He laughed, and the strain loosened by a degree, though not entirely.
Within ten minutes she was dressed for the street, Nelly wrapped and ready to accompany her, and the carriage at the door. Francesca would have preferred delay, and yet delay itself might have been suspicious. Better, perhaps, she reflected, to go and remain alert than to provoke him into improvisation at the threshold.
The drive began innocuously enough. They set out in the direction one might reasonably take for the manufactories in question, the carriage wheels rattling over the frozen ruts with a force that shook the glass in its frame. Nelly sat opposite, outwardly demure, but Francesca knew her well enough to see that every faculty was awake. Kendall spoke of practical matters for the first ten minutes: contracts, labour, the rising expense of coal, the advantages of appearing decisive before men who respected profit more than breeding. It was almost enough to lull her into believing the errand genuine.
Then the carriage turned where it ought not to have turned.
Francesca looked up abruptly. The streets outside the window were no longer those she expected. They had veered away from the direct approach to the works and into a less familiar route, one leading not towards industry but outward.
“Mr. Kendall,” she said, very clearly, “this is not the way.”
He did not pretend to misunderstand her. “No.”
The single syllable, calmly delivered, seemed to alter the whole atmosphere of the carriage. Nelly’s hands tightened over the reticule in her lap. Francesca felt, absurdly, the exact beat of her own heart.
“Are you kidnapping me?”
He looked at her then, and for the first time that morning the easy social smile dropped away entirely.
“Of course not. I am merely ensuring your safety for the next four-and-twenty hours.”
“My safety?” She heard the incredulity in her own voice and did not attempt to ease it. “Thomas, what is happening?”
Something like excitement flashed in his expression, transforming it more than anger would have done. He looked younger, wilder, as though some inward flame had suddenly been permitted air.
“Something,” he said, “that will change the course of history.”
The words made Nelly gasp aloud. Francesca herself felt a rush of cold so complete that she might as well have been plunged into the Thames.
“What are you planning, Thomas?”
“It is best for you not to know.” He leaned back as if the matter were settled and the concealment almost tenderly intended. “However, when I come for you tomorrow morning, everything will have changed. We can make England what it ought to be.”
Francesca stared at him.
There were declarations so extravagant that, heard in safety, they bordered upon the ridiculous. Spoken in a carriage which was taking one—against one’s expectation—to an unknown destination, they became monstrous. In an instant the scattered pieces of the past days aligned themselves into a dreadful shape. Thomas, who had moved so long in the easy garments of a man considered useful chiefly for schemes of money, was now revealed as one who imagined himself called to refashion the nation.
“Tell me what you are planning and why I must be protected,” she demanded.
“No more questions.” His tone hardened, not loudly, but with a force that admitted no appeal. “Promise me you will stay here until tomorrow morning, or I cannot help you.”
“Here?” she questioned. “Where is here?”
“You will see soon enough.”
The carriage continued onwards as London thinned by imperceptible degrees. Houses grew less continuous. Open ground began to appear between clusters of dwellings, winter-brown and bleak beneath the bright sky. Francesca forced herself to breathe evenly. Panic would not help her. She must observe, remember, and conserve her strength. If Major Manners had received the note, perhaps he and his men wouldfollow. If not—if not, then she must preserve every detail she could for later use.
Nelly leaned a fraction towards her. “Miss?—”
Francesca met her maid’s eyes and shook her head the smallest amount.Not now. Not before him.
Kendall either did not notice or chose not to remark it. His excitement seemed too complete to permit the careful reading of feminine signals. He looked out of the window more than once, measuring distance perhaps, or time. Once, he smiled to himself, and Francesca could have struck him for it.
At length, the carriage stopped before a small cottage set a little back from the road, surrounded by a fence of chestnut paling, in need of repair, which enclosed a narrow strip of winter garden lost mostly to mud and bare stalks. It was not in a ruinous condition. On the contrary, it had an air of recent arrangement, as though someone had made it just comfortable enough for temporary use and no more. Smoke rose from the chimney. A side path led to a small outbuilding. Beyond lay open fields and a line of trees. There was no sign of neighbouring houses near enough to be of easy use.
Kendall descended from the carriage first and handed them down with punctilious civility.
Francesca hated him for it.
