Chapter 8 #2
‘It is only a matter of time until he finds you. Then what?’ Anne whispered, sinking down on the nearest sofa beside her.
Panic seized her. Charlotte shot to her feet to pace the room. ‘I am done for. They will send me to the gallows—and my mother will be pleased to attend.’
A heavy silence fell as the clock ticked in the corner. All three stared at one another.
Then Anne sprang into action. Her movements were brisk and decisive—the sort of energy that made soldiers of ordinary men. She flung open Charlotte’s wardrobe and began pulling out gowns.
‘Sarah, fetch a portmanteau,’ she commanded.
‘Anne—what are you doing? Even if I escape, he will find me. I have nowhere to go!’ Charlotte cried.
‘No, he won’t.’ Anne pulled a letter from her reticule, a determined gleam in her eye. ‘This is my appointment letter. You will go in my place. You will be Anne Lucas now.’
Startled, Charlotte recoiled from the letter. ‘Anne, I—I do not think I can do this.’
‘You have no choice. He is on his way here right now, Charlotte. You have to disappear.’
Anne pressed the letter into her hands.
Charlotte stared. She was not surprised. Anne had always been quick to spot patterns others missed—whether in a game or unraveling some perplexing riddle. If there was a way out of a trap, Anne would find it.
‘You will not need to do it forever. I am certain you may discover the true culprit and expose the Odd Fellows. At the very least, you must assist Wilberforce. They are plotting against him.’
‘What if I cannot?’ she whispered, her voice unsteady.
‘Then at least you will have secured a place of safety under an assumed name,’ Anne replied calmly. ‘And once your dowry is released, you will be free. You may even flee to Europe, if you must.’
Charlotte’s throat tightened. ‘What if Lord Stanley sees me there? You said it lies near his estate.’
Anne’s brows furrowed, then she shook her head.
‘I doubt he would recognise you. Otherwise, why would he be bringing the maid with him today? You wore a mask and he failed to recognise you at the ball afterwards. Besides, even your figure has altered since then. No, I think it highly unlikely. He will not abandon his investigation in London for several weeks, I should imagine.’
‘And the maid?’
‘What of her? She is in Lady Bamber’s employment. She will not accompany him to his estate. What safer refuge than to remain in plain sight—beneath his very nose? He would never suspect it.’
Charlotte felt her resolve strengthen. Anne was right. He would never suspect it. It was a bold plan, and she could not help but admire her friend’s cunning.
‘Anne... this appointment... it was your chance to escape your father. What will you do now?’
Anne smiled faintly. ‘I shall manage. Your need is greater than mine at present. You must think only of your safety.’
Charlotte clutched the appointment letter to her chest, tears pricking her eyes, and embraced her friend.
‘Sarah... you’ll lose your position over this,’ Charlotte said, her voice tinged with regret.
‘No matter,’ Sarah replied. ‘Without you here, I would not wish to remain in any case. The difficulty is that, without a reference, I cannot easily secure another situation.’
Anne added, ‘Unless, of course, you accompany her.’
Sarah tilted her head like a bird. ‘How?’
‘They accepted my maid for the nursemaid’s position. You can go in her stead.’
‘Oh, do come, Sarah—we could manage there together,’ Charlotte urged. ‘And after I receive my dowry, we shall travel to the Continent.’
Sarah hesitated, narrowing her eyes slightly. ‘Are they paying a decent wage?’
Charlotte fixed her with a look. ‘Sarah, they will offer more than the workhouse, which is precisely where you are headed at this rate.’
Sarah grinned, entirely unapologetic. ‘Well, in that case, I would not have it any other way, miss. And I should quite like to be a nursemaid to a boy—an improvement already.’
Charlotte rolled her eyes. ‘At least I shall not be obliged to endure your impertinence.’
Sarah’s grin widened. ‘Oh, do not worry, Miss Charlotte. It will make an appearance every now and then, I am sure.’
She turned briskly on her heel before Charlotte could reply. ‘Best I gather my things before you change your mind and abandon me to your mother.’
And with that, she disappeared towards the servants’ quarters—looking far too pleased with herself for someone who had just agreed to flee the county.
Hurriedly, Charlotte packed what she could—a few sentimental trinkets, her father’s favourite book, and the letter the boy, Matthew Stanley, had given her. She paused once, staring at her father’s old walking cane propped beside the dresser.
With one final, lingering glance at her room—her prison—she followed Anne and Sarah down the servants’ staircase, out the side door, and into the cool air of freedom. Luckily, the way was clear, as all the staff were busy preparing for the Baron’s arrival.
Anne’s carriage waited at the end of the lane, ready to take her to her new destination—but instead, Charlotte and Sarah were taking her place.
Charlotte’s eyes filled again, but she blinked the tears away fiercely as she gripped her friend’s hand. ‘Thank you, Anne. For everything. I shall never forget it.’
The women embraced fiercely, as though it might be for the last time.
‘Do not write to me,’ Anne warned. ‘Otherwise, it will be suspicious. My father reads all my post, and he would do anything for a reward.’
So this was it, then. No more comfort from her friend. Charlotte held back her tears.
She climbed into the waiting carriage after Sarah, heart pounding, clutching her borrowed future—and her borrowed name—in trembling hands.
The wheels began to turn, slow at first, then faster, the gravel crunching beneath them.
Just as the carriage pulled away from the servants’ gate, Charlotte saw a tall figure descend from his carriage on the front steps of the Walker residence.
Lord Stanley paused on the threshold, his piercing blue gaze scanning the driveway as if he sensed something slipping through his fingers.
But the carriage, with its fugitives inside, rumbled on, merging into the busy morning. Charlotte kept her head low, clutching the portmanteau tightly in her lap, never once daring to look back.
Freedom, she realised, did not feel like wings. It felt like falling—breathless and uncertain.