Burning Bright (Brambridge Novel 2) (22 page)

Harriet slumped further into her bed sheets. Her aunt was right. She didn’t know what to say.

“Get up quickly now, and find some clothes. I don’t know when we will next be settled. We’re going to London. I have a friend there who we can stay with.” Agatha stood and turned towards the door. “I’ve been considering it for some time. Come and get a box from downstairs when you are ready.”

Slipping out of bed, Harriet wrapped herself in a dressing gown and followed her aunt down into the living room below. The walls were bare, and the floor cluttered with boxes. Half of her father’s paintings had been packed into open cases that sat around her. The others were too tall for her aunt to reach. Wordlessly, Harriet fetched a chair, stood on it, and pulled the other paintings off the wall. She slid them carefully into the boxes on the floor.

“We don’t need anything else where we are going,” Agatha said, looking out of the kitchen window, her back to Harriet. “You might say they are well equipped. I…” Agatha put a hand over her mouth. “I just can’t bear to leave the paintings behind.”

Harriet nodded. Grasping a small box, she made her way back up the stairs and threw it onto the floor in her room. Falling to her knees, she pulled out the drawers beneath her bed and examined her meagre selection of clothes. There wasn’t much choice. She loaded into the case three serviceable dresses, and paused. Her aunt was right. It was likely that if she was found she would be tried whether or not James was discovered. Harriet put a hand to her mouth as she gasped. She would need to disguise herself. The only time she had done that had been on the
Rocket
. As far as she knew, most of the crew had been fooled.

The clothes that she had worn to turn herself into Master Chance were now dry. Agatha had obviously placed them by the fire whilst she slept. They smelled of salt and smoke. The clothes crackled slightly as she pulled them at the waist. The breeches were unusable. The buckskin stayed formed in the same shape in which it had dried and refused to soften.

Harriet bit her lip. The only other trousers she had were the breeches she had torn. Pulling them out of the drawer, she examined the tear. It was smaller than she remembered, only an inch long. As long as she didn’t bend over, the long coat made for Tybalt would cover the hole.

Hopping on one leg, she pulled the breeches on and stood barefoot in the room. In removing the breeches from the drawer, she had pulled out a precious pair of stockings she had bought a year before with the first money from her teaching. She stroked the fine silk then pulled them on to her legs. Her boots she had lost to the sea. All that was left was a pair of good shoes with buckles which she used on market days. She pushed her feet into the shoes and then looked at herself in her dresser mirror.

Harriet put a one leg in front of the other and bowed. Master Chance the sailor was no more. A young dandy stared wide eyed back at her. Turning quickly to her dresser, she picked up a tin of pomade and stick of kohl. When she was finished, Harriet slipped on her coat, picked up the case and took it downstairs.

Outside Agatha was hitching up the pony Isabelle to the harness.

Harriet brought her portmanteau out, and started hefting the case to join the others on the cart.

“Come on, Isabelle, be a good girl and stand still for a…” Agatha turned as Harriet let the box fall with a bang into the cart. “Harr—who are you?”

Harriet stopped and gave her a courtly bow. “
Mister
Chance at your service, Madam,” she drawled.

Agatha looked behind Master Chance as if expecting to see Harriet appear. She gazed at the man, uncertainty crossing her face.

Harriet relaxed and stepped lightly towards Agatha. Her aunt’s mouth dropped open, and she clapped a hand to her face. Unexpectedly she giggled.

“Where on earth did you learn that?”

“Romeo and Juliet, Act two, scene four,” Harriet said simply. “That and the Times had described Beau Brummel’s greeting to the queen in extraordinary detail.”

“Gracious.” Agatha finished tightening Isabelle’s straps, wiped her hands in her skirts, then stopped. “What about me? I don’t really have any means to disguise myself. And I’m sure to give us away.”

“You will have to go in the crate.”

Agatha looked at the box on the cart that they used to carry small items.

Agatha’s face paled. “What if they search the cart?”

“I… I’ll have to stop that happening. We don’t have much time.”

Agatha clambered into the cart with trembling fingers. Standing by the crate, she looked down at Harriet.

“I suddenly feel rather claustrophobic,” she said faintly.

Harriet stared at her. But Agatha didn’t wait for a reply. Hitching up her skirts, she stepped into the crate, and sank down inside.

“It smells of fish in here.” Agatha’s disembodied voice floated out of the crate. She was silent for a second. “And cheese,” she said plaintively.

Harriet climbed onto the cart and over the loaded boxes. Picking up the lid to the crate, she made to seal down the lid. Agatha stared back at her from the dark box. Harriet cursed. As soon as someone opened the lid they would see Agatha and know that something was amiss.

Throwing the crate lid onto the other boxes, Harriet leapt off the cart and ran back into the cottage. It already felt cold and empty. She pulled down the lace curtains at the kitchen window. Bundling them into her arms, she paused by the front door. The hunting knife hung on its customary hook. Was there room for it? She shook her head. It was too noticeable and distinctive. Reluctantly she left it and stumbled back outside to the cart. Shaking the curtains out into an untidy heap, she dropped them on top of her aunt, and pushed them around her. Agatha understood at once and fluffed her skirts up. It made it seem as if there was more volume of material in the box than would be thought at first sight.

“I’m putting the lid back on now,” Harriet warned as she pushed down on the crate top.

Agatha’s reply was muffled. Conscious of the time, Harriet slid onto the cart seat and picked up the reins. With a ‘Hay up’, Master Chance guided the old pony out of the cottage courtyard and onto the main road.

There was only one stop for them to make. Harriet dropped the bags of coins for Janey’s lace on her doorstep. As the cart rumbled out of the village, Harriet heaved a sigh of relief. She held the reins tightly in her hand, her teeth locked together with tension. Apart from a few rustles behind her, Agatha was quiet. Harriet knew that soon Agatha’s legs would begin to cramp from having to be so still in such an awkward position.

Isabelle trotted steadily up Brambridge Vale and soon they were on the open road towards Ottery St Mary. Harriet dropped the reins and reached out to open the lid to the crate.

“Stop the cart.” A man stepped out from the hedge. Isabelle jerked in surprise and neighed nervously. Another man appeared, larger than the first; it was Granger and his son. Harriet dropped her outstretched arm to her side and licked her lips. At least it wasn’t Edgar. He knew Harriet and Agatha by sight. Mr. Granger knew Agatha, but she was safely bound in the cart box.

Samuel peered at her suspiciously around Isabelle’s shoulders. “Oo are you?”

Harriet twitched in her seat. “Master Chance, purveyor of fine paintings.” Harriet infused into her voice all the gentility she had heard from her aunt and the haughtiness she had employed as the school mistress. “On my way to Ottery St Mary.”

Granger nodded, his face stretching in an unctuous smile.  “So terribly sorry to inconvenience you, sir. We want to search your cart. We’re looking for someone.”

Samuel nudged his father and chuckled. “You forgot please, Pa. You constantly tell me to say please.”

“Please,” said Granger curtly, knocking his son’s elbow away.

“But there is only me on this cart!” Harriet did her best to look bewildered. Granger’s smile turned wolfish.

“Yes, but there is plenty of room to hide someone in one of these packing cases.”

Harriet picked up the reins then put them down again. She resisted the urge to scratch at her hair where the pomade was irritating her scalp.

“My kind sirs,” she said, drawing herself up to her full height on the stand of the cart. “That is impossible. I’m afraid quite impossible.” Harriet tried to imitate Edgar at his most imperious, buying lace from the villagers. “My paintings are very precious.” Harriet paused and gave a toothy smile. “Please do not take offence, but they must be in the cleanest, non-oily disposition when they reach my clients. I’m afraid that they have all been packed up. If you were to go through them all then you would ruin them.”

Harriet looked pointedly at Samuel’s large shovel-like hands. Samuel slowly nodded. It was obvious he was used to being told he could not touch things.

Granger’s face turned a shade of puce. Worried that she had angered him, Harriet withdrew her knife from her coat and slit open the biggest packing case to reveal the framed canvases within.

Granger pulled himself up on the cart and peered into the box. He clacked the paintings together against each other as if trying to see if there was a person underneath. Harriet gave a quick yank on the reins, making Isabelle start forward. Granger almost fell at the unexpected motion.

“So terribly sorry, Mr.… eh, Mr.… as you can see there is nothing here.”

Granger shot her a black look and, swinging his leg over the back of the cart, made to put his feet down on the ground.

“Pa! There’s another big box on this side of the cart.” Samuel appeared at the side of the cart where Harriet sat holding the reins. Her heart sank.

“There you have me,” she blustered. “I also bought some lace.”

“Take the top off the crate, Master Chance,” Granger said menacingly. He pulled his leg back into the cart and crawled across the packing cases.

Harriet stood and shuffled round on the cart seat. Why hadn’t she taken a few minutes to mend her breeches? Of all the times to start worrying about the embarrassing hole that would be revealed when she bent over to take off the lid of the crate and revealed Agatha within. 

She grimaced at Samuel. “Do you mind?” she drawled, pointing at the crate. “My silk stockings you see, can’t have them catching on the wood.”

Samuel nodded and climbed onto the cart. As soon as the man stood next to her, Harriet was able to turn with him to face the crate. She thanked the stars for his stupidity.

Samuel pulled the top off the crate. Harriet reached out with a limp wrist and made waving motions at the inside.

“Do come and look, lace everywhere.”

Granger shuffled across the packing cases and looked into the box. Balancing on his knees, he lifted up a hand. Harriet gulped.

“Mr. Edgar Stanton is a veritable swindler!” she blurted, stamping her feet. The cart rocked slightly.

Granger put his hand back down to steady himself. He looked at her with disgust.

Harriet shook her head. “When I first saw him, presentable chap you know, I thought to myself here is a man I could do business with.”

Granger cocked his head on one side. “Oh yes?”

“But then after I packed up the material that you see here and put it in the crate after being charged a high price I can tell you—”

“Get on with it, Master Chance!”

Harriet sniffed. “I found half the bale contained terrible quality lace!” With unhurried hands, Harriet plucked the lid from Samuel’s hands and slammed it back on the crate. As Granger made to protest, she turned in her seat to face forwards, presenting him with her back.

She gave a loud sniff. “I also overheard him talking with a woman whilst I was in his shop, a Mrs. Madely I think he called her. He said something like he would never trust a man called Granger and that he was going to go back on a bargain that they had.” Harriet grimaced and crossed her fingers.

“I’m going to kill that man!” Granger roared. He cursed as he crawled back over the packing cases and angrily got down from the cart, the crate forgotten. “Samuel, follow me!”

Harriet gave Samuel a sideways look. He stood looking bewildered for an instant, then at a loud bark from his father, lumbered down from the cart.

Harriet didn’t stop to see which direction they went in. Pulling on the reins and clicking her tongue against her teeth, she set Isabelle in motion up the hill.

The cart lurched forwards for two miles. Isabelle blew loudly through her nostrils, and neighed in protest at the pace Harriet had forced her to. Reaching the shade of a large oak, Harriet risked a look back along the road. It was empty, with only the sounds of the wind in the leaves and the chirrups of a territorial blackbird breaking the silence. Pulling Isabelle to a halt in the lea of the tree, Harriet dropped the reins and slumped in her seat.

The tension of the last few miles left her in an instant. She shivered and looked up. It was a warm day, so why was it so cold in the shade? A drop of water fell from her nose. She sat cradling it in her hand and looked up again. It wasn’t raining. She felt another drop fall from her nose again and licked it. Salt tingled at her taste buds.

Harriet was crying. She barely ever cried. And now, even when she did, she didn’t realize. She let out a hysterical laugh. It sounded more like a sob to her ears. Two years’ worth of dreams, and the only real home she could remember lost in a day.

A muffled shouting and banging arrested her labored breathing. Dashing her hands against her eyes, Harriet stood quickly and took the top off the crate. Agatha rose like a geyser to her feet, gasping for breath.

“Fish,” she gasped, “I’ll never eat fish and cheese again.” She leaned against the edge of the crate for support, stretching her legs against the side of the cart. “I thought we were discovered,” she said breathlessly. “Done for.”

Harriet sniffed and turned away, wiping at her eyes. “We’re not out of the woods yet.” She was pleased her voice didn’t tremble. “I told them we were going to Ottery St Mary, but something gives me a bad feeling about that.”

“Hmm. That is where the lawyer comes from after all.” Agatha climbed out of the crate with a wince. “With a fast horse, one of them could reach Ottery on the high road much faster than we will arrive there with our cart. That is, if they decide that they want to stop you again.”