Almost Perfect (2 page)

Cassie’s stomach wrenched. She’d twice before seen death, having tended both her mother and her husband as they passed. This is what they’d looked like after shuffling off their mortal coil.

She straightened to stare helplessly at her father. “I’ve murdered him,” she whispered hoarsely.

“Egads,” her father replied weakly as he fiddled in earnest with his snuff box then shoved it back into his waistcoat pocket. Cassie saw it in his face. He knew as well as she that she would hang for this.

Eliza hurried to Cassie’s side and grabbed her hand. “Come! We must leave now before anyone discovers what’s happened.”

“There’s nowhere for me to go,” Cassie replied, her voice as cold as a winter lake. “Nor you,” she told her sister. “Don’t you see? I’ve destroyed you more completely than Lord Bucksden ever could. Oh Eliza, a moment ago you were just a wastrel’s daughter.” Roland winced. “Now you’re a murderess’s sister with no prospect except a lifetime’s shame.”

“Never,” Eliza exclaimed. Pride and gratitude filled her gaze. “What you did, you did for love of me. Now, let’s go.”

Cassie only shook her head. “How? Where?”

Shaking free of Eliza’s grasp she strode to the front window, knowing her family would follow, and pushed aside the drape. Standing in the street below was the earl’s city phaeton with its spiderweb wheels. A short, ugly fellow held the horse’s head. The jerk of Cassie’s head indicated the earl’s servant.

“His tiger will call the Bow Street Runners when he discovers what I’ve done to his master,” she told them. “We can’t elude them for long. Far better that I wait here to accept my fate as I must.” She choked as she spoke these words, already feeling the noose about her neck.

Eliza yanked the curtain from Cassie’s fingers and shook the drapery back into place. “That will not happen,” she said, her mouth firm in determination. “Cassie, the Runners must first know where to look for us and they don’t. No one knows we go north to your Aunt Forster’s house.”

“We’re not going to my cousins in Brighton?” their father cried out, blinking in surprise.

Surprise melted into relief. “Clever girls,” he told them as if they were well-trained dogs. Then he smiled, but it sat crookedly on his lips beneath his bloodshot blue eyes. “Now, we’ve not only got a hidden destination but a head start as well. The earl’s man will think nothing of waiting an hour or more before considering anything has gone amiss.”

His hopeful facade cracked. “That is, if his master said nothing to him of his purpose here.”

“That’s enough,” Eliza said, her voice filled with command. “We leave now.”

She grabbed Cassie by the arm and started across the room, pulling her sister after her, stooping to pick up her bonnet as she went. Roland followed, closing the drawing room door once they were out. Cassie flinched at the quiet snick of the latch. It was the sound of the hangman’s hatch opening.

Eliza set the pace, creeping quietly down the back steps. Their kitchen was as dark as ever. With but a single window the room was always cast in shadow even at the brightest hour of the day, dulling its white walls and graying the white tile in the checkerboard marble floor. Only half the usual pots and pans hung from the racks, the rest having been sold to a tinker. Gone were the knives, given to Cook against what was owed her. The scullery sink was empty for once, every bowl now stacked beneath the large wooden table at the room’s center. But a dusting of ashes filled the room’s brick-lined fireplace.

“Wait,” Roland whispered hoarsely as Eliza reached for the outer door’s latch. Both girls turned to look at him. His shoulders were hunched and his head ducked as if expecting a blow. He patted his empty waistcoat pocket. “We will need something to fund our journey. I must stop at my solicitor’s to make a draw.”

Eliza gave a scornful huff as she wrapped a bracing arm around Cassie’s waist. “I think not,” she retorted even as Cassie shook her head in warning at her sister.

That brought Roland upright in a hurry. His brow creased in insulted surprise. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

Eliza glanced from sire to sister then gave a disgusted snort. “You and Mama! Shame on you both for coddling him so. You’ve allowed him to remain silly and irresponsible. It’s time he knew.”

She turned on their father. “Papa, you can’t make a draw because you’ve bankrupted us. Have we ever emptied the house of furniture before leaving London after the Season? A few weeks ago a disreputable looking man tapped upon our door. He informed us that you had mortgaged this house to him shortly after Mama died. Since you have not paid him, he has foreclosed upon us. Let me say too that he very much enjoyed telling us he had never expected you to pay him and had always intended to take our home as his own,” Eliza finished with a defiant upward jerk of her chin.

Cassie’s heart ached as she again wallowed in the depth of her failure. She should have tried harder. How had her mother managed so well when all Cassie had been able to do was keep the lids on the boiling pots of Roland’s catastrophes?

Roland’s expression flattened at Eliza’s bold speech. In that moment his usual façade of nonchalance slipped, revealing a man who, while sensible to what he’d done to his family, could not generate the will to stop himself.

“It’s all gone?” His words wore a touch of shame.

“It is,” Cassie replied. Maybe Eliza was right. Perhaps she should have confronted him sooner.

His eyes filled. His chin quivered. “If that is so, then whatever shall we do?” It was a helpless plea.

As much as she hated it Cassie couldn’t stop herself any more than her father could. She reclaimed her role as head of her family.

Stepping out of Eliza’s embrace, she took her father’s hand. “What else can we do but run?” she asked, and led her sire out of the kitchen door and into the alley beyond.

Holding back the ancient coach’s leather window curtain, Cassie leaned out of the opening into a misty summer afternoon. She breathed in the scents of southern Scotland: rain, damp earth, sheep and coal smoke. Here along the border between Scotland and England the landscape alternated between long flat plains and twisting, undulating hills. Time and eons of cooking fires had stripped these low peaks of their trees, leaving them wearing only gray-green heather, prickly gorse and thick grass.

Roland snapped his whip, gave a joyous curse and drove their tired horses through a flock of complaining sheep. Inside the coach Cassie bounced. Roland was the only one enjoying Scotland’s primitive road conditions. The deeper the ruts the bluer his curses became as he immersed himself into his role of coachman.

Baaing, bells ringing, the flock scattered away from their wheels. As they moved Cassie caught her first glimpse of the rolling stretch of manicured lawn that surrounded Ettrick House. Here and there, arranged in artful display, were the thriving remains of the exotic shrubs and trees—towering pines, glossy-leaved trees covered with fragrant white blossoms, thick-trunked nut trees and the like—whose propagation had been the life’s work of Aunt Philana’s beloved husband.

As Roland guided their coach onto the gravel drive the house itself appeared. Four storeys tall, it was built of gray stone and roofed in slate that gleamed like silver in the day’s watery light. Tall and paned, three rows of windows marched in formation across its forward face, each window wearing a triangular cap of white ashlar. A broad stairway swept up from the gravel courtyard to a wide landing protected by a massive stone portico.

Beneath the persistent hopelessness that had held Cassie in thrall since she’d swung that urn, something new stirred, teased out of her as much by the solid stability of Aunt Philana’s home as by the fact they’d reached this place without event. It was a moment before Cassie recognized hope. She wanted to believe rescue was possible, she truly did.

Sighing, she dropped the window flap and looked at her sister who napped fitfully on the opposite seat. Neither of them had slept well since leaving London. Eliza wore her bonnet, her face framed by its bent brim; the hat had been damaged when she’d dropped it in their former drawing room.

Reaching out, she touched Eliza’s shoulder. “We’re here, darling.”

Eliza woke with a start. Her gaze darted nervously about the coach’s interior for an instant before she caught herself and straightened. “We’ve arrived? Was there anyone on the road behind us?” They’d taken turns checking for pursuit.

For Eliza’s sake Cassie filled her smile with a confidence she didn’t own. “Not a soul.”

An answering smile crept across Eliza’s face. New life sparked in her brown eyes. She leaned forward on her seat and threw her arms around Cassie.

“We’ve done it! We’ve reached Scotland undetected. Before the fortnight is out we’ll be on our way to America, making our escape long before the Runners ever think to look for us here.”

Hopelessness returned, crashing over Cassie like a wave. Over the course of their journey Roland had dreamed up an elaborate and impossible plan for rescue. It included buying passage for them all on a ship out of Edinburgh and sailing to the American city of Boston. Roland had distant cousins living there on whom he intended to impose without qualm or concern. Somehow Cassie doubted these folk would be quick to take in the now destitute British branch of their family.

Settling back into her seat, Eliza continued happily. “All that wants doing is to sell our coach and horses.”

Cassie only nodded. At a recent inn she’d overheard a conversation between travelers regarding a recent sail across the Channel. She’d nearly gagged when she heard the man mention what he’d paid for his berth. She knew the value of their coach and two and it wouldn’t suffice for the three of them to sail to France, much less America.

With all her heart Cassie wished she’d never swung that urn. If only she’d waited, thought a little, she might have seen another way to save Eliza. Instead, her entire family’s future now rested on her one true gift.

She’d been but five when Roland had discovered what she could do with cards. He had been horrified and forbidden her to ever use it. She had honored his request until her marriage to Charles, who insisted on her doing her
tricks
as he called her gift, to entertain their friends. Since his death Cassie hadn’t once touched a deck of cards.

Now, that ability of hers was the only thing standing between them and disaster. But what if she’d forgotten how to do it or the skill had abandoned her? Worse, what if it didn’t work when money was involved? She’d never before used it to gamble.

Her sister put a hand on Cassie’s knee. Cassie looked up on surprise. “You’re fretting,” Eliza said. “You only go silent like that when you worry. Don’t,” she commanded quietly. “We’ve come this far. We won’t fail now. I know it.”

Cassie did her best to smile. “I’m sure you’re right, Eliza.”

“Of course I am,” her sister retorted, smiling and looking more like herself than she had since they’d left London. “Now, trade with me so I can see.”

They switched seats and Eliza threw back the flap and peered through the opening for a moment. Then, grinning, she called, “Hello!”

Cassie stooped across the space between them, keeping her balance with one hand on the seat and lifted the flap completely out of the window’s opening. Ettrick House’s porch was no longer empty. A bewigged footman wearing a blue satin coat, blue knee breeches, and white stockings, now stood on the top stair. On the next step down, beyond the protection of the portico’s roof and heedless of the damage the day’s mist was doing to her attire, stood a slender woman. She waved at the approaching coach, using her whole arm to offer the greeting.

Aunt Philana.

Despite all that was wrong, Cassie grinned. Grabbing the window’s lower edge as the coach rocked precariously, Cassie thrust her other arm out of the opening and waved back not caring that muck from the coach stained her sleeve. Although she and Philana weren’t related by blood, their connection being through their husbands, they had fallen in love with each other at their first meeting. Their affection had persisted unabated across the years, surviving the deaths of both their spouses.

Coach wheels crunching in the gravel, horses snorting, Roland brought their vehicle to a halt before the stairs. A pair of hostlers dressed in brown jackets and stained breeches, bits of straw clinging to their hats, came trotting around one corner. The footman made his dignified way down the steps, skirting his employer, then opened the coach door and helped Cassie down.

“You’re here at last!” Aunt Philana cried, holding out her arms in invitation to her former niece-by-marriage. Her plain, age-lined face creased even more as she smiled. A lace cap covered her gray curls while an equally lacy shawl draped her shoulders. Philana’s day dress was cut in the current high-waisted style, but made of yesteryear’s fabric, a heavy gold and white striped brocade.

Ignoring her aching legs and back, Cassie sprinted up the steps to wrap her arms around the smaller woman. Philana leaned back in Cassie’s embrace. Welcome filled her bright blue eyes.

“I thought you’d never arrive,” she said.