“We can’t afford to take a hackney any more than we can afford to be away from the estate for too long.” Her father held the purse strings with a tight fist, and while he had grudgingly doled out a small amount for her trip to London, the estate would suffer without her and Gellman’s help. Her stomach dropped just thinking about how far behind she would be on the spring cleaning once she had returned home.
“You’re not his land steward. You’re his daughter. I don’t understand why you don’t just use the money—”
“—No, absolutely not.” She looked around as if one of the Londoners that crowded the streets was eavesdropping. Other than a few curious looks from those passing by, nobody paid them much mind. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. Her heart rushed at the very idea of using the funds she had gained by illegal means. She was an honest person by nature, and the secret she was forced to keep weighed heavily on her conscience. If anyone—most especially her father ever found out that she was the mysterious Mr. Zander of the Zander Trading Company, she’d be arrested, or worse, hanged. More than her freedom was at stake. She had made a promise to all those involved in the scheme, and she was a woman of her word. “We must keep to our plan. My father’s health is deteriorating and soon he will be gone.”
Shame washed over her at the thought. She didn’t wish her father dead, but he was a troublesome man at the best of times. Nor could she afford for her cousin to get hold of the estate books. Of course, her father guarded them like a lifeline, and refused to let anyone look at them. His greediness benefited everyone all around, thus she had a vested interested in maintaining the status quo.
“Perhaps you should simply tell Mr. Farnsworth and let him handle the estate. It is his inheritance,” he grumbled.
She had considered that option multiple times; even more so of late. As much as she resented Farnsworth for inheriting her beloved home simply because he was born a man, she was tired of trying to juggle the never-ending repairs. “I only wish I could. You and I both know that’s not possible, not yet. There is too much at stake right now. Soon my father will be gone, and the charade we have been living will be over. Until that time, it is imperative that we keep things as they are.”
She raised pleading eyes to his, and after a telling moment, his face softened. He gave her a curt nod. “I suggest we keep moving. There are some unsavory types here,” he said, glancing about with suspicion.
Elizabeth walked faster and tried to ignore the stench of excrement and coal smoke. She was used to the fresh air of the country and the quiet. London was alive with noise, a city full of life. It energized her in a way she hadn’t expected. “According to the map, we need to cross up there,” she said, pointing to a corner two blocks away.
The noise level increased the closer they approached, and the smell seemed to get stronger. She cursed the fact that she hadn’t thought to bring a perfumed handkerchief to block the stench. The muddy thoroughfare was packed full of vehicles of all shapes and sizes; heavy dray wagons, elegant coaches and mounted horsemen all vying for room on the street.
Wrinkling her nose at the vile odors, she waited for a slight break in the traffic before stepping over yet another pile of refuse. Her leg, weakened from an accident in her youth, buckled and she stumbled before righting herself. She heard a frantic shout of warning from a hackney bearing down on her, the red-faced driver yelling for her to move. She wasted no time in picking up her skirt and scurrying out of the way of the carriage as it flew by, but she lost her walking shoe.
“No, no, no,” she chanted as she saw the rear wheel of the manure cart that followed the hackney run over the footwear. The shoes had belonged to her deceased mother; one of the few items still held in her possession. Dismayed, she bit her lip, determined to salvage the shoe. She darted her hand out and snatched it to her chest.
Elizabeth caught a flash of a shod hoof from the corner of her eye and panic set in. She stood, and cradling the shoe, she backed out of the way of the prancing horse.
The gentleman seated atop the flighty beast was having a hard time controlling the high-strung animal, and her sudden movement sent the bay into a frenzy. Her heart leapt into her throat at the destruction she had wrought.
The horse bucked wildly, the sharp back hoofs clipping the door of a passing carriage, before it spun around in a tight circle. The unfortunate rider lost his seat and landed face first in the manure cart.
Hysterical laughter spilled forth. The outraged driver of the elegant carriage took little mercy on the man. He started yelling profanities at the hapless horseman, while the driver of the wagon behind him was trying to control his own animals, which were reacting negatively to the panic of the bay. The bay kicked and heaved its way between the vehicles to the other side of the street and the once hustling traffic came to a grinding halt.
More frightening still, the horse had changed direction and was heading right toward her.
Chapter Four
The chaos on the street pulled Langdon into action. Mrs. Adare stood in the middle of the road, one shoe clutched to her chest. Pounding hoofs from a charging bay horse sent his own feet flying. He stepped in front of her and waved his hands at the hysterical horse.
For a split second, he thought he was about to be run down when the horse hunched its mighty flanks at the last minute. Its metal shoes grated against the slick cobblestones, and a breathless second later, it came to a quivering halt right at Langdon’s feet. He grabbed the reins of the distressed horse, and gently patted its heaving neck.
“Langdon, that was most foolhardy of you. You could have been killed.”
“Mrs. Adare!” A short, barrel-chested man came up behind her, his face pale. “Are you hurt?”
Elizabeth inspected the ruined shoe in her hand and inhaled, the brown redingote tightening across her bosom. “I am fine, Gellman, but I am afraid my shoe is ruined.”
Langdon shared a grim look with Gellman. “Better the shoe than you, Mrs. Adare.”
