We dared not venture out during the day. Jon had taken to his bed, too sick to do much but sip cups of chicken broth and complain about the barking next door. I did what I could, tidying the kitchen and cleaning out a guest room so I’d have a place to sleep. When we were down to our last slice of bread, I slipped out when Jon was asleep and made my way to the corner market.
Getting there was easy enough, but the return trip was an exercise in reckless endangerment.
Two little girls followed me out of the market, and I had a knapsack full of groceries. I didn’t notice I was being tailed until it was too late, nearly leading them to the house. I had to turn around, dart across an adjacent street, and hide under a porch like the common thief I was. When they tracked me to the yard, I crouched low and held my breath, listening to them whine about how they wouldn’t get paid if they returned empty-handed.
“Where’d she go?” the youngest cried, her mud-stained hem flapping in the wind.
“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” her companion answered petulantly. “Let’s just tell ’im she went into that house.”
“He’ll know we’re lying!”
“No, he won’t. He ain’t too bright.”
“I suppose not.”
“Come on. He can figure it out.”
“But I want me money!”
“Ye can’t trust a Yankee! Anyone knows that.”
“But—”
I breathed a sigh of relief, but remained where I was. I must have waited for hours after they’d gone to emerge from my hiding spot. It was dark then, the moon a pale glimmer of hope in the night sky.
I darted out and ran all the way back to Jon.
* * *
When Jon was well enough to leave his sickbed, we prepared to leave for Briarwood as soon as we could arrange transport. “Train or coach?” he sighed, poring over a message from his grandfather. “At least he’ll be expecting us.”
“How will we get on the train if we’re being followed?”
“Maybe we don’t.”
“What?”
“I don’t think a train will solve our problems,” he said, his voice still hoarse from the constant retching. “Maybe we travel the old-fashioned way.”
“And what’s that?”
He glanced up with a rueful grin. “What did people do before trains?”
I was doubtful. “As if Anderson wouldn’t check those, too.”
“Did I say we’d be traveling first-class?”
“You mean we’re not?”
“Oh, no.” He reached for an empty milk bottle on the table and gave it a spin. “How’d you like to travel in style?”
I burst out laughing when the milk bottle stopped and pointed at me. “A milk cart?”
“I think I know someone who can help. But the ride won’t be smooth, and it might get messy.”
“That’s fine. Just so long as I don’t have to sit on the floor.”
“We might.”
“How about a crate?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
* * *
The day we left London would be remembered for its hilarity and utter lack of decorum. We waited until the milk carts began their early morning rounds. It was still dark when we slipped out and hid in the back of a horse-drawn cart. The driver was an informant for Scotland Yard and provided us with a bed of sweet-smelling hay and a canvas tarp. I lay down beside a man who was not my husband and thought about how shocked my mother would be.
“What are you doing?” I hissed, blowing hay out of my nostrils. “Keep your hands to yourself!”
“I’m trying! It’s not easy, you know! I’m not exactly built for milk carts!”
The roads were in terrible shape, with deep ruts that caught wagon wheels and destroyed axles. Every bump and sharp turn slammed me into Jon, who was beside himself, trying to behave like a gentleman. “Dammit!” he swore after his elbow caught me in the bosom. “Here,” he muttered, wrapping both arms around me. “I’ll marry you later.”
“What are you doing?” I protested near hysterics. He was suddenly too close for comfort. I could feel every inch of him through our clothing, and peculiar shivers danced along my spine whenever his breath touched my cheek. “This is—”
“Please, Mrs. Powell. I am in no mood to quibble over personal space.”
“I was just—”
Another rut knocked our chins together, and I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I’d taken the opportunity to get drunk before I agreed to lie in the back of a milk cart with Jonathan Powell. “Oh!”
“Easy,” he soothed. “I know it’s rough.”
“All of this for a sari,” I grumbled, burying my face against his neck. I must have been the color of a courtesan’s stockings as I cowered in Jon’s arms. “Couldn’t we have done this another way?”
“What?” he breathed in my ear. “And have Anderson’s rats follow us on to the train? I doubt we would have been safe in the baggage compartment.” His arms tightened as another rut threatened to send us airborne. “I wouldn’t have been comfortable out in the open.”
“Nor would I,” I said, my voice muffled. I suppose if we had been married, I might have enjoyed the feeling of safety I found in his embrace. He smelled nice, too. But, as it was, my mother brought me up to be a lady and one simply did not lie with a man without entering holy matrimony.
No matter if he was trying to prevent you from flying out of a milk cart or not.
Despite my misgivings, I found myself nodding off and did not wake until after Jon shook me. “Wake up, Anne,” he whispered. “We’re here.”
“Already?”
The tarp was yanked away with rough movements, and the driver stood back to allow us to disembark. “This is the prearranged drop-off,” he informed us coolly, holding out his hand for payment. Jon carefully counted out fifty pounds and laid them in a neat pile into the man’s palm. “You’re to wait here until further instructions.”
I stood off to the side, picking hay out of my hair and erupting into violent sneezing fits. Jon shot a sympathetic glance my way. “Thank you, Sam,” he said, grabbing our bags and joining me at the grove of trees that would provide temporary shelter from another approaching storm. “How far are we from Briarwood?”
“A day’s ride,” Sam said with a shrug. “The cart wasn’t made for long journeys. Just be glad I got you this far.”
“We’re grateful. And be mindful of those ruts.”
“I will,” Sam said, climbing up into his seat. He gave us a little wave and then he was off, a white blot on a dirt road.
After he left, I laid a shawl on the grass and sat down. I was tired and hungry. Jon sat down beside me, clutching the bundle with the sari close to his chest. “I suppose we should have brought food.”
I waved his concerns aside. “That’s all right. I’m used to skipping meals.”
“That’s no excuse.”
“Make of it what you will.” I leaned my head against the tree and closed my eyes. “Wake me when we’re there.”
“I’m terribly sorry about all this,” he began, sounding sorrier than he’d probably been in his life. “Especially about Grandfather.”
“Promise you won’t leave me alone with him.”
“I promise.”
I opened one eye. “Pinky swears?”
“What’s that?”
“Something your grandfather is fond of.”
“I can write it in my blood.”
“Ew.”
“Tell me about your brother,” he said, startling me. My eyes flew open. “Or your father. Whichever you prefer.”
“You would have liked Joshua. He loved England.”
“How old was he when he died?”
“Twenty-five.”
“What was he like?”
“He could be annoying. But he was loyal to a fault. Reckless, too.”
Jon smiled. “Sounds like a brother.”
“What are your sisters like?”
He made a face. “Loud. They’re like clucking hens. I had to soundproof my room.”
“How did you do that?”
“I nailed corkboard all over the walls. When I left home, it was the happiest day of my life.”
“It wasn’t!” I laughed.
He nodded. “Was too. They’re always giggling and gossiping. A man can’t get a bit of rest. My father is beside himself trying to marry them off.”
“Eileen is much the same way. Though she tends to be discreet.”
“Not my sisters. They don’t care who hears them.”
Chuckling, we exchanged anecdotes and decided Jon had drawn the worst of the lot. “Last Christmas, they pitched a screaming fit after I gave them the wrong perfume.”
“What was wrong with it?”
“It wasn’t French.”
“French perfume is overrated,” I assured him, brushing grass off my skirt. “I remember the last gift Joshua gave me. A tiny bottle of rose water.”
“That was nice.”
“Was it? I later found out he gave it to me after his sweetheart rejected it.”
“Ouch.”
“At least he had the courtesy to wrap it in different paper.”
“I always wanted a brother,” Jon lamented, standing up to take a survey of the land. He shielded his eyes against the sun, muttering about the lack of good manners. “I don’t know about this,” he said, turning to me. “We may have to find our own transportation.”
“I’m not moving from this spot,” I informed him crisply. “I can’t feel my legs.” To prove my point, I wiggled my foot. “And my feet are swollen.”
“How bad?”
“Bad enough to warrant removing my boots.”
“Then we wait. Though I don’t know about this weather.”
“We’re fortunate it’s not the dead of winter.”
“Does it have to be? English summers can be just as deadly.”
“Do tell.”
“Over a hot toddy and a blazing hearth,” he said, settling down beside me. He wore a worried look that could not be solely attributed to the sari. “We’re not safe out here at any rate.” To my horror, he produced a small pistol from within the folds of his jacket. “Don’t look so surprised, Mrs. Powell. We all carry them.”
“Scotland Yard, you mean?”
“No, gentlemen trying to evade well-heeled Pinkertons.”
“Why is he doing this? What’s in it for him?”
“Glory and bragging rights,” he sighed tiredly, stretching out his long legs. He removed his hat and set it beside him. “His record is unmatched. I suppose this is just a feather in his bowler.”
“And Anjuli’s brother? What does he get out of all this? The sari cannot be worth that much.”
Jon eyed me shrewdly. “The sari is worth a fortune.”
“What?” I cried, nearly toppling over. “How?”
“Ever hear of the Battle of Seringapatam?”
“No.”
“Well, Grandfather knows more about it than I do.” At my questioning look, he shrugged. “Anjuli’s great-uncle brought back a few souvenirs. Some of which were sewn into the lining and used in the intricate beadwork.”
“Wouldn’t that have made it heavy?”
“Grandfather removed most of the jewels but left the smaller stones. They’re in a safe at an undisclosed location.”
“And that’s why Anjuli’s brother is so determined to retrieve the sari?”
“Partly. He sees it as his birthright. When Anjuli died, everyone and their mother sought out the sari. I suspect Mr. Anderson has been promised a fat piece of the pie.”
“This is great. A curse and ill-gotten jewels. How did I get mixed up in this?”
Jon blessed me with one of his knowing looks.
“What made you answer the advertisement?”
“I told you!” I cried. “I was tired of wringing acres of scalding laundry!” I flexed my scarred hands. “My hands bled.”
“Well, just think of it this way. After all this is over, you’ll never have to wring laundry again.”
“Oh…?”
“Certainly.”
“What makes you so certain? Don’t tell me you can see into the future.”
“No,” he laughed, his teeth white against his impeccable mustache. “We’ll hire someone to do the laundry.”
“‘We’?”
“Yes. We’ll have to, you know. I’ve unlaced your corset and slept in close quarters with you. Might as well make it legal.”
“Are you asking me?”
“Asking you?” he scoffed. “Don’t be silly. I never ask.”
“Then how do you know I’ll go along with it?”
He pointed as I gazed down in horror. Several buttons had torn off my bodice where the lace on my chemise was clearly visible. With a shocked gasp, I jerked the opening closed. “How dare you!”
“Me?” He tapped his temple with a rakish grin. “I’ve seen too much. Might as well make an honest woman of you.”
“I beg your pardon?” I sniffed, frantically searching my bag for safety pins. I only found one and pinned my bodice closed. “Just remember, I shall be a reluctant bride, Mr. Powell.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it, Mrs. Powell. Truly.”
