She approached the window and peered down into the yard. Mr. Beard waited in the carriage for her, bundled in his coat against the cold. His thick, work-roughened hands anxiously worried the reins. He, too, was eager to be on his way and she was fairly certain that it had everything to do with the Widow McPherson. Mr. Beard and the widow had grown close since Mr. McPherson passed away. The only thing stopping them from growing closer was Alyse.
Turning, Alyse studied the small, slope-ceiling room a final time. She had shared this chamber with the Beard children for a long time. When she first came to live here at the tender age of ten and five still raw with the grief from losing Papa, there had been six boisterous children all clamoring for her attention and care. She had been responsible for them whilst Mr. Beard worked his farm.
Only three of the children still lived here and they were scarcely children anymore. The boys worked the farm with their father. They could tend to themselves now. The rest had married and left.
She’d served her purpose. She was no longer needed here. Her purpose would be her own from here on.
Alyse exhaled, feeling much lighter than she had in years. This was it then. She was almost free. Only one more thing left to do.
She lifted her small valise, which held all her belongings in the world. A nightgown. Two spare dresses. A mother-of-pearl comb, brush and mirror set that had once belonged to her mother. Her late father’s pocket watch. Her parents’ wedding bands. A few hair ribbons. And her family’s Bible that held a record of her family history. It was all that was left to mark the Bell family tree—the only thing that proved any of them had even existed. Well, and Alyse.
Turning away from the small gabled window, she left the room and descended the narrow, uneven steps.
Nellie waited below, bouncing a baby on her hip and armed with the same question she’d pelted at Alyse all week. “Are ye certain about this?”
“Yes,” she insisted. “This was always the agreement between me and your father.”
Nellie scowled. “That doesn’t make it right.”
Doing this thing today, as awful as it seemed . . . was the only way she was going to make everything right in her life.
She’d worked toward this moment. When life had been its most challenging—and caring for six boisterous children all day definitely qualified—she’d endured. She’d donned a smile. She persisted. Because she knew this day would come. Freedom would be hers.
She covered Nellie’s hand with her own and gave it a squeeze. Nellie’s young daughter leaned in and swiped at Alyse’s hair, mussing her hard-won coiffure.
When she’d first joined the Beard household, Nellie had despised Alyse and resented her presence. The late Mrs. Beard had passed away a few months before and the last thing Nellie had wanted was someone taking her mother’s place. Reprisals had been swift. A frog in Alyse’s boot. Her hair whacked off while she slept. Her good Sunday dress ruined. She’d quickly hidden her few valuables for fear that Nellie would destroy them.
It warmed Alyse’s heart to think how time had changed all of that. Nellie was like a little sister to her now even though she had married and lived on the other side of the village with her growing family.
“Yardley will be there,” she told Nellie with assurance.
Nellie snorted and rubbed at her swollen stomach. “Yardley.” She rolled her eyes. “Wot do ye know of him truly, Alyse?”
“We were very good friends as children.” They grew up together and had been inseparable, running about Collie-Ben and the surrounding countryside. Papa was not yet ill when Yardley left and joined the navy. As children, they had exchanged promises. He would return for her.
They wrote to each other. He told her of his travels. She told him of the marriage Papa arranged for her with Mr. Beard. It did not deter him. He still promised to come for her and he had.
They would be together. Share a life. Live in London. He would apprentice for his father’s cousin, a poulter, in Seven Dials. She would find work as a seamstress or even a maid. They’d have a life together and be free. That was the most important thing.
They’d planned for this day and it was finally here. Mr. Beard had agreed.
“Aye.” Nellie looked unimpressed. “A lifetime ago. He was a boy then. He’s been at sea for a long time. People change.”
“We have an agreement,” Alyse insisted.
“’E’s only been ’ome a few weeks. Ye don’t know the man ’e is now and yer willing tae tie yourself tae ’im.” She shook her head. “I wouldn’t do it were I ye.”
Alyse resisted pointing out that her choices were limited. Yardley was her best option. Her only choice.
Choices were everything. Up until now, her life had been without any. Choosing Yardley equaled freedom. She was taking matters into her own hands. She would have a choice in this. Her fate would not be left to others.
Yardley would take her away from here. She’d finally see the world and live outside this little hamlet.
“Don’t fret for me. All will be well, Nellie. You will see.”
Nellie’s scowl only deepened. “I ’ope yer right. Ye deserve good things.”
Alyse hugged the girl then. Woman, she amended, as she felt Nellie’s stomach between them. The girl she had a hand in raising was about to become a mother for the second time.
Alyse was definitely overdue to live her own life. Fortunately, Mr. Beard agreed and wouldn’t stand in her way.
As though Nellie could read her thoughts, she spoke near Alyse’s ear, “Careful ye are no’ exchanging one prison fer another . . .”
She pulled back. “Will you come to the market and see me off?”
Nellie shook her head. “Nay. I cannot watch it.” She sniffed and blinked eyes that suddenly gleamed with moisture. “Unless ye want me tae. If ye insist, I’ll go fer ye—”
“Nay. Go home.”
“Ye’ll be sure tae write?” Nellie asked, her wide eyes a little desperate. “I canna bear not knowing—”
“I will. I will regale you with all my adventures away from here.”
Nellie smiled uncertainly. “Aye.” She nodded. “I ’ope so. Now off wi’ ye.”
Alyse nodded back. “Yes. I don’t want to keep Yardley waiting.”
Opening the door, she stepped outside and lifted her face to the cold morning sunshine. Yardley had waited long enough.
They both had.
Chapter 2
In which the dove prepares for freedom . . .
The village bustled at full capacity. Market day always brought people in from surrounding areas. Carriages clogged the lane. Alyse could probably stretch out an arm and touch the carriage seat of a very agitated-looking man driving a cart of potatoes next to them. Vendors hawked their wares. Children ran and screeched as they wove between bodies and between horses. Women gossiped over bolts of fabric. Men discussed the future harvest over barrels of ale and mulled wine.
As they crawled forward, Alyse risked a glance beside her. Mr. Beard stared stoically forward. Nothing too unusual about that. In seven years, they’d had few conversations. Discussions only ever had to do with chores or the children.
She scanned the faces they passed, searching for Yardley.
Of course, she didn’t see him. She gave herself a mental shake and wiped her suddenly sweating palms on the knees of her dress. Naturally, he would be waiting in the square. Waiting for her as he promised.
Mr. Beard took them as far as he could—until the lane ended. He pulled to a stop. His knees creaked as he climbed down, tied off the horses and rounded the back of the cart. Reaching her side, he held out a hand for her to descend.
Accepting his work-roughened paw, she climbed down, wincing at the sight of her well-worn boots. The toes were practically worn through. The bite of cold penetrated her wool-covered toes, sinking deep, directly into bone.
At least she and Yardley would be traveling south. It shouldn’t be so cold. Perhaps the boots could last her a bit longer. Until she and Yardley were both settled and working and able to buy her new boots.
Mr. Beard lifted her valise and took her by the elbow, leading her through the press of bodies.