A Dangerous Masquerade (26 page)

             
After a night spent out in the open, shivering and hardly daring to sleep, Constance did not dare to walk away.  The four guineas would buy her a seat on top of the next stage leaving for London and her feet had become so sore from two days of walking that she could not contemplate going any further on foot.

             
‘Very well, I shall accept your price,’ she said and pushed the gown across the counter.  The woman seized it quickly, as if afraid that Constance would change her mind and put the four guineas on the counter.  Constance picked it up and opened her purse, adding the coins to her slender funds of a few pence.

             
She tucked the purse back inside her carpetbag and went outside.  It was raining and colder than it had been and she felt chilled, a sense of hopelessness descending over her.  Was the rest of her life to be spent tramping from place to place in search of some security?

             
She’d known it would not be easy to find work but she hadn’t expected it to be this difficult.  A place as a lady’s maid might be beyond her unless she sent to France and asked for a reference from the comtesse – but she’d thought it would be easy enough to find something in a tavern.  She’d tried two that morning.  At the first inn the landlady had turned her away because she had no need of more help; at the second, the innkeeper had said he could find her work but the way he’d looked at her had made Constance walk away as quickly as she could.

             
Her situation was becoming more desperate by the day.  Now that Madeline’s gown had gone, she had only the ring and watch, which had belonged to Jonathan.  If she tried to sell those she might be accused of having stolen them.

             
Tears stung behind her eyes, blinding her.  In her distress she didn’t notice the man lurking behind her until he shoved her so hard that she fell to her knees on the pavement.  Shocked, she’d put out her hands to save herself and let go of her carpetbag.  In that instant the rogue snatched up the bag and made off with it.

             
Constance rose to her feet and shouted for help, screaming for someone to stop the thief.  Someone turned his head to look at her, but the woman at his side tugged on his arm and shook her head.  A young lad took up her cry of stop thief and launched himself at the rogue but was knocked to the ground.  Two women went to his aid and another came to Constance and asked if she was all right.

             
‘He stole my bag.  It had my clothes and money…’ she choked back her tears as the woman clucked her tongue.

             
‘There’s too many thieves about these days, dearie.  I doubt you’ll see your things again.  Have you family to go to?’

             
Constance was about to shake her head when something in the woman’s manner sent a chill down her spine.  If she allowed herself to accept help from this stranger she might find herself in more trouble.

             
‘I’m fine,’ she lied and shook the woman’s hand off.  ‘My husband is at the inn.  He will report the theft to the constable.’

             
‘Suit yourself, dearie – but if you get hungry you’ll find a place at Marie’s house.  Anyone will tell you.  You’ll be better off with me to look after you.  I’m always fair to my girls, ask anyone.’

             
Constance shuddered.  Her instincts had served her well.  The woman was the madam of a whorehouse and, had she gone with her, she might have ended up earning her living on her back.

             
Lifting her head, Constance tried to ignore the rain, which was getting harder.  She had no choice now but to walk as far as she could each day.  In time she might reach London.  Perhaps someone might offer her a lift on a cart, but she had nothing to give in return.

             
Ought she to try and sell the ring before she left the town?  She’d found the people suspicious of strangers.  In London she might meet with more luck so perhaps it would be best to hold on to what she had for the moment.

             
Holding her redingote tightly about her, she ran towards the inn.  She might find shelter in the stables, at least until the rain stopped.

Moraven reached Lavenham just as the market was closing.  It was nearly the end of the day and the shops too were beginning to close and shutter their windows and doors.  He left his horse at the inn and went inside.  His first inquiry would be whether a young woman resembling Constance had inquired at the inn for work.  Moraven had made similar inquiries along the way and at one the landlady had told him that she might have turned her away.

             
‘She looked too fine a lady for me to employ, my lord,’ the woman simpered.  ‘I should have been glad to help her if I could but she would not have been safe here.  If she’d had a reference I’d have sent her to the Hall, where they’re wanting a parlour maid but she had none.’

             
Moraven had been hard put to it to hold his tongue.  Damn Madeline for not giving her a reference or enough money to pay her fare both ways.  Yet how could he blame others when he’d let her down himself.  If only he’d made it clear that she meant more to him than just a mistress…if he’d made sure she had money to tide her over.

             
Damn Heloise for taking the letter he’d left and the bank draft.  He was sure it must have been her – but he should have made certain Constance understood that he would return for her.

             
He was wet through as he entered the inn.  The innkeeper ushered him into a small private parlour, offering to bring food and wine.

             
‘Thank you, I shall take some of your brandy and some bread and cold meat – or soup if it is ready.’

             
‘We have some fine capon and a good beef stew, my lord.’

             
‘I have no time for a meal.  I am searching for someone – a young woman.  She is beautiful, dark haired and dark eyed – dressed modestly, and she speaks with a slight French accent, though she is English.’

             
‘We’ve no one staying here of that description…’ the innkeeper frowned.  ‘One of the grooms told me he sent a young woman off earlier who took shelter in the stable.  He let her stay until the rain eased but then told her she must go – it came on hard again a short time after.’

             
‘Have you any idea which direction she took?’

             
‘I’ll ask my groom if he knows any more, sir.  In the meantime my wife will bring your wine and food.’

             
Moraven thanked him and held his hands to the fire.  He was feeling cold and his cloak was soaked through.  Fortunately, it had held off most of the wet – but Constance was wearing only a thin dress and redingote from what he'd been told.  She could catch her death of cold on a night like this. He almost left the inn immediately, but decided to eat and drink before setting out again.  Hopefully, she would have found a place to shelter from the worst of the storm.

Constance shivered.  Her clothes were wet through but there was little she could do about it.  She had nothing to change into and no money to buy even the cheapest room at the inn.  Why had she been so foolish as to put her purse into the carpetbag?  Had she tucked it inside her gown she would at least have had a few coins to buy food and perhaps a seat on the stage.

             
The rain had ceased more than an hour ago now, but it was growing dark.  She would have to find somewhere to shelter for the night unless she meant to sleep by the side of the road.  The groom at the inn had allowed her to shelter for a short time and he’d given her a small piece of bread and cheese, which he’d shared from his own meal.  For once she’d been asked nothing in return.

             
‘I’d help you more, miss, but I’ve a wife and child at home and my wife has been sick.  I’ve no money to spare.’

             
‘I wouldn’t ask you for money.  You have been kinder than most.’

             
‘I don’t like to see a young woman in trouble and that’s the truth.  Where are you going?’

             
‘I had hoped to reach London in the next day or so but my purse was stolen.  I’m not sure where to go next.  I can’t find work and…’

             
‘You don’t want to go to London, miss.  It’s a wicked place.’  He hesitated, then, ‘My cousin has a farm just ten miles north of here – Payne’s Farm, it’s called.  He’s alone there because his wife died and he has a small child.  I know he was looking for help – and if you tell him his cousin Jim sent you, he might give you a chance.’

             
‘Thank you – Payne’s Farm?’  Constance smiled as he nodded.  It was her first piece of luck.  ‘I do not have a reference.  I did not think I should need it…’

             
‘Harold won’t ask for a reference but he expects a good day’s work for a day’s pay.  He’s a God fearing man or I wouldn’t send you there – but he’s fair.’

             
Constance thanked him again and left as the rain stopped.  She began to walk in the direction the groom had given her but the rain came down heavily and she was forced to seek shelter in a lean-to in a field with sheep in it.  By the time the rain stopped it was dusk and she wasn’t sure how far she was from Payne’s farm.  There was no one to ask and after walking for a while without seeing anyone, she found a milestone that had fallen over and sat down on it, clutching her arms about her because she was shivering so much.  She sneezed three times, aware that her throat felt sore.  She was so very cold and tired.  Her life in France felt a hundred years away and she was close to tears.

             
It was too dark now to see where she was going and she didn’t dare to knock at the door of the only house she could see.  The house was large and stood at the end of a long drive.  The name on the gate said Highfield Lodge.  She knew that it was most likely the home of a gentleman.  She would be thought a beggar if she asked for shelter or food at this hour and was sure to be sent off.

             
She could not go on, because she felt too ill, and she wasn’t sure how far she’d come since leaving the lean-to.  It would have been better to sleep there and look for Payne’s farm in the morning.  Now she had no choice but to sleep by the side of the road and pray she would find a little kindness the next day.  Hunching her knees to her chest, she put her head against them and closed her eyes, willing herself not to think of the cold or her fear at being alone in the dark.

*

‘Payne’s farm, you say?’  Moraven looked at the groom.  ‘How far is it from here?’

             
‘About ten miles as the crow flies but longer if you follow the roads.  If she walked quickly and asked the way she should have reached the farm before nightfall.’

             
‘Unless she sheltered from the rain.’  Moraven frowned.  Constance’s situation was perilous.   Alone and without money she was too vulnerable and he dare not wait a moment longer.  He picked up his glass and drank the brandy. Then he placed the bread and cheese in his kerchief and threw some coins on the table.

             
‘You should wait until the morning, sir.  She’ll be safe enough with my cousin.  He’s a decent man.’

             
‘Would you show me the way?’

             
The groom hesitated, then nodded.  ‘Yes, if you’re worried about her.  I’ll bring a cart and come with you – just in case.’

             
‘Thank you.’ Moraven nodded his approval.  ‘You won’t lose by it.’

             
‘I’d do it for her for nothing – but my wife could do with the money.  She’s been sick for a while.’

             
‘I am happy to pay for your services, Jim,’ Moraven said.  ‘If we find her we’ll bring her here because she will need food and warmth.’

             
‘Yes, my lord.  I’d best tell Arnold to keep back a room for you…he’s another cousin, sir.’

             
‘You have useful relatives.’ Moraven’s smile was barely there.

             
Would he find Constance at last?  The anxiety had been mounting inside him for a while and he had a terrible fear that something was wrong.  He’d been right to suspect she was in trouble.  The groom had told him she’d already been robbed of her purse and possessions – what next?  A vulnerable woman alone might fall prey to any number of rogues.

Constance woke as she was shaken roughly.  She opened her eyes and peered at the man looking down at her.

             
‘Moraven?’ she whispered.

             
Her head was swimming and she felt very unwell.  She couldn’t see clearly and when she tried to rise she fell back to the ground.  Suddenly, she felt a man lying on top of her.  He was clawing at her skirts and dimly through the mists in her head she could smell strong wine on his breath.  Alarm bells began to ring.  It wasn’t Moraven and she was being attacked.