Directly across the road from the Meredith House, a carter was busy selling cider and hot buns, attracting the attention of numerous passersby. I carefully studied each person who stopped, hoping that one would be the magistrate, making a quick stop before crossing the street to the inn. As another patron swapped coin for bread and drink, my eye was distracted by something right below the window. Glancing down, I saw the leering face of Fletcher’s redheaded henchman. The demon smiled at me, tipping his hat before I could gather my wits and move out of sight.
Pressed hard against the wall and half buried in the thick damask draperies, my mind raced for answers. In a city of almost ten thousand people, chance alone had not brought him to my window. Which left two very unsettling questions: how did he know where to find me and to what purpose?
A minute later there were footsteps outside my door, proceeded by a series of light taps. I froze like a frightened rabbit at the prospect of receiving Dirk Fletcher’s regards. Surely, the demon wouldn’t have the nerve to enter the inn as bold as brass, and come up to my room? One scream would bring at least a dozen people running to my rescue. There were a few more knocks, louder this time, followed by Ben’s muffled voice.
“Are you ready, Miss Kilbrid?” he asked.
Ready indeed! Delighted by Ben’s voice, I bolted to the door and threw it open. “Yes, please come in,” I said, a little too cheery considering the hour and circumstances.
Ben gave me a curious look as he stepped into the room, closely followed by an older gentleman in black wool breeches and coat. Henry came in last, and my heart skipped ahead before it could be properly subdued.
“Miss Kilbrid,” Ben said, drawing my attention from Henry. “May I introduce the magistrate, Mr. Martin Jones.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Jones,” I said with a small curtsy.
“And, you, Miss Kilbrid,” the magistrate replied. “I have already been acquainted with your cousin. Do you wish to proceed directly with the wedding?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” I said, stealing another glance at Henry, but his face was closely banked, leaving me to guess at his thoughts.
I led the way over to the table where the magistrate began pulling items out of a large leather bag. With quills, ink and parchment in place, he took a seat and motioned for Henry and me to stand in front of him. “Ben has explained your desire to be married quickly and discreetly.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, smiling sweetly to mask my rampant guilt.
Mr. Jones didn’t seem too interested in the details of our plight. In bold, neat strokes he started to fill in the marriage certificate. June 1st, 1730, he wrote, and right below this, Philadelphia County of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.
“Kilbrid,” I heard him mumble when he reached the place for our names. “I used to know a prominent merchant by that name. He left Philadelphia twenty years ago to start a farm near Hopewell. Is he a relation of yours, Miss Kilbrid?”
“Yes, sir. He was my father, but recently passed away.”
“Were there any other heirs?” he asked, not bothering with condolences.
“No, sir.” There was no use getting into the details of my older brother.
“I see,” the magistrate said, and then looked directly at Henry. “From what I hear, Mr. Jonathan Kilbrid was one of the wealthiest men in the colony. You stand to inherit a large fortune from this marriage.”
Thanks a fat lot! So glad you could clear that up for him. My smile faltered as I debated kicking the man in the shins.
“How exactly are you related?” Mr. Jones continued.
“I am Miss Kilbrid’s second cousin once removed,” Henry said quite smoothly. “Mr. Kilbrid arranged the marriage before his death.”
Mr. Jones frowned. “How very timely for you.” He put down the quill and leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms in front. “I now see why you wish to keep this elopement secret. Certainly I will do my best to bury the information as we agreed, but considering the fortune involved, a mere whiff of impropriety could set people talking for months. I am afraid Philadelphia can be a difficult city for secrets.”
“We’ll double the fee if that makes it any easier,” Ben said from behind me.
“You are most generous.” The magistrate looked over my shoulder at Ben. “Yes, I believe that should cover any additional safeguards.” He picked up the quill and returned his attention back to the certificate. “Please state your full names and dates of birth.”
“Selah Elizabeth Kilbrid,” I said. “February 2, 1712.”
“Very good,” he said, filling in the space. “And you, sir?”
There was a brief pause, and I glanced over at Henry, praying he hadn’t forgotten this information from yesterday.
“Henry Samuel Kilbrid,” he said after a few more seconds had passed. “August 16, 1710.”
My brows arched in surprise. Ben gave a small cough like he was clearing his throat as the magistrate hurriedly scratched the quill across the parchment. Henry kept his eyes straight ahead. Other than a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, there was no indication he had just changed my cousin’s first name and date of birth.
“Very good,” Mr. Jones said once all the spaces were properly filled. “Ben requested the most basic vows.”