Chapter Two
In twenty-eight years,Mairi had done every job possible in the MacCleal castle home, including stable hand. It was nothing for her to pretend to sleep that night, then gather a very small bag of her belongings, ride to Edinburgh, then board the mail coach first thing in the morning. She paid the innkeeper to return the horse. She’d not have Liam say she stole a horse from him. Then she climbed aboard the top of the coach and fell asleep curled around her bag. She had her full dowry of copper chains in her bag, save the one around her neck, hidden beneath her shift. She would not show herself to be wealthy by flaunting those things. Indeed, she wondered if she should hide them all in her bag.
The weather was drizzly which saved her from the heat but soaked her through. By afternoon, though, the sun came out and baked her in her wet things. And when a man seated next to her tried to take advantage, she kicked him hard enough to make him howl. It took a moment for him to realize that she wasn’t trapped up here with him, but he trapped with her. If he encroached on her space, she pinched him with all the strength in hands that had shaped molten glass. And how satisfying it was to take out her ire on a man who deserved it.
The trip to London took nearly two days. When they finally disembarked, she was thoroughly miserable and had a pounding headache. Thankfully, all that was left was to present herself to the dowager countess and pray she appeared better than she felt.
But how to get there? The innyard was a chaotic mass of people. Certainly, she’d seen such busy places in Edinburgh, but she hadn’t realized how much the language changed as they went south. She had to concentrate to follow conversation. And she had to enunciate clearly if she wanted to be understood. Given her general exhaustion, that was very hard indeed.
She went inside the inn to ask for directions, but the innkeeper was nowhere to be seen. The main room was bustling, and not a soul wanted to speak to her. She grabbed a barmaid nonetheless. The woman was overworked and none too pleased, but Mairi was determined.
“How do I get here?” she asked, showing the woman the address written in Lady Clara’s letter. It was a stupid thing to do. The woman couldn’t read. But Mairi was at the end of her rope and her accent was too thick for these people to listen carefully enough to help her.
The boy came out of nowhere. Normally, she would have seen him. Normally she would have held onto her bag. But she was trying to talk to the barmaid when a boy grabbed her small bag and ran straight out the door.
Mairi tried to stop him. Hell, she ran straight out after the child. But the boy was quick as a rat and scurried around a corner long before she could catch him. She ran anyway. Her dowry was in that bag!
She scurried around corners, she dashed down alleys. She ran as if her life depended upon it. And in the end, she failed. Her entire future was gone with her dowry.
And now she was lost in the rats’ warren of London streets having chased the damned boy everywhere she could imagine. She stumbled to a stop in the middle of the street, gasping for breath. It was dark here, the gas lamps barely giving any light except in greasy pools. And now she was truly alone in a place where even the burliest of men went carefully.
More than one person looked at her. Even a stray dog licked his chops as he eyed her.
There was nowhere for her to go. Nothing for her to do except try to find her way back to the inn. Or to someone who could read.
Things got worse instead of better. She could not make sense of the streets and she dared not ask directions of the rough souls who eyed her with greedy eyes.
She quickly became desperate, on the verge of dropping on her knees before man and God to beg for help. She’d been whispering a prayer for fifteen minutes. Thankfully, it was answered before she panicked.
She found the Watch. Two men, one young enough to be barefaced and one with a thick mustache. They whistled as they walked the street and she all but collapsed against them. Thankfully, she’d known enough to look for them, and when she tried to explain what had happened, she become more frustrated still.
“What did ye say?” the mustached man asked. “I can’t understand it.”
God damn them! Why couldn’t they understand simple English?
Because it was Scottish, is why. She took a breath and tried again. Slowly.
“I think she’s been robbed,” said the younger one. “Look at her. Come from the inn, did you? Down from the mail coach?”
“Yes!” It was the least of the information she wanted to convey, but it was a start.
“Robbed, then?” said the big one. “What’d you lose?”
“Everything!” All she had left was the sodden letter shoved in her pocket.
“Well, that’s right hard. Did you get a look at the thief?”
She hadn’t. It had happened so fast. “A boy. This tall. Fast.”
“Yep,” they both said nodding.
“You know him? You can get my bag—”
“You’ll never see it again, miss. Not a single thing. There’s thousands of them boys in London. Got to hold on to yer things.”
She’d set it at her feet while she was talking to the barmaid. She’d used two hands to open up the letter. She couldn’t… She didn’t…
She began to weep.
