‘But you’ll still be a very beautiful maidservant, miss, and people are bound to look at you. You must wear my cloak and make sure you pull the hood over your head whenever you’re in public.’
Her mistress fingered the black velvet robe. ‘This is your best cloak, Fanny, I can’t take it.’
‘You must, it will make people think you’re a very superior lady’s maid and they won’t bother you! And it will keep you warm. You’ve never travelled in a stagecoach before, Miss Amelie, but I’m told they’re the draughtiest vehicles out and you’ll be travelling for hours.’
‘Fanny, you’re the best friend anyone ever had.’ The maid blushed with pleasure. ‘As soon as I get to Lady St Clair’s, I’ll make sure she sends for you. Then we’ll both be safe. My father will never dare to follow us there.’
She quickly slipped the cloak over the borrowed dress, pulling the hood well down over her tangled curls. A small cloak bag lay ready with just a few of her most treasured possessions. She could take hardly anything with her, but she had no regrets. Once this room had been a beloved haven, but now it was a prison, a prison leading only to betrothal with a detested man. Sir Rufus Glyde would arrive at noon, but by then she would be miles away and her family confounded. She knew that Fanny would keep her secret, even on pain of dismissal.
She turned quickly to her. ‘I must be gone. Give me the ticket for the stage.’
‘When you get to the inn, miss, be sure to hide yourself away until it’s time for the coach to leave.’
‘I will. Once I’ve gone, you must go back to your room immediately and don’t discover my absence until the last possible moment. Please God they won’t find out that it was you who helped me.’
‘You’re not to worry, Miss Amelie. I’ll make sure they won’t know from me where you’ve gone.’ Fanny was suffused with tears, her voice cracking. ‘Now go, quickly, miss.’
She deftly tied one end of the sheet ladder to the bedpost and opened the window wide. The sash cord groaned ominously and they both held their breath. But the house was silent except for the distant sounds from the kitchen. They breathed again. Fanny played out the sheets over the window sill and helped her mistress on to the ledge. The dawn was spreading a grey light over the quiet streets. A fresh breeze fanned Amelie’s cheeks as she climbed nimbly over the ledge and began lowering herself down the improvised ladder. The descent wasn’t easy. She had to lower herself one movement at a time and the cloak bag, though light, impeded her progress. She wondered if she dared to throw it down into the cellar area below the railings. But Simmonds might well hear the noise and come to see what had caused it. So she continued to edge her way carefully downwards, the bag slung over one arm.
Fanny’s pale face was at the open window, whispering encouragement. ‘You’re doing fine, miss. Don’t look down, not far to go now.’
But her estimation proved to be optimistic. The sheets, which had seemed so prolific in the bedroom, suddenly appeared scanty and far too short. They had both forgotten the deep well below the front door steps and had calculated only to the pavement. Amelie was now at the bottom of the ladder, but still at least fifteen feet above solid ground.
She looked up at the imposing Georgian facade and then down to the terrifying black-and-gold railings that marched along the pavement. What a horrible fate that would be. She suddenly felt very sick. How on earth was she going to reach the ground? She could jump into the well, but she was more than likely to break a leg or worse. Then all chance of escape would be gone. She would have to endure her father’s fierce recriminations. She could see him now, his brow creased in red furrows and his prominent eyes glowering.
As she hung there, her light form bracing itself against the cream stucco of the house, the noise of whistling broke the stillness. Tuneless and somewhat melancholy, the whistling was coming nearer. A late reveller, perhaps, on his way home? He was almost sure to see her. Fanny had heard the noise too and began desperately to try to haul in the sheets.
‘It’s no good,’ Amelie whispered hoarsely, ‘you’ll never have the strength to get me back.’
She could only hope that the unknown figure meandering towards her would be too inebriated to notice a young female hanging from a window. That was wishful thinking. The reveller drew near and stood gazing at her for some time, seemingly trying to work out just what he was viewing.
Amelie looked down and pulled her cloak tighter. She didn’t recognise him and he didn’t look like any of the fashionable bloods who often ended a riotous evening by staggering home at dawn. But he had an indefinable air of authority about him and she worried that by chance he might remember seeing her at one of the many gatherings of the ton this Season. She must avoid discovery at all costs.
Despite having drunk far too much, he seemed alert. His face slowly broke into a derisive smile.
‘What have we here then? A mystery indeed. Plainly an escape, but what are you escaping from? What do maidservants escape from before the household is awake? Have you been stealing and now you’re trying to make off with your ill-gotten gains? Should I knock and instantly let your employers know of your wickedness?’
‘No, sir, indeed I am no thief.’
‘Well, if you’re not a thief, what are you doing climbing out of the window? The house has a door, you know.’
She answered with as much dignity as she could muster, ‘There are circumstances that make it vital for me to escape in this manner. I must not be seen.’
She hoped that he would ask no more questions and be on his way. But the brandy fumes still wreathed around Gareth Denville’s brain. He was indifferent to the fact that he was miles from his hotel and had no idea in which direction it lay. He felt reckless and pleasurably detached from a world he hated. He had no intention of walking away—he was in the mood to enjoy this ridiculous imbroglio.
‘But why must you leave unseen? It seems unnecessarily dramatic,’ he offered provocatively.
‘I have my reasons,’ she replied stiffly. ‘Please leave me.’
‘By all means, but is that wise? It might be more sensible to ask for a little help. Of course I would need to know just who I’m aiding and why.’
‘My name is Amelie and I’m maid to the young mistress of this house. I’m escaping to avoid the attentions of her brother.’
Gareth caught sight of a chestnut curl and looked intently at the heart-shaped face trying to cower deeper into the enveloping cloak. ‘He has good taste,’ he admitted. ‘But then so do I.’
He swayed slightly on his heels and finally pronounced, ‘We’ll make a bargain, shall we? I’ll rescue you on one condition.’
‘Anything, sir,’ she said recklessly. Her arms felt as if they were being torn from their sockets and she knew she would not be able to hold on much longer. The sharp sword points of the railings seemed already to be coming nearer.
‘A rather rash promise, but one I shall keep you to. I’ll help you to the ground, but in exchange you’ll come with me—as entertainment, shall we say.’
‘Dear sir, I cannot. I have a journey to make. I’m on my way to—Bristol,’ she amended, thinking it best not to reveal her plans in their entirety. ‘I have to get to the White Horse Inn in Fetter Lane to catch the stage.’
‘Excellent. Bristol, why not? There are boats aplenty there,’ he added obscurely. ‘We’ll go together.’
He needed to get away and he was intrigued by the glimpse of the beautiful face beneath the cloak. Mr Spence would have to wait for his papers to be signed. Perhaps he would never sign them, never avail himself of his newfound wealth. If so, he would manage—he had for the last seven years.
‘A perfect solution, then,’ he said swiftly.