It Is a Man
I hadn’t told any of the girls at work about my plan to attend the ball, and I don’t feel the need to spread stories now. Chemmy, by means of leading questions and expressive glares, tries to convince me to tell everyone that I danced with Prince Fitzhugh, but it was more embarrassing than anything. And besides, who would believe me? And if they did, would I have to share our cheese?
Toward the end of the day, faint footsteps approach our workroom and pause at the door. Our needles still at the sight of Mistress Hardinge herself staring at us. She’s a thin woman with a tall white topknot and a face nearly as colorless as the bleached linen I hold.
“Hester,” she says in a pale voice, “gather your things. At once.”
I hesitate. Gather my things? She taps a foot and I scramble to do as bidden. My small bag of sewing supplies gets tucked in the still-full basket, and I snatch my cloak from the rack by the door as I hurry over to her. Without a word, she beckons me to follow and glides from the room.
My heart sinks. Has there been word from my parents? Has something happened ?
Increasingly disastrous predictions spin through my mind as I follow Mistress Hardinge through the hall and down the staircase to the first floor. She stops outside the door to the receiving room where she sees important customers. Well, important in a relative sense; we’re only hemming bedsheets, after all, and not particularly good ones at that.
“You have a visitor,” she says, much in the same way she’d announce that I had leprosy or head lice.
“A visitor? Who?” My body grows cold. “It’s not a message from my parents, is it? There’s nothing—wrong?”
A flash of surprise on Mistress Hardinge’s face reassures me that this is not the case. “No,” she answers. “It is a man .” Somehow, the word man sounds even worse than leprosy. I didn’t realize that was possible.
“A man?”
Mistress Hardinge wrings her hands and bobs her head to the door. “He’ll explain, I’m sure.” She pauses, opens her mouth, and pauses again. Finally, “I’m sorry, Hester. You’ve been a good seamstress. I’ll go calculate your wages.”
My wages? I stare after her as she melts down the whitewashed hallway back to her own office. With a shrug, I push open the heavy door. Maybe it’s Ungus, come to see if I know Chemmy’s ring size.
But it’s not.
“Miss Smith!” Hugh cries when I peer into the room. He stands, wide-legged, in front of the window and looks absolutely delighted to see me. “Or not. Your mistress was quite confused when I asked for Miss Smith !” He chuckles while I blink in surprise.
“Hugh? Why are you here?” Too late, I remember that Hugh is a prince, and offer a lopsided curtsy before setting the basket and cloak down on the worn carpet.
He turns and plucks a large packet from the table beside him. “I said I would call on you, and here I am! I brought you these.” He beams and unwraps a huge bouquet.
I normally have no problem speaking, but then again, I’ve never had a prince shove a bundle of hothouse flowers at me before. I splutter at the overpowering scent of roses and lilies, too surprised to refuse them.
“And now,” he continues, “you can come ride with me. I’ve brought my open phaeton, of course. You’ll love it.” He moves to take my arm, but I shimmy away.
“I—I can’t?” My voice quivers. I can’t guess what this is all about. “I have to work.” I glance down at the bouquet, taking a deep breath of the fragrance before I hold it back out to him. “And I can’t take these, but—thank you?”
“Don’t worry about work,” Hugh says, ignoring the flowers. “I already talked to that lady—nice, isn’t she? But,” with a sigh, “so pale! Well, we can’t all be beautiful.” He grins again, running his eyes over my outfit. “I’ll have to get you something prettier, too.”
“Hugh—that is, Your Highness,” I say, holding up my palm. “I don’t understand what you are doing here. And I really do need to get back to work, if you will excuse me—”
“I said you don’t need to work.” Hugh pouts. “Weren’t you listening?”
I look around the room: is someone else hiding, ready to laugh at this prank? Has Hugh confused me with someone else? Did I fall asleep somewhere in the yardage, and am I even now drooling on my work while this perplexing dream plays out?
But the afternoon sun shining through the window shows the same room as usual, with the fog-colored couch and the little table with its stack of linen samples. Outside the window, I catch a glimpse of a phaeton hitched to the glossiest horse I’ve ever seen. I squint. Is it too glossy? Could I be dreaming?
“I talked to your employer,” Hugh says, “and told her I didn’t want you working for her anymore, so we can be leaving—”
It takes my mind a moment to understand, but as soon as I do, my eyes widen and I utter an embarrassing little yelp. “You what ?”
“You really don’t listen, Miss Smith! And we’re wasting the sunlight! Come, come. ”
I dig my heels into the floor so he can’t pull me from the room. “Hugh! Are you saying that you told Mistress Hardinge to fire me?”
He tugs on my arm, eyebrows raising at my screech. “Is that bad?”
“Is that—” I yank myself away and toss his bouquet on the couch, fisting my hands into my hips. “Yes, it’s bad!” I push past him and stalk down the white hallway. Mistress Hardinge’s door is propped open, but I knock anyhow. She bids me enter.
Mistress Hardinge’s office is a pale closet wedged underneath the stairs, lit by cold, narrow windows. She looks up from the ledger lying open on her desk, eyes wide, and scrambles to stand, curtsying to someone behind me.
Great. Hugh followed me.
“Please,” I say, ignoring the prince at my shoulder, “I don’t know what he said, but please let me keep my job—I won’t cause trouble, and I’ll work late tonight—”
Mistress Hardinge’s eyes are pitying, but she shakes her head anyhow. “I have your final wages here.” Her white fingers tremble as she hands me a small stack of notes. “I counted this as a full week.”
It’s a kindness of her to pay me for work I’m not doing, but a kindness I can’t accept. I won’t take wages I’m not owed. I bite my bottom lip and peel one of the notes from the stack, letting it flutter back to her desk.
Mistress Hardinge winces. Her eyes dart to Hugh, and she lowers her voice. “I really am sorry, Hester. I can give you a reference, if you need. But”—she looks at Hugh again—“I can’t ignore the request of his highness. You understand.” The last words are almost pleading.
I sigh and turn so I’m facing Hugh. “Please, Your Highness,” I say. “I don’t know what sort of joke this is to you—”
“Not a joke at all!” Hugh’s voice is far too loud in the colorless room. “I didn’t think you’d take it so hard though, Miss Smith! Aren’t you glad to be free?”
Free! I narrow my eyes. Is he malicious or just ignorant? Hugh holds my gaze with a genial smile, and much as I wish I could detect cruelty in the curve of his lips, I see nothing but puppy-like enthusiasm. I sigh. “Can you please tell my mistress to let me stay?” I don’t want to plead, but it’s better than being jobless.
A trace of remorse crosses his face, and he shifts. “I never go back on my word, Miss Smith.”
I suck in a breath. Well then. Mistress Hardinge won’t disobey Hugh, and Hugh won’t retract his request. I gulp and nod to my former employer, clutching my wages in one fist, before pushing past Hugh.
A murmured “Your Highness” and the rustle of Mistress Hardinge’s lethargic curtsy sound behind me as I plod down the hall.
Hugh follows me, whistling. I duck into the receiving room to collect my things, leaving the bouquet on the couch, then make my way outside.
“Here’s my phaeton!” Hugh says. A grubby-faced urchin holds the reins of the shiny black mare I’d seen through the window, and I feel a brief pang. It’s a truly magnificent beast, and such an elegant vehicle, as different from my father’s donkey cart as could be! How I’d love to ride …
“I’ll help you in,” Hugh says at my elbow.
“No, thank you.” Suppressing a sigh, I toss my cloak over my shoulders, nod, and try to move down the street, but he catches my sleeve.
“Has no one ever said no to you?” I demand.
A smile breaks across his face. “That’s just it. You’re the first. It’s absolutely captivating.” I roll my eyes. “Oh, don’t be angry, Miss Smith!” he wheedles. “Come ride with me.”
“I can’t,” I say, attempting to keep the peevishness out of my tone. “I have to go look for a new job. I’m already losing half a day of wages!”
“But it’s such a lovely day,” he pleads. He gestures at the narrow strip of blue visible above the looming buildings. “Unseasonably sunny! We cannot waste it! ”
“I’m wasting it by not working!” Does the man not understand economics? I’m already scrimping as much as I can; if I don’t work, I won’t be able to move my parents here soon.
“I didn’t know you’d feel so bad about it,” Hugh says.
I eye him. Either he’s a very good liar, or he’s the most thoughtless person I’ve ever met. What was he expecting? That I would thank him and we’d ride off into a golden afternoon?
“Let me make it up to you.” He’s all golden hair and benevolent beam, still grasping my sleeve like a little boy hanging on to his favorite nurse.
I heave a sigh. Playing royal nursemaid was not part of my plan for today. “Your brother warned me about you, you know.”
The ghost of a frown passes over his brow, but he shrugs it off in a moment and steps closer to me. “Did he? How rude! I make a policy of never listening to anything he says.” There’s a new shrewdness in his face.
“Please, Your Highness, I need to go. I don’t know how long it will take to find a new position.” I tug in vain against his grip, trying to inch my way down the street.
“Then I should help you look.”
I shudder at the thought. Imagine dragging a prince into all the shops and factories of Wellington-upon-Chesbury! What a scene that would cause! Too many people have already seen us together as it is, gathering on the street to point at Hugh’s fine clothes and gawk at the gleaming phaeton. “Do you have any idea how to find a job?”
“Well, not really. But I could give you a ride to wherever you’re headed, couldn’t I?” He grins, mischievous and childlike, and leans down to speak in my ear. “Think of it as payment, Miss Smith. If I cost you today’s wages, you must at least allow me to repay you with a ride.”
Oh, I do have trouble resisting the idea of repayment. “I suppose,” I begin cautiously, “that you could take me just over to Herringbone Street. There’s a shop there that might be hiring.”
His grin widens triumphantly, and he lets go of my sleeve to lift me into the phaeton. I narrow my gaze and repeat, “ Just to the next street,” which makes him chuckle as he leaps to sit beside me.
“Here, your cloak—” He tucks it around me more securely, letting his hands linger on my shoulders and annoying me with an exaggerated wink.
The urchin hands the reins to Hugh, and Hugh thanks him by dropping three coins into the child’s brown paw. The groups of people watching dash out of the way as the horse begins trotting down the cobbled street. And, well, I can’t deny that I enjoy it just a little bit.
“What a beautiful animal!” I’ve always liked horses, though not as much as hogs.
Hugh grins down at me. “Isn’t she fine? I call her Kelpie.” Kelpie twitches an ear at the sound of her name, and I admire her for a moment. She’s about as like my hogs as the palace is like my cottage, but there’s still a hominess to being close to livestock again.
Kelpie pulls us smoothly down the lane and Hugh steers her around the corner, headed to Herringbone Street like I’d asked. I’m almost regretful as we get close; despite the chill, and the annoyance I feel with Hugh, it is a nice ride.
Until he passes Herringbone Street. “Hugh!” I gasp, craning my head to watch the intersection disappear behind us. “You missed the turn!”
“Did I?” His eyes twinkle.
“You—you did that on purpose!”
“Nonsense, Miss Smith! Isn’t it more likely that I forgot where we were going, distracted by such pretty company?” He smiles at me, all innocence. “Besides, you’d like to really feel what it’s like to let Kelpie run, wouldn’t you? It’s near flying!”
“You can’t let her run here ,” I protest, watching the milling foot traffic and various carts and wagons cluttering up the street.
“Certainly not! That’s why I’m taking you to the park!”
“You said you’d let me out,” I say, indignant.
“If you’ll think carefully, you’ll remember I never agreed to your terms, Miss Smith!”
“But I need to find a job—you must turn back!” I tug at his sleeve, willing him to slow the horse and turn around. He pats my hand, and I snatch it away. “Hugh!”
“Wouldn’t it be better to apply for employment in the morning? I’m sure you’d have better luck then.”
“You just want your own way,” I accuse, and he twinkles down at me.
“Well, yes. I’m accustomed to it.”
His attitude annoys me. “Let me out, sir. Or I’ll—I’ll jump out.”
“No, you won’t.” Hugh takes the reins in his left hand so he can snake his right arm around me. “You’d be trampled, and that would break my heart. I’m sure you don’t want that.”
“Get your arm off me, please,” I say, as stiffly as possible.
Hugh sighs, but lets me go. “I can’t very well turn around in the middle of the street here, so we may as well go on for just a little bit.”
“You can stop easily enough, even if you can’t turn.”
“You really would rather spend this beautiful afternoon trudging through the streets than enjoying a drive with me?”
I’m not used to rejecting men—there weren’t that many for me to reject in my hometown—and Hugh sounds so genuinely disappointed that I wonder if it would hurt to ride with him for just a while longer. And, well, he does have a point. Despite the chill, the sun is shining and the afternoon has a crisp, golden feel that will be washed away in the autumn rains all too soon.
Hugh notices me hesitating and redoubles his charm. “ Please , Miss Smith! I will be heartbroken if you leave me now!”
“Why do I doubt that?” I say, dryly.
“Because you know I am a rogue and a knave. And yet—irresistible!” If he accompanied such a pronouncement with smugness, I’d be repulsed, but his face is laughing and pleading at the same time.
“You are a child,” I retort. “A spoiled little boy who needs to learn what no means.”
“And you can be my tutor!” He waves an arm grandly. “I can learn in repose at your feet! Besides, we’re halfway there already.”
I sigh. He’s right. We’re so far beyond Herringbone Street that I’ll waste as much time walking back as I will if I drive on with him. I fix him with a glare. “Fine. But then you will take me wherever I ask and let me go.”
Hugh winks and snaps the reins, and Kelpie darts forward toward the park.