“Allow me to give you a hand up.”
Only belatedly did she realize he referred not to helping her inside the coach but rather to the coachman’s bench outside.
“The master is within, you understand.”
After Mr. Hudson had helped her up, he paused to open the coach door and exchange a few words with the man inside. Then he untied the reins and climbed up himself, the coach lurching, then righting itself under his weight.
Margaret had ridden beside her father countless times in his gig, but sitting beside a strange man was far less comfortable. She wondered where the coachman was and why the steward took the reins.
“Have we far to go?” Margaret asked as they rattled down the cobbled street, quickly leaving the busy town center behind.
“Not far. Fairbourne Hall is a mile or so southeast of town.”
Fairbourne Hall? The name rang in her memory, and a queasy feeling stirred her stomach, not entirely caused by the swaying of the coach. It could not be. She must be mistaken. She had never been to the Upchurch country estate, only to the town house they kept in London. Still she believed she remembered both Nathaniel and Lewis Upchurch mentioning their family home. How had she forgotten it was near Maidstone?
And now the master was “within.” Perhaps Mr. Hudson referred to Mr. Upchurch senior. But Margaret was certain James Upchurch was still in Barbados. Of course, she had thought Nathaniel still there as well until the night of the masquerade ball.
She licked dry lips. “May I ask about the man I saw in the coach? Is he all right?”
“He was injured last night when his ship was set on fire.”
“How dreadful.”
He nodded. “I took him to a surgeon after it happened. I didn’t like the looks of the fellow, so after we left you, we spent the night at an inn and saw a physician this morning before we left town. Says he’ll be all right. In fact, I had only stopped in Maidstone to fill the physician’s order for salve when I happened to see you.”
She looked at his bandaged hand. “You were injured as well?”
He shook his head dismissively. “It’s nothing.”
“But you were on the ship too?”
“Yes, though regrettably of no help to him. Mr. Upchurch had to drag me from the burning ship.”
Mr. Upchurch. Her heart thudded. Then it was true. She had just been hired as a maid in the home of two former suitors....
“Good heavens,” she murmured. She could barely take it in. She had planned only a few days ago to seek out Lewis Upchurch privately, perhaps even to brazenly hint they marry. Of course, seeing him so enthralled with another woman had dashed those plans. But she would never want him to see her like this, so bedraggled looking and in such mortifying circumstances.
She very much wanted to ask which Mr. Upchurch he referred to, but knew revealing she was acquainted with the family would put her at risk of discovery. As far as she knew, Lewis was no longer involved in the family business and would not have been the one dealing with Upchurch sugar ships.
Instead she asked, “Had you been overtaken by the smoke?”
“No. Wasn’t the smoke that overtook me, but a crafty scoundrel with a club to my head.”
“No!”
“Yes. You’ve heard of the thief folks call the Poet Pirate?”
“Yes. But I thought he was only a legend.”
“A legend with flesh and bones. And a grudge. Now, I best say no more. Mr. Upchurch would not want me spreading his troubles.”
Margaret remembered what Emily had said at the Valmores’ ball—that Nathaniel looked like a pirate and might be the so-called Poet Pirate himself. Clearly, Emily had been wrong.
Still, Mr. Hudsonmightbe speaking of their father, Margaret thought, somewhat desperately. Perhaps he had returned with Nathaniel and was the man inside the coach. Maybe Lewis and Nathaniel had remained in London. She ventured, “Is this Mr. Upchurch an older man?”
“No. Not unless you call nine-and-twenty old, and I don’t.”
“Oh. You called him master, so I thought...”
