Chapter Eleven #3
Kat had told Jake that Miss Ellen—now Mrs. Harraway—was tougher than she appeared, and she proved it when she said, “I would not have wished the man dead, my love. But he tried to kill you, and I suppose would have kept trying, for he seemed determined. Given a choice between him and you, I must believe that you and Jake made the right choice.”
“Exactly,” said Kat. “The captain shall see him returned to his family, or buried if he doesn’t have one, and we shall never think of him again.”
The magistrate arrived at last, and after he and his constables had questioned everyone, he took Mrs. Harraway’s view of the death.
Indeed, he went further. “He brought it on himself, and you and your servant saved the King the expense of a trial and a hanging,” he said.
“Now you and the lady should be on your way, Captain Harraway. It was a terrible thing to happen on your wedding day, and your lady is bearing up very well, but you should take her home to rest.”
He took what information the captain could give him about Waterford’s connections and promised to contact the man’s regiment to see if they wanted to take charge of the remains, or failing that, organize an interment and send the bill to Captain Harraway .
And so, at last, the wedding journey got underway again, and this time, they made it home to Carr Abbas , where no doubt the captain would find a way to soothe and comfort his bride.
As for Jake, he had been given the evening off, as had Kat.
Jake intended to take full advantage of the license offered to engaged couples, and to that end, he had already invited Kat to join him for a walk.
If she didn’t know how much he loved her by now, he was certain she’d have a better idea of it before the night was over.
Carr Abbas, Ealing, two weeks later
Since the Harraways’ wedding a fortnight ago, Miss Ellen and the captain had dismissed her maid and his valet early in every evening, preferring to assist one another.
And so, every evening, Kat’s male disguise had come in useful, since breeches are much better for climbing than skirts, and leaving the house through her window was better than the risk of having to explain herself to Mrs. Kirby.
Jake, who did not have to stop to change out of a gown, was always waiting at the foot of the creeper that provided her path to the ground.
For a fortnight, Kat had been courted with flowers, compliments, kisses, and caresses. Little presents, too. Tokens, really. A pretty vase for her room. A scented soap. Some buttons that had taken her fancy in the village store.
And conversation. Sharing her thoughts, her opinions, and her dreams with Jake was the most seductive activity of all. For the first time in eight years, she could say anything she thought, knowing that her listener would listen respectfully and with attention .
Often, he shared her view. Frequently, he would have comments of his own that made her think more deeply or that gave her a different perspective.
Sometimes—and perhaps these were the best discussions of all—he disagreed, and would tell her why, and they would debate until they either came to a joint conclusion or agreed to honor one another’s opinion.
In a secluded part of the garden, they learned to know one another again, and not just mentally and emotionally.
Physically, they traced the path they had once followed together in their youth, once again discovering one another’s bodies and marveling at the differences that did not confront, but instead, complemented.
Jake insisted on stopping short of full consummation.
“Once we are safely wed,” he said. “Life is uncertain, and I shall not leave the woman I love and the child I might conceive to be scorned and abused.” On this, he would not budge, but Kat had been enthralled to discover how much could be done without that final satisfaction.
Even so, she was keen for the fortnight to be over, and for their coupling to be sanctified in the eyes of church and society.
And now it was.
Today, she would meet Jake not in breeches and boots, but in the gown the Harraways had given her for her wedding.
It hung in Mrs. Harraway’s dressing room, covered by a sheet.
Kat was due in the dressing room soon, for Mrs. Harraway insisted that today, mistress would be maid, helping Kat to prepare for the service.
Captain and Mrs. Harraway were also putting on a wedding breakfast after the ceremony, and had provided a cottage for them, in which they would spend the first two days—and nights—of their married life.
Jake had asked her to bring her boots. She couldn’t imagine why, but she had put them into the bag with her clothes, hairbrush, and other essentials.
One of the younger maids knocked on the door. “Miss Fivepenny? Mrs. Harraway wishes to know when you are coming. The bath is ready for you.”
A bath! It was a rare luxury, and this once, for the first time in her life, Kat was to be first in the water. “I shall just finish buckling my bag,” she told the maid. That job done, she left the bag outside her door.
Their door, it would be after this. Jake had been sleeping on a pallet bed in Captain Harroway’s dressing room, but when they came home from their wedding cottage, they would share Kat’s room.
Captain Harroway had the village carpenter making them a larger bed, for the current one wasn’t big enough for two.
The bath was waiting in Mrs. Harraway’s dressing room, and Mrs. Harraway even gave her a block of scented soap with which to wash herself!
Mrs. Harraway, Mrs. Kirby, and Mrs. Martin were waiting in the bedchamber when she emerged. All she was wearing were the stays and petticoat that Mrs. Martin had made for her.
“You cannot look at yourself in the mirror until we have finished,” Mrs. Harraway decreed, beckoning her to a chair in the middle of the room. For the next forty-five minutes, Kat placed herself completely in their hands, reassuring herself that two of the three were people she trusted.
Even so, it went against the grain to be treated like a doll, as they brushed and combed her hair, and did who knew what else with it—but it took a long time and involved clips and ribbons.
Then Mrs. Harraway knelt at her feet to help her put on a pair of new stockings. “A gift from me,” said Mrs. Kirby.
Mrs. Martin handed Mrs. Harraway a pair of garters to tie just below the knee, each a confection of ribbons and silk flowers. “A gift from me,” said Mrs. Martin.
“Now the gown,” Mrs. Harraway said. “Put your hands in the air, Kat, and hold still. We’ll guide it over your hair.”
Kat had been involved in deciding on the fabric and the pattern of the gown, and had—of course—been present for fittings. But she had not seen the finished garment. She only knew that she had never worn anything so grand.
She stood when told, so her attendants could fasten the laces and buttons.
Then Mrs. Harraway knelt again, to fit a pair of slippers to her feet. “There,” she said. “Do you want to look into the mirror, Kat, before you put on your gloves, pelisse and bonnet?”
“She does not have Mr. Flynn’s present yet,” Mrs. Kirby pointed out, and Mrs. Harraway exclaimed, “Oh, I quite forgot. Sit down again, Kat, and I shall put it on you.”
It was a necklace. Kat had enough of a glimpse as Mrs. Harraway took it from its box to guess at that, and besides, Mrs. Harraway immediately fastened it around her neck. “Now, Kat, come and see.”
Kat’s mistress and friend sounded as excited to see Kat’s reaction as Kat was to see what these dear women had made of her. Mrs. Kirby stood one side of the mirror and Mrs. Martin the other, and Mrs. Harraway led Kat to view her reflection.
Oh my. Is that me? Kat examined the pretty lady in the mirror, wondering at the magic that had been wrought to her appearance.
She focused on the necklace at her throat first. It comprised a row of medallions with rolled gold petals around blue stone centers.
Each medallion was joined to the next with gold beads and two leaf-shaped clear gems, and the larger central medallion had a drop-shaped stone hanging from it that nestled just above the bodice hem of her gown.
The gown was a triumph. It was not silk—Kat had vetoed such an expense.
But it looked enough like it to fool the eye, if not the touch.
The subtle stripe woven into the fabric had been made a feature of the skirt, with the fabric cut on the bias so that the stripes met down the seams in a chevron pattern.
Small, puffed sleeves were trimmed each with a flounce of white lace, and the rows of tucks across the hem also ended in a flounce of lace.
Her mop of hair had been tamed into curls, with ribbons threaded through them and enameled clips gleaming among them.
And the slippers that peeked out from under the hem of her gown had been made from the same fabric as the gown and trimmed with the ribbon that was wound into her curls.
“No one would think me a man now,” she commented.
“Indeed not,” said Mrs. Harraway. “Darling Kat, you look beautiful.”
“You are a glorious bride, Katherine Fivepence,” said Mrs. Kirby.
“You do the gown credit, Miss Fivepence,” was Mrs. Martin’s comment. “Mr. Flynn shall be bowled over.”
And, indeed, he was, judging by the way his eyes widened and then heated when she came down the aisle on Mrs. Harraway’s arm.
The service was perfect, even if the vicar did look alarmed when Mrs. Harraway answered, “I do”, to the question about “who giveth this women.” Poor man.
It was probably against another of his rules, but he didn’t stop the ceremony, so perhaps it was just a habit.
And after all, who in the world had a better right than her own dear Miss Ellen, as she had been.