Chapter 8
London, England
“Are you a simpleton, lad?” the butler hissed in Mary’s direction. “Take Lady Barton’s horses to the stable.”
Mary’s attention snapped up from the dark eyes of the gelding at the front right of the carriage’s team. She’d been struck by the lovely eyelashes and gentleness of the beast, much more so than the noblewomen who now greeted them outside the estate.
“Yes, sir. My apologies,” Mary said quickly.
She made it a point to avoid the butler’s stern attention.
Mary kept her head down and led the four hackney horses—their glossy, chestnut coats shining in the rare spring sun—toward the carriage house.
The sound of their hooves and the cart’s wheels on the pebbled path felt as rhythmic and calming as a heartbeat.
Mary had spent the past two years grappling with her situation.
The fact that she was a bastard, had a brother who died, and would now cramp and bleed for nearly a week out of every month—a rubbish bargain, even if Mary’s bleeding was inconsistent.
Ma had been clear that they could start fresh, with Mary trading in her trousers for a secondhand dress.
As a girl, Mary could have continued to scrimp by at the docks, or she could have sought hire as a maid in a fine house.
But Mary’s lean, thirteen-year-old body was in no hurry to become a woman’s, and she made twice as much coin as a stable boy for the Goodwins than she would have as a maid.
Very little, but still. She and Ma needed money more than ever.
To Mary, the choice to continue dressing as a boy was obvious.
The relative of Ma’s husband had passed away, taking the crown per week payment with them to the grave.
And yet, Mary now knew herself to be a girl. She felt the ache of others not seeing her as one. But she’d settled on this disguise for now. She had gone by Mary at home these past two years, but in public she was still Mark.
The horses snorted as they reached the carriage house.
Their noises made Mary smile. Such beautiful animals.
She felt more at ease with them than the people she worked alongside.
Mary was soon met by the head groom and two other stable boys, who unhitched the cart.
The stable team removed the harnesses, wiping them down with leather oil before putting them away for the duration of the Bartons’ one-week stay.
“A fine meal soon,” Mary cooed to the gelding, patting his muscular neck as she finished brushing him down.
As the other boys saw to the rest of the horses, she led the gelding to a stall with fresh hay and a brimming bucket of water.
Closing the stall behind them, Mary looked over her shoulder, saw she was alone, and pulled a skinny apple core out of her pocket.
The gelding, velvet nose buried in hay, would not be bothered.
“Such politeness, and this after I saved that final bite for you?” she tsked. She tossed the sweet treat into the heap, wiped her sticky hands on her trousers, then went to find a shovel. She needed to muck out the other end of the barn.
That’s when her eyes alighted on something shiny in the straw in the far corner stall. She stooped and picked up what appeared to be a woman’s wedding band. She turned the gold ring over in her palm. Her eyes bulged, taking in its brilliant sheen.
What would something like this cost?
Enough for Ma to rent a better room. Enough to buy boots that didn’t soak Mary’s feet when it rained. Meat with every meal.
She exhaled. Before she could stop herself, Mary ran to find the head butler. She knocked on the grand door of the Goodwins’ estate. The butler excused himself.
Once the door shut behind his heels, his eyes found her and his tone changed. “What is the meaning of this?” he roared. “I’m attending to Lady Barton and her daughters.”
Mary gulped but stood tall. “Sir, I found this.” Extending her hand and explaining, she saw the fury in the butler’s beady eyes extinguish.
“You discovered it in the barn?”
“Yes, sir.” How such a lovely possession came to be there, she could only guess. But she was not hired to speculate on the Good-wins or their visitors.
He studied the treasure, then looked at her anew. “The Good-wins appreciate your service, and so do I.” He shifted his weight, arms folded over his tight gray waistcoat. “How long have you been with us, Mark?”
“Just over a year, sir.”
A smile crossed his thin lips. “Well, Mark. I think it is far time we gave you a raise, then. And how about the rest of the day off? How does that sound?”
“Thank you, sir,” Mary said, suppressing a grin. She bowed to the butler before the door clicked. She counted one heartbeat, then two, before bolting to tell Ma.
An hour later, Mary rounded the corner onto the dense housing block where she and Ma lived. She panted, her head spinning from the run. Catching her breath, an arm reached out and yanked her into an alley.
Mary yelped. “Ma?”
“Shh,” Ma said. “Did they find you?” Her eyes were wide with panic. “Did they come looking at the Goodwins’?”
They?
“I don’t understand,” Mary said, eager to wipe away Ma’s unease. Why wasn’t she at the docks, where Mary hoped to surprise her? She leaned into her mother’s chest, the comforting smell of fresh bread, sweat, and sea air. “The butler sent me home early. I got a raise!”
Ma heaved a sigh, which confused Mary. “I thought I’d have to wait until nightfall for your return,” Ma said, cradling Mary close and smoothing her hair.
“Everything is all right, my dear. But I need you to listen carefully.” Ma whipped her head around, saw they were alone, then opened the bag at her feet.
She pulled out some oversized men’s clothes, including a wool cap and a brown leather jerkin.
When she looked up, Mary saw tears in Ma’s eyes.
“Quickly change, darling. We are not safe here anymore. I’ll explain on the way. ”
They took the long way to the wharf, along curving side roads.
The ribbon holding Mary’s straight dark hair had fallen out.
With one hand, Ma clutched Mary’s hand tighter than Mary had ever known—even as a young child—and with the other hand, Ma held a scarf that shielded her face.
Mary lumbered forward in the new clothes, cap bouncing above her brow and heart pounding, as Ma told her the details of Mr. Robert’s betrayal.
“Mr. Robert?” Their neighbor? Mary had taken pride in finally befriending his fussy cat.
“Walls have ears—and more heart than greedy men,” Ma whispered with a distinct bite. “He knows who you really are and that he’d fetch a fine price for the knowledge.”
“For knowing who I am? Why?”
“For telling my mother-in-law’s heir.” The conversation cut off when they spotted a pair of redcoats. Ma led Mary off the path into a blacksmith shop. The thick smells of red-hot iron and singed horse hooves greeted them at once.
“What’ll it be?” growled a man with a thick drawl.
Ma studied the weapons through the smoke. Her eyes lingered on a knife.
Mary kept her mouth closed, trying to fathom Ma wielding a blade. But Ma dug into her pockets and counted the few coins in her palm.
“Nothing today,” Ma said to the blacksmith before uttering a prayer. Mary heard her mother’s voice crack. Ma’s voice never cracked.
They left without buying anything. She turned to Mary. “Will you hold this for me, darling?” And before Mary could answer, she’d slipped the coins into her pocket.
After the soldiers had passed, Ma and Mary ventured through the street with renewed haste. Mary wanted to throw her arms around Ma. She wanted to go home and make shortbread biscuits. But her boots moved, and she breathed through the fear.
“Miss Marlow tipped me off—found me after the brutes broke in and tore apart our room,” Ma said. Mary noted how much calm she tried to summon through this retelling. “The living relatives are demanding the money back in full.”
“But that’s impossible,” Mary said, louder than she intended.
Ma tightened her grip as they strode forward. “They favor throwing us in debtors’ prison. Or selling us as indentured servants. Mary, I’m sorry, my dear girl. I’m sorry for it all.”
They passed carts and shops, carriages and idle fishermen, the smell of the harbor growing stronger as they neared.
“But they can’t. Surely they can’t do that,” Mary said. “What about my raise? Will it not help?”
“Hard earned, I know, my darling. You’ve turned out so well, so good. No one will haul either of us away if I can prevent it,” Ma said with a determination that could make God himself shake on his throne. “And I can. I will. No more mistakes.” This time, there was no question. Ma was crying.
“Ma?”
Hearing Ma’s pain made Mary’s own eyes spring with tears, never mind that Mary was breaking the unspoken rules—crying in plain view while wearing boy’s clothes.
Men’s clothes.
But Mary and Ma were off again, the topsails of large ships visible from the bridge.
“Wait here,” Ma whispered once they reached the waterfront. “I’ll stay close.” Ma kissed Mary on the brow, lingering there a moment, and pulled Mary’s cap so it sat lower on her forehead. Then, adjusting her own scarf and wiping away her tears, Ma set off with the intensity of a hunter.
Mary folded her arms over the jerkin covering her new shirt, large and baggy even with the cuffs rolled.
She felt silly, drowning in her new attire.
She knew Ma would have a reasonable explanation.
Even now, with Ma’s strange behavior and terrible tales, as hawkers and fishmongers eddied around her with their pungent catches, as if this was any ordinary day.