Seated atop the mail coach as it bounced along through the dark night, Madelina adopted a wide-eyed, gawking expression to give the impression that everything she saw seemed amazing and new. In a way, it did. In the past, she’d always taken a private carriage to London, not ridden in on the mail coach.
Nor had she ever ridden in an exterior seat before, but she and Aunt Aubrey had decided her disguise warranted the placement. Madelina wished to appear nothing more than a poor country miss, summoned as a kindness by her wealthier city relations. Besides which, her perch outside ensured she could see and be seen.
The exterior seat also made it impossible to sleep, though Madelina wasn’t supposed to succumb to the need. She and Aunt Aubrey had journeyed quite a way from London before selecting a coach for Madelina to return on. Because of how quickly the girls were snatched upon arrival, Aunt Aubrey suspected they were being selected long before they reached the busy heart of London. That pointed to accomplices at one or more of the stops outside of town. If possible, Madelina meant to spot the blackguards.
Whether her aunt was correct about when the girls were selected for abduction or not, Madelina’s plan hinged on being one of those girls. She would ride in on the mail coach and be taken by the madam’s men. This would permit her to dismantle the vile woman’s operation from the inside.
Then she would go to Jasper and confess what she’d done. Perhaps even apologize for attacking him in his carriage. With irrefutable proof of her skills and value, she would inform him that her work would continue whether he courted her or not, but her hand would only be given if he accepted her chosen role as a champion of the innocent.
And he would agree…wouldn’t he? He worked to save women. She did, as well. What match could be more perfect? Maybe he would even cut ties with Miss White. Why would he need her help once he had Madelina’s?
The coach slowed and Madelina jerked upright. Mind on her daydreams, she’d nearly drifted off. She took in the rising glow on the horizon and realized they’d found the dawn.
The coach rumbled into an innyard. Stiff, Madelina hoped for a chance to walk about. She observed several other passengers shivering in the cool morning and could only be pleased she’d donned multiple layers of clothing. Under the bulk of her rough-spun country dress, she wore her black garb, complete with knives and pistols. Another reason to feign lowly circumstance, as the muslin of the upper class would never have hidden the guns.
People swarmed the coach as it rolled to a halt, greeting, selling, proffering mail. Trying to mute the sharpness of her gaze, Madelina gawked at them. A young man came to stand below her perch.
“Traveling alone, miss?” he asked.
“Y-yes,” Madelina stammered, as if embarrassed to speak with him.
“Do you need help with your cases, miss?”
“N-no.” She shook her head. “I’m going on to London.”
“Well then, you’ve a long way still to travel. You should stretch your legs.” He held out a hand, a pleasant smile on his face.
Madelina didn’t let his smile distract her from the greed in his eyes. She placed her hand in his and let him help her down, then yanked her hand away. “Thank you.”
“A few bobs would be a greater thanks than your words,” he said, smile becoming ingratiating.
“I’ve nothing to spare,” she muttered and hurried away. She sought the safety of several women walking the yard together, as any miss traveling alone might.
In the guise of taking in the scenery, Madelina kept track of the young man. He and another handed several people from the carriage. They also lifted down a few trunks but didn’t carry them into the inn. Instead, they loitered near the coach.
Madelina made a slow circuit of the yard, not wishing to catch up to the other women. She’d no idea if they’d be welcoming, but she couldn’t risk distraction by social niceties, or to make friends who might actually look out for her once they reached London. The two young men continued to linger. The coachman entered the inn.
The men drew together, speaking rapidly, though they were too distant for Madelina to hear. She raised a hand to shield her gaze, making a show of studying the eastern horizon. In truth, she meant only to shadow her eyes beneath her hand so she could watch the men askance.
They each pulled something from their pockets, then walked about the coach. With quick gestures, they marked several spots on the outside, some near seats, some not. Apparently, what they’d pulled from their coats was chalk. The one who’d helped her down made a mark under the footboard where she sat. Madelina angled away from them, still under the façade of taking in the newly risen sun. Sure enough, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the man look her way.
Both men stowed their chalk and sauntered to the inn. Their bantering, jovial tones as they passed near her rankled. One laughed and slapped the other on the shoulder. Madelina fought not to hoist her skirt to get at a pistol.
She completed her circuit of the yard and returned to the coach, making sure to pass by the other marks before she climbed back up to her seat. Aside from the one referencing her seat, they all looked the same. But then, she was the only young woman traveling alone.
The coach set out again and Madelina worked to rein in her seething anger. If she read the men’s actions correctly, she’d been selected for abduction. A small part of her whispered that she should be afraid, another that she ought to be pleased, but those parts held no weight in the face of her fury.
Several more hours passed before the coach reached the outskirts of London—not nearly enough time for her ire to cool. As they rolled through increasingly choked streets, Madelina worked to adopt a sleepy expression, as if her journey fatigued her so, she could hardly remain awake. People scurried about on the rough cobble streets. Merchants hawked their wares. A cart rolled past, piled high with horse manure. As they neared their stop, the scent of meat pies overwhelmed other odors, announcing as clearly as church bells that the hour neared noon.
As had happened at the inn, people swarmed the coach when it halted. Madelina spotted a group of young men approaching and quickly looked away. One appeared before the footboard. He scanned the chalk marks there and looked up.
“Good afternoon, miss.” He smiled and extended a hand. “I’m to get your cases down. Could you show me which ones?”
She took the young man’s hand and let him help her down, then turned back to the coach and pointed to the small bag she and her aunt had packed with suitably countrified garments. The barrel of a pistol jabbed into her side. She made to swivel to face the young man, but he clamped her arm in a tight grip.
“Now, miss, that’s a pistol pressed into your ribs,” he said in a low voice, mouth near her ear. “I don’t want to have to use it, but if you make a sound or do anything but what I tell you, I’ll put a ball right in your side, and you’ll die.”
Madelina let her face go slack with surprise. In truth, she was shocked. At the brazenness. At the way people bustled about them, no one paying them any mind.
