“Do you want to leave your uncle? I promised to help you if?—”
“No! No, my uncle will find me, and while he might not kill me, he will punish me. He, he does not know that I don’t— He thinks I want to be just like him.”
By now, the new team was hitched. Kirby took off his hat and removed a few coins from a purse inside it to pay. He then got on the left-side horse and asked, “Are you going home, to Hunsford, from where they took you?”
Darcy nodded, intending nothing of the sort.
“Then you need to be gone from here as soon as you can,” Kirby said, in a voice that was far too old and serious for a boy of twelve. “I won’t tell them I left you in Dartford, but my uncle will follow the route back and speak to every toll keeper.”
“Thank you, Master Kirby,” Darcy said, touching his hat as he led Elizabeth away.
“Sir?” Darcy turned back. Kirby adjusted his grip on the reins, not looking at him, and muttered, “Fitzwilliam Darcy, number eight Charles Street?”
Darcy gave a small smile. “Near Berkeley Square, whenever you are ready.” He dearly hoped the boy would escape his uncle and the violent life laid before him.
Chapter Twelve
Kirby left through the gate, and before Darcy could speak with Elizabeth, the innkeeper and a porter came out. The porter watched the carriage leave and then looked around in confusion at their having not a single trunk.
“A mishap,” Elizabeth said with a disarming smile. “The servants and trunks were loaded onto the wrong carriage and are hours behind us. We have not a thing with us.”
He gave her an odd look as he touched his hat and went back inside.
“I am Mr Skillman,” the innkeeper said, stifling a yawn. “It is gone two by now. What are you doing travelling so late? Did you have to wait for horses somewhere along the way?”
This was asked pleasantly, and Darcy wished he and Elizabeth had sorted out a story.
“A series of delays and misadventures,” he said. “Have we missed the night stage?”
Mr Skillman looked surprised. “By several hours, but I have a room.”
Darcy thought of the mere eight shillings they had. “Then I suppose we must stay the night. Have you anyone who can carry a message?”
Mr Skillman had been leading them to the door, and he turned back with a bewildered expression. “Now?”
Darcy felt Elizabeth press a hand to his arm. He did not have the influence, the reputation, or the coin to assert what he needed. It was the middle of the night, on Sunday when no one of character travelled, and he did not have the money to pay outrageously for the privilege of sending an express now.
“First thing in the morning, then,” he said. “I need a messenger to go to Hunsford, near Westerham. I expect someone to send a carriage for us tomorrow.”
The innkeeper gave a brisk nod. “Three pence per mile for the horse and four pence per mile for the postboy to deliver your message.”
They would have just enough left to pay for a room and some food until Fitzwilliam could come for them.
They entered the hall, and in the lamplight, Darcy saw Steamer’s blood on his gloves. He stuffed them into his pockets. He gestured to Elizabeth to do the same, but she kept her hands clasped behind her. He wished she would take them off; the last thing they needed was to appear like criminals.
“If your own carriage does not come,” Mr Skillman went on, “the coaches travel the London-Dover road, and I can book you on Monday. White Horse, Fetter Lane, if you are going to town.”
The innkeeper had a quill poised over his book. They did not have the money to go half that far, or the money for two nights in this inn. “We only need the room and meals.”
“And to bathe,” added Elizabeth.
Darcy held back a smile. “And water for the lady. I am afraid we are without a single thing for our toilette, so whatever you can provide would be appreciated.” If they did not use many candles, they should have enough to pay for it all.
“Very good, sir.” He came around the counter to the stairs. “My wife will see to it all in the morning. How shall we address you?”
Darcy widened his eyes. He could not use his own name, not with Markle soon to be looking for them. His mind was a blank slate.
“Gardiner,” said Elizabeth, putting a hand around his arm. “Mr and Mrs Gardiner.”
