Chapter 7 #3
Tamsin’s mother had taught her to read, but there had been no money for pen and ink, so she’d rarely had the chance to practice writing anything more than a few letters in the dirt.
How mortifying to realize that a machine could write, while she was so unskilled.
“What do you want?” she said in a tone harsher than she’d intended.
He seemed unperturbed. “I’m collecting you to help me search for Snoozer.”
“I thought I told you I don’t want to wander about London for months on end, especially not when it looks like rain.”
“We won’t be wandering about. I’ll be making calls, and you’ll be making inquiries.” He lifted a small burlap sack she hadn’t noticed he’d been holding. “But you’ll have to wear this.”
Tamsin wanted to pretend she wasn’t at all interested in the contents of the sack, but she couldn’t stop her hand from reaching out and taking it. She pulled it open and looked up at Kildare. “Clothes?”
“Not just clothes,” he said, winking at her.
Her stomach did a little flip at that.
“Your favorite. Livery.”
She reached inside and pulled out a blue coat with gold piping such as a servant might wear. “You want me to dress as a footman.”
“A tiger.”
She stared at him. “You want me to ride on the back of a carriage?”
“Exactly. I’ve convinced a friend to allow me use of his curricle and horses.
I’ll drive and you sit on the platform. I have several calls to make in some of the best houses.
While I go inside and talk to the ladies about the weather for a quarter hour, you talk to the servants and see what you can find out about the chimney sweeps they employ. ”
Tamsin started to argue then realized she couldn’t think of anything to say.
The plan was actually rather ingenious. She was impressed, and not just because Kildare was close enough now that she had caught the scent of him—bergamot and citrus again; she recognized it from burying her nose in his coat every night—and her head was swimming.
Then she looked down at the livery coat.
“But grooms are male. I don’t know if you’ve noticed—I’m female. ”
“That’s why I said you’d need to utilize your acting skills. Put your hair in a queue and lower your voice. You’re small enough to pass for a young man.”
Tamsin looked down at her chest, which was rather small. She felt her cheeks heat, and she would have liked to tell Kildare to take the coat and shove it somewhere extremely uncomfortable. Instead, she glowered at him and pointed to the door. “Out. I’ll see if it fits.”
“I borrowed it from one of our boot boys. It should fit.”
Tamsin eyed the caterpillar and wondered if it was worth it to break the thing if it gave him a sizable lump on the head.
“I’ll just wait outside,” he said, sensing her mood and darting out the door.
Tamsin let out a sigh and emptied the sack.
She made quick work of stripping out of her dress and underthings then pulled on the servant’s clothing.
To her annoyance, it did fit her well. Even the shoes were a good fit.
She studied her feet in them. They were good quality.
She had one pair of shoes that Peggy had given to her because they no longer fit her.
But even those hadn’t been as sturdy as these or had a nice thick sole.
These even had square silver buckles on the top.
A light tap sounded on the door, and she was glad for the arrival of her mother to help with her hair. “Come in,” she called, still studying the buckles.
“Even better than I thought,” came a male voice. Her head jerked up to see Kildare in the doorway. “The breeches are a little tight, but once your hair is tucked up, you’ll look the part.”
Tamsin didn’t have a mirror, but the breeches did seem to hug her hips and bottom.
Still, she didn’t doubt she could pass for a young man if she kept her head down, her cap on, and her voice low.
She didn’t have a brush, so she used her fingers to comb through her hair.
Securing it with a leather thong, she tucked the ends under and tied it again, so it made what she hoped was a neat little club at her neck.
Then she took the blue velvet ribbon provided with the livery and secured it around the thong.
Placing the tall hat on her head, she turned and made a sweeping bow.
“This way, guv,” she said, giving her voice a bit of a Cockney accent.
“You are frighteningly good at that, Archer.”
“What I am not good at is riding on the back of a coach. What if I fall off?”
“You won’t fall off. I’m a perfectly competent driver.” He offered his arm then pulled it back. “I suppose you’d better begin playing your part now. It wouldn’t do for me to be seen walking through the streets arm and arm with my tiger.”
“Where is the curricle?” she asked. “You came on foot.”
“My friend’s mews aren’t far. We’ll walk.”
They stepped into the front of the shop, and Tamsin’s mother dropped the spoon she was polishing. “What on earth?”
“I’m playing the part of his groom, Mama.”
“Why?”
Tamsin explained the plan, but her mother’s confusion didn’t dissipate. “And if the servants realize you’re not a boy? What then?”
“I’ll run,” Tamsin said.
“Don’t run ’ere,” Big John chimed in. “I don’t want trouble.”
“Of course she’ll come here,” her mother said. “Where else would she go?”
“Then we’ll ’ave the magistrate knocking on the door within the ’our.”
“There will be no magistrates and no trouble,” Kildare said, raising his voice to be heard above everyone. “Miss Archer won’t have to deceive anyone for long. If, by chance, there is a problem, I will take care of it.”
To Tamsin’s shock, Mrs. Archer nodded her head. “Good.”
Kildare opened the shop’s door and Tamsin went through it, following him along the street toward the better part of Town.
She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised by her mother’s quick capitulation.
Garret Kildare had an easy authority that was difficult to argue with.
What else could account for Tamsin being dressed in this foolish livery, following him behind some of the finest houses she’d seen?
“Here we are,” he said and pushed open the door to a carriage house.
“Wait outside,” he told Tamsin. A few minutes later, he was sitting in a curricle, hands on the reins, two large beasts pawing the ground eagerly.
Tamsin eyed the creatures warily and the platform where she was meant to sit even more warily.
There was just a small black seat. No walls, no rails, nothing to hold on to if Kildare should make a sharp turn.
She’d fly right off the back and break her neck.
“Let’s go, Archer,” Kildare said, his voice formal. She glanced at the grooms, standing in front of the carriage house, watching her with some curiosity.
“Yes, sir,” she said and hopped up onto the conveyance.
She’d ridden in a hackney twice. The first was when she’d been about four and her father had taken her mother and her to see a play on a grassy hill in a park.
The show had ended late, and she’d been too tired to walk, and her father had treated them to a hackney cab back home.
The second time was when she’d been thirteen.
On the day her mother had remarried, her stepfather had paid for a hackney from the church to their new home.
That was before Joanna and Charlie had been born.
They’d never had a chance to ride in a hackney.
Both of those rides had been thrilling and terrifying in equal measures. But at least the hackneys had walls around her.
“Hold on,” Kildare said over his shoulder.
Seeing nothing else, Tamsin grasped hold of the seat as the curricle jerked into motion.
The curricle seemed to race along the alley, passing the other mews, and the horses lurched onto the street at the end.
“Give me a moment to get a feel for these boys,” Kildare called.
Tamsin didn’t reply. She was holding on to the seat with every ounce of strength in her body. Finally, the horses slowed, Kildare’s shoulders lowered as he relaxed into his role, and Tamsin considered loosening her grip on the seat slightly.
But every bump and bounce persuaded her that anything less than a vise grip would mean certain death.
By the time they reached the first town house, her fingers were numb from clutching the seat, and she was thankful for the warm wool of the livery as the air was cold when the horses picked up their speed.
Not to mention, the weather was cloudy, and a light drizzle fell.
Kildare stopped on the street and sat there.
Tamsin sat too, thankful to be stationary.
“Archer,” Kildare said without turning around.
“Yes?”
“You are supposed to jump down and hold the horses.”
“I’m not getting anywhere near those beasts!”
“Archer,” Kildare said louder. “People are watching us. Play your part or this is over before it begins.”
She made a sound of frustration and climbed off the platform.
She was pleased to have her feet back on the ground, but those same feet did not want to take her near the beasts pawing and stamping and rearing at the front of the coach.
Well, maybe they weren’t rearing. “Listen, horses,” she said as she cautiously approached.
“I don’t want to be here any more than you.
I’m sure you would rather be in a pasture somewhere, and I would rather be on the other side of this conveyance. ”
“Archer.”
She looked up at Kildare, and he tossed her the reins. “Stop talking to them and tie them to the post.”
She turned and saw a metal post whose top was fashioned into a horse’s head.
She’d seen these a thousand times around the city but never needed to use one before.
She took the reins and tried to tie them into a bow.
Kildare was instantly beside her. He took the reins, looped them around, and tied a secure knot. “Like this,” he said.