a victory. Just as importantly, its destruction proved Whitmore was a man of his word. And a rather creative thinker.

“I believe we have arrived,” Julia said, as we turned onto Walmer’s wider esplanade.

I looked out upon the long, flat sand beach, the white-capped sea and an indigo night sky lit by a bright waxing gibbous moon. A good moon to sail by. Some of the boats of the Walmer sailors—luggers and galleys, according to the seaside resorts guide I had consulted—were hauled up on the beach. Beyond them stood a distant forest of masts: ships waiting in the Downs, the area between Walmer and the treacherous Goodwin Sands, for safe passage. Even through the closed carriage windows I smelled the pungent odors of seaweed and salt and heard the screeching night call of gulls wheeling above.

The carriage traveled on a rough road alongside the beach for a distance, passing what was clearly the more legitimate side of the town’s activities. Finally, we drew to a halt near a cliff. The carriage rocked; then Weatherly appeared at the door, huddled in his French-style greatcoat. Beyond him, Tully stood muffled in a new cloak and looking out upon the sea, one of my smaller travel boxes cradled in her arms.

“This is where we were instructed to stop, my ladies,” Weatherly said, opening the carriage door.

“I must admit, I feel rather underprepared,” Julia said to me as she took Weatherly’s hand to descend the carriage step. “This may not be the wisest decision on our part.”

“It is not wise in the slightest, dearheart,” I said. “Are you regretting your choice?”

“I suppose there is no use for that now.” She looked out upon the beach and the small group of men awaiting us next to a galley boat hauled up on the sand. Her face brightened into a beaming smile. “Look, there are Mr. Kent and Lord Evan.”

I followed her down the carriage step to the road. Across the foreshore, I saw my love seated upon a large rock next to the galley with Mr. Kent standing at his side, both in heavy greatcoats and holding the brims of their hats against the cold breeze.

Upon seeing me, Evan raised his other hand in greeting, unfolded his tall, lean self from his vantage point, and started across the sand to meet me halfway.

I waved back, my own smile as bright as my sister’s.

As Mr. Kent fell in behind Evan, I took Julia’s hand and we forged our way through the scrubby undergrowth to the sand. The chilly wind upon the open beach blew with a great deal more ferocity than on the road, and we both gasped as it grabbed at our breath and wrapped our skirts around our legs.

“Good timing, Renegade,” Evan called, treading with some agility over the sliding sands. “The tide is turning.”

I stepped forward to receive his outstretched hands. The wind immediately caught the brim of his hat, and so I received only one hand. But it was enough, for it pulled me into a tight embrace against his chest. A rather similar embrace was happening nearby, although Mr. Kent had somehow jammed his hat on his head more tightly and had both arms around my sister.

“How is your jaw?” Evan asked, squinting down at my face. “Is all the swelling gone? No loss of sensation? Your teeth firm?” He laughed at my expression. “I know, I know. But I have been so worried.”

I angled my chin for his scrutiny. “It is healing well, see?” I said.

“Then I can kiss you without causing any pain?”

“You can,” I said solemnly.

He bent into a slight clash of hat and bonnet brims. With a smile, he pulled off his hat and tried again, his lips gently pressing upon mine. Definitely no pain. A great deal of pleasure, in fact. I leaned in closer, all of the past week rising within me into a fierce, heart-racing kiss that snatched at my breath far more thoroughly than any sea wind. The dark beach around us slid away into just the sensations of his smell and warmth and breath and the press of his need against mine.

“Gus!” Julia’s voice, projected with a great deal of volume across the sand, wrenched us apart.

“What?” I blinked to see an old sailor a few yards away watching us.

“Tide’s in, sir,” he said to Evan with a nod. It was too dark to see his face, but I felt his amusement. “Got to load up quick or we’ll miss it.”

“Thank you,” Evan said, but he did not release me from his embrace.

With another nod, the sailor trudged back toward the lugger. I looked across at Julia, holding Mr. Kent’s hand, their heads bent together, intent upon their conversation. Beyond, on the road, Weatherly and Tully were unloading our luggage to bring down to the boat.

I felt Evan’s arm around me: my safe harbor. Perhaps it was not the wisest decision to cross the channel into such a dangerous and reckless adventure. But under the circumstances—on a mission for England and with a pardon for Evan in sight—perhaps it was faith that was required, not wisdom.

And for me, that was faith in the five brave, loyal people by my side.