Ah, there was nothing to be done about it now. And when had she become such a ninny? As a girl, she’d been fearless. The apple trees in her grandfather’s yard had posed little challenge to her abilities. She’d scamper up onto a branch and pounce on her brother as he rambled by, preoccupied by his fascination with all things possessing roots and leaves. He’d gone on to become a botanist of some renown, while she…well, she was hovering like a mad woman over the pavement outside a stranger’s house. Too skittish to let go. Yet too desperate to find her niece to stay with her supposed benefactor a moment longer.
Drat it all, there could not possibly be more than ten feet between her and the ground. But she couldn’t afford to break an ankle or twist her shin. A small strip of grass filled the gap between the house and the street. If she aimed for that spot, she’d most likely land unscathed.
From the room beyond the window, the men’s voices drifted to her ears. Muffled. Blurred by walls and doors. They weren’t in the chamber yet. But they were near.
Near enough to stop her if she didn’t cast aside her trepidation.
The inner door creaked open. Heavy footsteps pounded the floor despite the plush rugs laid over the wood planks. Bollocks! The curses she’d picked up in London increasingly found the tip of her tongue.
Summoning her courage, she pulled in a breath. She cast a glance to the night sky. Another sip of air, and she muttered an ineloquent plea to the heavens. With a whoosh, she plummeted to the ground.
The air she’d just inhaled rushed from her body. The jolt rippled from the soles of her shoes to her shins. Up the length of her legs. Along her spine. No pain. Simply the shock of impact. Thank heavens she’d managed to drop onto the grass and not the unforgiving stones.
Leaning out the window, the physician peered down at her. A scowl turned his full mouth down.
“Have you gone mad?” he called to her.
Not bothering to reply to his impertinent inquiry, she snatched up the satchel she’d tossed out the window before making her unconventional exit. The case seemed none the worse for its mistreatment. Her aim had been sound as she’d hurled it onto a small, neatly trimmed shrub that had cushioned its landing.
She dashed along the pavement, thankful she was on a street in a city and not stranded in some remote hideaway.
But where could she go at this hour? Any respectable inn would turn her away. No woman of quality would roam the streets after midnight.
If only she’d remembered her cloak. In seizing her moment of opportunity, she hadn’t thought to locate the heavy cape. Cool air nipped at her cheeks and sliced through her garments. Even the stout wool of her skirt did little to ease the chill of the Highland night.
Wrapping her arms over her chest, she hurried along the street. No doubt she’d be followed, and soon enough. She’d have to find a place to hide until the immediate threat passed. Gas lamps provided ample illumination, both a blessing and a curse. While she certainly needed them to find her way through this unfamiliar city, the light would also provide the Scotsmen with a resource to spot her in the night.
The physician—Harrison MacMasters, if her fuzzy brain recalled correctly—resided on a street lined with impeccably kept brick town houses, some bearing signs indicating their use in a profession, while others were utilized as residences. Forcing her feet to move at something swifter than a snail’s pace, Johanna turned the corner and came upon a house cloaked in shadows. Dark. Desolate as something conjured in a child’s nightmare. Or the troubled dreams of a twenty-five-year-old woman who’d crossed an ocean to care for her dying sister and darling niece.
The child’s chestnut curls and keen brown eyes flashed into her thoughts. Laurel was precocious. Excited by life. Eager to learn. Utterly irrepressible, even when she had been faced with the reality of her mother’s death and her father’s all-too-frequent absences. The girl had taken to Johanna with a fierce devotion, as though she’d recognized a kindred spirit.
Misery whipped through Johanna at the thought, but there was no time to wallow in the pain of missing her niece’s impish smile, with its radiance that would cheer the surliest of curmudgeons.
No, there was not one moment to waste. She had to get to her niece. How frightened the child must be. Did she know her father’s fate? Or had the scoundrels who held her as a pawn spared the girl that horrible truth? Johanna could only pray that was the case.
With a tiptoe-soft stride, she crept across the trimmed lawn and concealed herself in the shadows. Please, dear God, don’t let the residents have a dog. Nothing with fangs. And nothing that barked. Even a perturbed cat’s meow might alert anyone who pursued her. Heaven knew the cat she’d left with dear friends in London could rouse a mummy from its slumber.
Something scampered by her feet. Pressing her knuckles to her mouth, she swallowed a cry. She glanced down, seeing no sign of the creature, whatever it was. An owl’s screech unleashed goose bumps over her arms. If only she could stop worrying about what might be slinking through the darkness, in biting range of her leather-clad toes and ankles.
Snap! A twig cracked. Behind her, in the darkness beyond the gaslight’s reach. Low. So close to the ground, surely a night creature was the culprit.