‘What’s your name? Yourrealname?’ Her head shot up as Nelson joyfully leapt to his feet, throwing himself at his master who was standing in the doorway. Absently, Anthony reached down to pet the dog, but his eyes never left hers. She wiped the sleep from her face with her sleeve and sought to get her thoughts in order.
‘Georgiana,’ she whispered finally. He stood for a second longer, then sighed and turned away.
‘Get dressed,’ was all he said, his voice brusque and cold.
Feeling sick, unable to stop her trembling, George pulled on her britches and tucked her shirt inside. There was no point in rebinding her breasts. That ship had already sailed. Finally, after scrubbing at her face with her fingers, she hesitantly made her way into the kitchen.
The outside door was open, and he was leaning against the door frame looking out over the wilderness that had once been a kitchen garden. He didn’t turn as she came in. ‘What the bloody hell am I to do with you?’ He muttered. George had no answer to give him that would possibly make things any better, so she stood in silence, wiping her sweating palms on her britches.
After another five minutes, he finally turned round. His face was impassive, giving nothing of his thoughts away. ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked indicating the bread and preserves already on the table. She shook her head. ‘Well, sit anyway,’ he continued. ‘We might as well be comfortable as we talk.’ George was about as far from comfortable as she could possibly get, but she pulled out the chair and obediently sat on it, twisting her fingers in her lap.
‘If I ask you why, will you tell me the truth?’ Anthony asked levelly. George paused, staring down at her hands, then she looked over at him and nodded. What had she got to lose?
It took nearly an hour for her to tell her story in its entirety, and throughout the telling, Anthony said nothing, simply allowing her to speak. When she finally got to the part where she missed the stagecoach to Plymouth, she trailed off and shrugged, her throat hoarse from speaking.
For a moment he was silent, then, ‘Did you steal the coins?’ She opened her mouth to offer an indignant retort, but he held up his hand. ‘If you lie to me again, I swear I’ll take you to the workhouse myself.’ His voice was hard, his expression grim, and George knew he meant every word.
She swallowed and shook her head. ‘I don’t know who the lady was,’ she whispered, but she offered me the three guineas. A-at first, I was afeared to take ‘em.’ Her voice grew stronger. ‘I’ve heard of so-calledladiescombing the streets for the likes o’ me, promisin’ hot food an’ a bed, all the while hopin’ to make a bloody profit from sellin’ us to the ‘ighest bidder.’
‘Don’t swear,’ Anthony commented, almost absently, before nodding at her to continue.
George took a deep breath. ‘The lady took ‘old of me ‘and put the coin right in the middle o’ me palm and closed me fingers o’er it. Just like this.’ She mimed the actions. ‘Then after ‘avin’ a quick look round, she jus’ walked away.’
‘What happened then?’
George shrugged. ‘Well, I weren’t goin’ to ‘ang around and wait to get bloody robbed. Who knows wot cutpurse might ‘ave been watchin’. So, I legged it.’ She looked down at her lap. ‘Saved me life that woman did. I ‘ad enough to get me some togs and fill me belly. The rest I saved for when I got to Plymouth.’
‘Do you want to continue your journey to Plymouth?’ Anthony quizzed, his voice short. George shook her head. ‘No, never,’ she declared vehemently. Then she swallowed and blurted, ‘I want to stay ‘ere wi you and Nelson.’
Anthony leant back and ran his fingers through his unruly hair. ‘You know I’m an ‘ard worker,’ George continued, ‘an I swear I’ll never tell you a plumper ever again.’ She watched him close his eyes, uncertainty etched in the tenseness of his mouth. She felt as though he was a bloody judge, deciding whether to send her to the gallows.
But then his eyes opened, and she knew. Sheknewhe wasn’t going to send her away.
‘I think for the time being while there are only the two of us in the house, you should continue dressing as a lad,’ he decided. He paused before adding ruefully, ‘I think Mrs. Parsons would likely have an apoplexy if she should come upon you in a dress.’
George simply nodded, not trusting herself to speak lest she burst into relieved tears.
‘I have no need of a female servant in any case,’ he continued, ‘but once the repairs are complete and I begin hiring staff, if you still wish to stay, that’s when you will reinvent yourself as Georgiana and apply for the position of…’ he hesitated, trying to think of another role his erstwhile labourer might be suited for. In the end, he shook his head and shrugged… ‘Whatever position I think is suitable at the time.’
‘You won’t regret it, I promise,’ George vowed.
‘As soon as you’ve eaten, you’d better go and … do whatever it is you do to hide your … err… femaleness.’ Anthony waved vaguely towards her chest area while focusing determinedly on helping himself to preserves.
‘I will,’ George responded, feeling as though she’d just been handed the moon. Then, suddenly finding her appetite, she helped herself to bread, adding, ‘And no one’ll ever know.’
Chapter Nine
‘Well, wot the bloody ‘ell wos that all about?’ Harry shook his head and glanced towards the window, watching the stranger’s carriage depart.’
The Reverend fought to keep his face impassive, while inside he was frantically wondering what the devil he should do. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he managed nonchalantly at length. Picking up his tankard, he took another sip of his ale.
‘A bloody girl dressed as a lad? I’ve never heard the like.’
‘Bag o’ moonshine if you ask me.’
I ain’t seen no chit in britches or otherwise.’
‘Wot you goin’ ter do, revren?’
