Chapter 8
Next afternoon
Kitty forced a smile on her face as her father stared at her. Mr. Cooper was explaining the possible danger to their family and a plan to keep them all from peril.
“There was no murder reported and no body found,” continued the solicitor. “But there is someone missing in the gang my brother has infiltrated. Someone who wanted out. The new arch rogue fits Miss Felton’s description, and he’s been trying to work his way up the ladder, so to speak.”
Kitty took a deep breath. If Mr. Cooper thought this was best, she would do it.
Her brain told her he was an intelligent man and a caring one.
Her heart said she could trust him. And her body…
Well, after last night, her body wanted to stay close too.
She’d never experienced the feelings that fluttered through her each time she saw him.
“Unfortunately, I cannot tell you where your daughter will be. It would no longer be a safe house if—”
“Do you think I would give out information on the whereabouts of my Kitty?” bellowed her father. “I’d let them beat me to death before I said a word.”
“Pa, that’s not what he means.” She ran to his side and pulled on his arm, making him look at her. “You’re a terrible liar, and your temper is short when it comes to anyone threatening those you love.”
“As soon as we can apprehend this man, Kitty may return, and you can both resume your lives in peace.” Ben swiped a hand over his head, forcing strands between his fingers.
Kitty fisted her hands. She wanted to smooth the tufts back down. Stop. Her life was in danger, and she’s thinking of playing with a man’s hair.
“When will you… take her?” Her father’s tone broke her heart.
“What shall I bring?” she asked. “How much should I pack?”
“Bring whatever occupies you in the evenings. Try to keep something normal in your daily schedule. I’m not sure how long. Clothes for at least a week?”
Kitty sensed a false optimism in Mr. Cooper’s tone. It might be longer. “Will you escort me?”
“I’m afraid not. I am one of your customers, and I know your father.
It will be my older brother.” He smiled for the first time.
“Sir Harry Walters can don a disguise, and Paddy himself wouldn’t recognize him.
He will pick you up and take you to a nearby public house, where you will walk straight out the back door.
A hackney will be waiting to take you to your temporary home. ”
“Sir Harry?” Kitty recognized the shock in her voice. “I thought all of your siblings came from humble beginnings?”
“We did. It’s a story for another time.” Mr. Cooper took a sip of his tea, presumably giving her and Pa a moment to digest all this information.
“Will I… Will I be alone?” She imagined a dark room somewhere, biding the time with books, her piece work, and too much imagination. It would be the longest week of her life.
“We’ll send Terry with you,” her father said quickly.
“No, no,” intervened Mr. Cooper, “you won’t be alone. I can only say I think you will get on well with your hosts. And we’d trust them with our own lives.”
It was decided Mr. Walters would arrive the next morning. She would miss Sunday service. Hot tears burned the back of her eyes, but she refused to shed them. This man was doing his best, and she would not cause him additional concern. Or add more stress on her father. If only she could bring Terry.
But Mr. Cooper was right. The terrier might be more recognizable than she was.
* * *
Sunday morning
Her traveling bag was packed, and her basket for her accessories sat by the door. She rocked back and forth, breathing deeply, thinking of her mother. Was Mama watching over her now?
The knock came too soon, and her father growled at the sound as he opened the door.
“Good morn,” croaked the old man. “The Felton residence, I presume?”
Pa nodded to the man and granted him entrance.
Sir Harry Walters was a man of medium height and serious, dark-brown eyes.
He wore a worn but presentable beaver hat and a black great coat in the same condition.
His boots were dusty, along with the wooden cane he now leaned on.
His gray hair was tied back at the neck, emphasizing his pale skin.
Spectacles perched on the tip of his nose, and when he smiled, it appeared two of his teeth were missing.
He leaned on a wooden cane with a black handle.
Her father gazed at the man in disbelief. “You’re the man who will protect my daughter?”
Mr. Walters stood straight, his voice changing from crackling and aged to deep, vibrant, and confident.
“Yes, sir, I am. Excuse the costume, but we thought it best.” He held out his hand to shake her father’s. An obviously strong grip.
“I see,” murmured Pa, still studying the man. “Will I at least get word somehow?”
“Aye,” said Walters, “through me or Cooper.”
Kitty crouched and scratched Terry’s ears, then picked him up and hugged him. “I will miss you, my sweet pup. Don’t forget me and take care of Pa.” He licked her face, his tail creating a small breeze as it flapped back and forth.
Then she hugged her father, squeezing him with all her might. “I love you, Pa. Please try not to worry too much.”
“I would take your place if I could. You know that, don’t you?” he asked, holding her face gently in his big hands and kissing her forehead. “We’ll be together again before you know it.”
She nodded, pasted on a smile, and turned to Sir Harry.
To her surprise, he opened his great coat and untied what looked to be a black ribbon wrapped around his waist. He looped it onto the handle of her traveling bag, made a tight bow, then closed his coat.
As he resumed his bent posture, it was barely noticeable.
“Can’t have it look like you’re going anywhere for long, eh?” he said with a wink, the aged voice returning. “The basket is often used for shopping, so that can stay visible.”
Kitty saw the approval in her father’s eyes, the relief knowing Mr. Walters was indeed good at what he did. She had on her mother’s cloak with the hood pulled low, not wanting to don the one she’d worn on the day of the murder.
“If we’re stopped for any reason, your name is Alice,” Mr. Walters said in his reedy tone. “Shall we?” He held out an elbow.
Kitty gathered all her courage, a last glimpse around her beloved home, and nodded. They walked out the door, and she refused to look back. The sight of her father and her dog watching her walk away would be more than she could bear.
She and the old man went two blocks before turning right, then another right turn onto Queen Street.
They seemed to be going in a circle. The streets were fairly busy with vendors and shoppers, but no one noticed an old man with a young woman.
They had to pause twice for carriages and wagons to pass as they crossed the road.
When they reached Watling, Sir Harry stopped at the Clatterly Public House.
“I came here once with my parents,” she said as they entered.
The barkeep was an older man with a round belly, dark eyes, and a bald pate—except for a few tufts of gray hair around his ears.
He and Mr. Walters exchanged a nod, but they kept walking toward the back of the room.
In the kitchen was an older, plump lady, her brown hair streaked with silver.
Her smiling brown eyes locked with Kitty’s, then she too nodded at Kitty’s escort.
They passed a little girl, maybe six or seven, washing pots.
She paused to push a blonde lock from her big brown eyes and smiled at them.
Kitty smiled back, wondering if she was the owner’s granddaughter.
Leaving through the back as Mr. Cooper had described, Mr. Walters opened the door of a waiting hackney and assisted her in. Without any instructions to the driver, he joined her inside, sitting across from her.
“This will be a very short ride.”
She nodded, lifting a slat on the shuttered windows to see their progress. The coach turned onto Cheapside Street, then Lombard. Finally, they went right onto Clements Street and stopped in an alley across from St. Clement Church.
“I’m hiding in the open?” she asked, realizing with relief that she was still within her own neighborhood.
Mr. Walters grinned. “I always say keep it simple. You know where we’re at?”
“Of course, I’ve passed this lane often. Am I to stay at the church?” She imagined a rector could be sworn to secrecy.
He laughed, a deep, warm sound. Kitty decided she liked this “old man” and wondered if she’d recognize him if she saw him again.
“You will be staying at Madame Chapelle’s shop. She’s a modiste—”
“She’s brilliant! I’ve seen her work,” gushed Kitty, temporarily forgetting the gravity of her situation. “I will live in her shop?” How would that work? Hide in the backroom?
Another rumble from Mr. Walters, his dark eyes twinkling. “We’ve arranged for a proper bed, miss. Genie, er, Miss Chapelle has made it known she is hiring an assistant due to the growth of her business. If anyone catches a glimpse of you, she will tell them you are her new employee.”
Kitty closed her eyes for a brief moment. A dream come true if she was the assistant. Perhaps…
“I will also insist your hair be tucked up under a cap of some type. The midnight color is lovely but too easily remembered.” He rose in a crouch and opened the door, peeking out. “Wait here, and I’ll make sure the door is unlocked, and they are ready for you.”
When Mr. Walters returned, he opened the carriage door, which blocked any view from the street, and escorted her into the building.
To the right was a staircase, and in front of them a short hallway, leading to a door that she assumed was the modiste’s shop.
Mr. Walters led her up the stairs and knocked on the door.
It was answered by an older woman with frizzy light-brown hair and brown eyes that sparkled with bits of gold. “Here you are,” she said with a bright smile. “Welcome, Miss Felton.”
Behind her was Miss Eugenia Chapelle, whose reputation for excellence at a fair price had put her in high demand by the residents of Cheapside. She was younger than Kitty had expected, slender and beautiful, with the same eyes as the older woman—mother, perhaps?—and shiny wheat-blonde hair.
“This is Mrs. Peckton,” said Mr. Walters, indicating the woman who’d answered the door. “She is part-owner of the business downstairs. And this is her niece and the modiste, Miss Chapelle.”
Kitty, in awe and not knowing how to behave in this absurd circumstance, gave them both a quick curtsy. “I’m so grateful to you both for taking me in.”
“Nonsense, and don’t do that again. We’re all of the same class here,” said Mrs. Peckton. “Mrs. O’Brien is a close friend of mine, and we’re happy to help any way we can.”
“Of course we are,” added Miss Chapelle. “We didn’t hesitate when Clayton asked.”
Kitty looked to Mr. Walters, not knowing who Clayton was. “My brother, Clayton Pierce.”
“Soon to be my husband,” said Miss Chapelle with a grin. “Would you like some tea, Harry?”
“I wish I had the time,” he said, taking Kitty’s traveling bag from beneath his great coat. Then he removed his spectacles and the wig, rubbing his short, almost-black hair.
Kitty noticed gray already coloring the tips and accentuating the temples. She also realized he was a striking man. Were all of Mr. Cooper’s brothers so good-looking?
“Mattie will skin me alive if I’m late for our walk with her brother and mother,” he said, nodding to each woman as he backed toward the door. “I’ll be checking on you, Miss Felton. If you need anything at all, let these lovely ladies know, and I’ll have it sent right away.”
“A small portion of sanity, perhaps?” Kitty asked, trying to lighten the awkward moment.
“I’ll take some of that too,” said Miss Chapelle with a smirk. “Aunt Lydia?”
Mrs. Peckton laughed. “I gave up being sane years ago. It’s not as necessary as one might think.”
Kitty was shown to a small room, tastefully decorated with lavender rugs, a matching counterpane, and drapes. The wallpaper had lavender sprigs painted in rows against a cream background, as did the fireplace curtain. There was a wardrobe with one door open, showing half of the space empty.
“We weren’t sure how much you would bring or how long you would stay. So I moved some of my things into Genie’s, where I’ll share her room.” Mrs. Peckton set Kitty’s bag on the top of the bed.
“Oh, no. I don’t want to take your space.” Kitty was grateful but horrified to put someone out of their own room.
“Nonsense. Besides, the other bed is bigger and will fit us both fine. Make yourself comfortable, then join us in the kitchen for tea.” Mrs. Peckton squeezed Kitty’s shoulder. “Everything will be fine, my dear. No one better to take care of you than Maggie’s boys.”
When the door was closed, Kitty sank onto the soft tick and let herself go.
The tears came slowly at first, then increased with intensity.
She kept her sobs quiet, so as not to worry her kind hosts.
How would her father fare without her? Had Terry tried to follow them?
What would Pa tell her brother Joe when she didn’t arrive for dinner tonight? She missed them already.
Kitty needed to freshen her appearance after that cleansing cry.
Peering into the white glazed pitcher on the dressing table, she saw there was water inside.
She poured some into the matching wash basin, then splashed her face, and patted her skin dry with the cotton towel lying next to the basin.
With a corner of the cloth soaked in the cold water, she applied it to her eyes for a few minutes, hoping they wouldn’t be so red-rimmed when she joined the other ladies.
Kitty took her spare dress, shift, and stockings from her traveling bag and put them away in the wardrobe, along with her pelisse. She closed her eyes and thought of her mother.
Think of it as an adventure, she always said when Kitty was nervous about trying something new.
Yes, that is how she would consider this. An adventure or holiday. And she had two new friends waiting to greet her.