Chapter 4
Chastity rode into Shaftesbury with Lord Cyn, alert for any sly move he might make. Despite his professed eagerness to help them, she didn’t trust him one iota. He had too frivolous an attitude to life, and a way of making the most outrageous things sound reasonable.
Such as them coming into town in the first place.
And her giving him back some of his money.
After all, he’d said, he did intend to buy clothes, and it would look strange for the groom to be paying the shopkeepers. It had sounded too reasonable to deny, but Chastity was fretted again by the feeling that matters were being cleverly slid out of her hands.
They left the horses at the Crown and found Cyn’s coachman there in the taproom. Hoskins was a barrel of a man with the ruddy, weathered face of one who had spent a large part of his life on the box.
“Sent the others on to the Abbey, milord, since there were spaces on the up-traveling Exeter Fly.” He drained the ale Cyn had purchased for him and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
“Reckoned I’d best stay, though, in case you needed ’elp.
’Sides which, I can’t go ’ome without me rig, can I?
” He gave Chastity an unfriendly look, but there was no hint in it that he thought she was female, or a true villain.
She took as large a swig as she dared from her own tankard, and worked at looking like a cocky young rogue.
“Then you’ll approve of my plan, Hoskins,” said Cyn. “I want you to drive us.”
“That’s me job, milord,” the man agreed, but with narrowed eyes. “That, and keeping you out of mischief.”
Cyn grinned. “And how do you think to achieve that?”
“Lord only knows. Gallows bait, you are.”
Cyn slapped him on the back. “Cheer up. It’s not as bad as you fear, certainly not a hanging matter.
The first thing you should do is hire yourself a horse so you can ride back with us.
Then,” he added blithely, “purchase a pint of paint to match the coach color as close as you can. It has been a little scratched. Be ready to ride out with us in an hour or so. My friend and I have some purchases to make.”
Cyn then dragged Chastity out of the room before the man could splutter his alarmed questions. Chastity pulled against Cyn’s hand on her arm, but his grip was like steel. He did not let her go until they were well clear of the inn.
“Believe me, lad,” he said, “you don’t want to be the one to describe the damage to the coach. Especially as it was your doing.”
“It’s only a few scrapes.”
“I’ve seen Hoskins fret over a bird dropping on his varnish. He’s going to want blood when he sees what you did.”
“Then why are you adding him to our party?”
“We need someone to drive the coach. Don’t worry. If he tries to flog you, I’ll defend you to the death.” He looked at the street name painted on a building, and plunged down an alley.
Chastity had expected to derive amusement from his lordship’s attempts to procure ladies’ clothing at short notice in a strange town. Her own ignorance, not his, was exposed.
The Walgrave ladies had only ever patronized one dressmaker in Shaftesbury, and Miss Taverstock had only been entrusted with the simplest garments. Cyn had made inquiries of the innkeeper, and now had the direction of the town’s secondhand clothes dealer.
Chastity was fascinated to venture into parts of Shaftesbury which were strange to her.
There were alleys with small shops, and narrow, winding streets festooned with lines of washing.
There were houses as dark and forbidding as the Fleet, and others which turned smiling faces to the world.
In front of the former lurked scabrous, dirty rogues; in front of the latter sat women preparing food or knitting, while watching children and chatting with their neighbors.
Some streets were dry and wholesome, others noisome from the sewage pooling in the central gutter.
A junk shop full of fascinating bits and pieces distracted Chastity, then an herbalist’s that looked as if it still operated according to the rules of Gerard’s Herbal. Cyn drew her away, even from a delightful bookshop.
“We’re hardly in a hurry,” she protested.
“I told Hoskins we’d be back in a hour. If we’re not, he’ll probably decide you’ve done away with me. Look, here we are.”
Mrs. Crupley’s Emporium presented a narrow, faded front at the entrance to a particularly dismal alley.
Chastity took in the foul mess lying in the middle of that dark passageway—including a dead cat—and gave thanks they didn’t have to travel it.
They had obviously reached the edge of respectable Shaftesbury.
She doubted they would find much of use in such an establishment.
They pushed through the door, and Chastity’s nose wrinkled at the musty smell of damprot and stale sweat.
The place was packed with garments, headgear, footwear, and accessories.
Items lay on shelves against the walls and in boxes on the floor.
Most of the clothing hung from ropes stretched across the room.
Mrs. Crupley sat near the door in a rocking chair by a stove. She had a cat on her lap, and a mug in her hand. Chastity feared it held gin.
She had to smile, though, when she saw the way the plump middle-aged woman clearly enjoyed her stock.
She wore a gown of opulent yellow silk and lace that was at least twenty years out of fashion, and hopelessly stained.
On her wiry gray curls sat an elaborately dressed lace cap of the style of Queen Anne.
“Good day to you,” the woman said. “What can I do for you, dearies?”
Mrs. Crupley knew her stock well. When Cyn told her, without explanation, that he had need of good-quality ladies’ garments for a woman of above-average height and sturdy build, she put down her cup, tipped off the disgruntled cat, and headed toward the back of her shop.
Chastity and Cyn had to fight their way through after her, like battling through endless lines of washing.
“Keep the good stuff back here, I do,” said the woman, “well away from sneak-thievery.”
Once they reached the dim and musty depths of the place, she began pulling down samples, extolling their virtues.
“Lovely, this is,” she said, dangling a blue lutestring silk, her eyes darting to catch their every reaction.
“The highest lady in the land could wear this as it is, or it’d cut up a treat. ”
More likely the latter, thought Chastity, for the gown was shredding under the arms and badly faded in many places.
It was certainly large, though. Huge, in fact.
Cut up, it probably could make a passable gown for a slim lady.
She, who had never considered such things, became intrigued by the possibilities of secondhand clothing.
After all, it seemed very likely that she would have an impoverished future.
She expected to be asked for her advice, but Cyn ignored her.
She remembered then that he thought her a youth.
He didn’t seem to need help anyway. He rejected various items of evening wear, and some shoddy garments which Mrs. Crupley obviously thought all the go, and chose two ugly gowns of excellent quality.
One was a brown Brunswick traveling dress with beige braid; the other was an open sacque of Prussian blue figured cloth to be worn over a quilted gray petticoat and a stomacher of blue and black braiding. He added a dark blue hooded cloak, and a plain straw villager hat.
Mrs. Crupley clearly didn’t think much of his choices, and pitied the poor lady who would be forced to wear such dull stuff, but she made one last attempt.
“Look lovely with new ribbons, this will,” she crooned, stroking the flat hat.
“Yellow or bright green, I’d think. Have to have at least sixpence for this, I will.
” She glanced at Cyn slyly. “A guinea and a half for all this, I’d say. ”
He ruthlessly beat her down to eighteen shillings and sixpence, and had her throw in a shabby black wig and a huge cloth muff as well. Chastity was amazed to see the woman look content when she took the money.
When they were out in the alley she said, “Eighteen and six for all that! You diddled the poor old dear.”
He laughed. “I paid her more than she hoped for. She’d have been suspicious if we paid much over the odds.
People poor enough to buy castoffs watch every penny.
” He flicked her an indulgent glance and dumped one of the large, newspaper-wrapped bundles in her arms. “You don’t know you’re born, do you, young Charles? ”
Chastity snarled at him, but he was already off at a brisk pace back the way they had come. Chastity quickly followed and had to admire his command of geography. She would have been hard put to find her way back to the Crown unaided.
Suddenly he stopped in front of one of the shops that had fascinated her, a tiny haberdashery crammed with goods—threads, ribbons, caps, and ready-made ladies’ undergarments. She followed him into the intimate establishment.
Showing a shocking expertise in such matters, and no embarrassment that Chastity could see, Cyn purchased a nightgown, a lace-trimmed chemise, two pairs of cotton stockings, and garters threaded with pink ribbon.
Eyes twinkling, he held the garters up before Chastity. “What do you think, Charles? Will these please my sister?”
Chastity knew she was blushing. “As long as they keep her stockings up,” she said, “I suppose they’ll please her well enough. What else are such things for?”
Cyn winked at the girl behind the counter. “These bashful young lads.” The girl giggled. Chastity gnashed her teeth.
Cyn looked around the shop where sample garments were hung on display. His smile widened. “I see you even have silk stockings. Let me see a pair of those, my dear.”
The young woman climbed a small stepladder to reach down a box, and opened it to reveal stockings in a range of colors, some even striped. “They are of the finest make, sir,” the girl said, all rosy under his attentions. “See the quality of the embroidery.”