“W’ot?”
“I don’t need a chaperone if I’m a servant.” Women in this society’s lower tiers could move about the streets freely.
“But ye’re not a servant. Not anymore.”
“Yes, I am. I’ve just demoted myself. C’mon, Molly.” She grabbed the tweeny’s arm and steered her to the stairs. “You and I are going to change clothes.”
“Nay, Miss!”
“Yes.” She forced her into her bedchamber and turned around. “Come on, Molly, hurry. Unbutton me, then I’ll unbutton you.”
Molly reluctantly obeyed Kendra’s commands. She helped Kendra into the simple blue dress and white apron but stubbornly refused to put on Kendra’s gown, setting her jaw and shaking her head.
“’Ow are ye gonna get there, Miss?” Molly asked. “’Is Grace took ’is carriage to church.”
Kendra was trying to figure out what to do with the flintlocks. Carrying them out in the open didn’t seem like a good idea. “I’ll hire a hackney,” she said absently, but then it occurred to her that she had no money. “Goddamn it. How much will that cost?”
“Oi dunno, Miss. Oi’ve never ’ired an ’ackney before.”
Kendra pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. Why was everything in this era so damn difficult? She swiped Molly’s mop cap off her head and left the near-naked tweeny to her own devices, retracing her footsteps to the servants’ quarters. The remaining staff stared at her, but she managed to procure a wicker basket in which to hide the pistols and a handful of coins.
She hesitated on the stairs. The note could be a trap, as even Molly had noted. But what could possibly happen to her in the middle of Piccadilly, a thoroughfare as busy today as it was in her own time? Then again, she’d been kidnapped in broad daylight right off the streets of Grosvenor Square.
“Hey—you.” She pointed at the young footman who’d assisted her with the guns.
He swallowed hard. “Yes, Miss?”
“Can you go to Bow Street and find Sam Kelly? Tell him to meet me at the Crown Tavern on Piccadilly?”
“You want me ter find the Runner and tell ’im ter meet you at the Crown on Piccadilly?”
“Yes.”
“Is that all, Miss?”
“No. Tell him to hurry.”
She looped her arm through the basket, picked up her skirts, and raced up the stairs.
28
Eva Cooper swept up the stairs of the Duke’s palatial mansion, and just for a moment she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to be a Lady. It wasn’t all that difficult to weave a fantasy, not with the elegant green velvet cloak falling off her shoulders, swirling like green mist around her skirts. The fine fabric made her feel special. Regal, even.
She’d been a lady’s maid now for more than a decade, having begun as an upstairs maid in a marquis’s great household in Kent. She’d acted as a lady’s maid when they’d needed extra hands during their house parties. But Miss Franks, the Marchioness’s personal maid, wasn’t going anywhere, Eva knew, so she’d ventured to London to hire herself out as a lady’s maid. She’d done well, finding herself in the rarified circles of the Ton. Her current position in the Duke of Aldridge’s household, working for someone like Lady Atwood, was her most auspicious employment yet.
As she crossed the foyer, she caught one of the footman’s eyes on her. Her instinct was to admonish him for staring so rudely. But she was feeling uncommonly content, and so merely raised her eyebrows at him in a reproving gesture as she moved past to the grand staircase. She knew that Lady Atwood and the Duke were still at church, otherwise she would never have been so bold as to ascend this particular staircase. She was a lady’s maid, which put her above most of the staff, except for the butler and housekeeper—though Eva really considered herself on the same level as Mrs. Danbury—but she was still required to use the servants’ stairs.
Her good humor lasted until she entered Miss Donovan’s bedchamber. There she stopped in shock, her gaze falling on the half-naked tweeny sitting in a chair. And her shock turned to fury when the girl explained that Miss Donovan had dressed in the tweeny’s uniform to meet with some unknown person at a tavern in Piccadilly.
Eva glared at the girl, who reacted by shrinking away from her. “How could you let her go?”
“’Ow could Oi stop ’er?”
“By keeping your clothes on!” she snapped, and pressed a hand to her stomach. How could Miss Donovan do this to her? The Countess had warned her that the American was peculiar, and unpolished in the ways of the Ton. That was why Lady Atwood had hired her, to help rid her of her vulgar tendencies. But this behavior . . . it was too much. She had been mortified, utterly mortified, when the woman had run out of the house the other day like a common trollop. She’d never expected that a duke’s ward would have no sense of propriety or decorum.
Eva swallowed hard. The Countess had blamed her for allowing Miss Donovan to behave in such a way, to be caught by the criminal underworld. Thank heaven the Duke’s nephew had been on hand to rescue her.
But now Eva grew faint with horror at the thought of the Countess learning about the American’s appalling behavior today. To be caught dressed like a tweeny . . . dear heaven, that could spell ruin for them all. Miss Donovan’s disgrace would ripple out like the waters of the River Thames, destroying even Eva’s reputation. Instead of the exclusive circles of society to which she’d grown accustomed, she would be cast off. She’d be fortunate enough to find herself employment as a lady’s maid for the daughter of a merchant.
The very idea sent a shudder through her.
Eva straightened her spine. The Duke and his family still hadn’t returned from their church services. There was time for her to rectify this matter. “Where did Miss Donovan go?”
“Oi already told ye! Piccadilly. The Crown Tavern. What’re ye gonna do?”
But Eva was already out the door, the green cloak fluttering behind her.
29
Kendra was well aware that she was under scrutiny. As the only woman not showing copious amounts of cleavage inside the Crown Tavern, she stood out like a sore thumb. Still, despite her modest servant’s attire, she’d been approached by no less than seven men who’d thought to charm her with their smiles, offering her something more than the coffee cooling in the cup in front of her. After ascertaining that none of the men had sent her the note, Kendra had rebuffed each one of them with a hard stare and little regard for their egos.