Tristan stayed where he was, his gaze hardening as he fixed it on Lyndon’s back. “Did you hear me, Lyndon? I’m not turning this business over to Sampson Willis. I can’t.”
Lyndon made an impatient noise in his throat, then beckoned to Tristan with one hand, keeping his gaze on whatever was taking place outside. “For God’s sake, Gray, cease your blathering and come here, will you?”
Still, Tristan didn’t move. “You’re wrong about her, Lyndon. She’s unconventional, but—”
“Unconventional? Er…yes. You could say that.” Lyndon flapped a hand toward the window. “Seefor yourself.”
Tristan crossed his arms over his chest. “I grant you she’s unpredictable, and not the sort of lady we’ve ever known before, but for all her unpredictability, I don’t believe she’s up to anything trulyunscrupulous.”
“No?” Lyndon turned and leaned back against the windowsill with his eyebrow raised. “Well, then. I suppose there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation why I’ve just seen her darting about in the mews, dressed as a milkmaid, with a yoke over her shoulders and a bucket of milkin each hand.”
Tristan stared at him for one frozen moment, then leapt from his chair and rushed to the window. He glanced from one end of the mews to the other, then peered directly below before turning to Lyndon with an incredulous expression. “Have you gone mad, Lyndon? She’s not down there!”
“The devil she isn’t.” Lyndon crowded into the window beside Tristan, and pointed at the mews below. “She right there, Gray, at Lord Everly’skitchen door.”
Tristan nudged Lyndon aside. He could make out Everly’s servants’ entrance at the edge of the window, and he caught a glimpse of dark hair and drab skirts before the kitchen door opened, and the small figure disappeared into the depths of Lord Everly’s townhouse.
Chapter Sixteen
“Yer not Polly.” A slovenly-looking creature in a soiled apron stood in the doorway to Lord Everly’s kitchen, glaring at Sophia. “What’s ’appened to Polly?”
Not a thing had happened to Polly. On the contrary, she’d come upon Sophia at precisely the right time, and met with an extraordinary stroke of good luck. Polly had taken one look at the shiny gold sovereign in Sophia’s palm, snatched it up, and turned over her garb, yoke, and pails without a single question or a word of argument.
“Polly’s ill. I’m her,er…her sister.”
Just before Sophia had knocked on the door, she’d uttered a quick prayer Lord Everly didn’t employ one of those despotic French cooks—they were a fussy lot, always asking questions—but it seemed his lordship had gone in quite the opposite direction.
The woman swept a critical look over Sophia, then let out a derisive snort. “Sister, eh? Polly’s got two stone on ye, girl. Ye look like yer about to topple over with them pails.” She shifted half a step away from the door. “Aw right, then. The master must ’ave ’is milk, one way or t’other.”
Sophia stepped over the threshold of Lord Everly’s townhouse and into his kitchen, grinning to herself over the success of her plan. Yes, she was trussed up with a wooden yoke over her shoulders like a pair of oxen, but aside from the heavy milk pails she was staggering under, it had worked brilliantly.
Even better than thepediment roof.
Thinking of Lord Everly’s roof instantly conjured up thoughts of Tristan, but Sophia pushed them resolutely away. If she could judge by the scowl on Lord Everly’s cook’s face, she wasn’t the chatty, friendly sort, which meant Sophia had only a little time to work out how to get her business done before she was tossed out the door.
She glanced around, noting the layout of the kitchen, particularly the doors and windows. There was a tiny sliver of space underneath the door behind her. Sophia fingered the small metal buckle she’d pried off her shoe and shoved into her pocket. The gap was awfully narrow, but a good shove with her toe might seethe thing done.
There was another doorway at the opposite end of the kitchen, but it was impossible to tell where it led. Then there was the one window behind her that looked out onto the mews. Sophia narrowed her eyes, considering it. It was small, but she might be able to slip through it if she were careful—
“Don’t stand about gaping like a half-wit, girl. Do yer work, and git.” The cook shoved a heaping spoonful of what appeared to be porridge into her mouth with one hand, and waved a meaty hand at the doorwith the other.
“Er…yes, ma’am.”
A timid scullery maid approached and offered her a milk jug. Sophia took it and upended the contents of her pail into it, one eye on her work, the other darting around the kitchens. The doorway on the opposite side of the room might lead into a stillroom with access to the small back garden, but it was difficult to tell from her position in front of the long wooden table. She craned her neck to the side, but all she could make out was a row of cabinets liningone wall, and—
“Ye’ve spilled the milk, ye clumsy chit! I told ye those pails were too heavy for ye! Ye got no meat on yer bones, girl.”
The scullery maid let out a terrified squeak, and Sophia looked down to see a single drop of milk had spilled from the pail onto the table. “I beg your—”
“Give it here.” The cook snatched the pail from Sophia’s hand, dumped the rest of the milk into the jug, then shoved the pail back into her arms. “Ye tell yer master to send Polly next time, or don’t bother coming to ’is lordship’sdoor. Now git!”
The cook turned a menacing look on the poor scullery maid, who darted across the kitchen as if the devil himself were after her and opened the door leading into the mews. “This way, miss.”
Sophia trudged across the room after her, muttering a prayer the gap beneath the door was wider than it looked. She didn’t necessarily expect her prayers to be answered—heaven didn’t look kindly on sinners like herself—but as she was being thrust out the door, she slid the buckle free from her pocket, hidingit in her palm.
“Beg pardon, miss.” The scullery maid gave her an apologetic look and stepped back from the door. She pushed it closed behind her, but before it could latch Sophia pressed her fingertips against the wood, stopping it.
She sucked in a breath, half-expecting the cook to descend on her with a rolling pin, but the woman didn’t come.
