Escaping Notice Page 4

  Nonetheless, doubts plagued her. Ormsby had been full of guests for the ball. What if one of them had found the necklace? It would be just too mortifying to question them – or worse, to ask the earl. He would think she was a puddinghead, which she could not precisely counter at the moment. She felt like a puddinghead.

  “They’ve given us the use of a small room, Miss Archer,” Sally said, interrupting Helen’s dire thoughts. The lady’s maid took Helen’s cloak and gave a series of rapid orders to the innkeeper regarding their supper and sleeping arrangements.

  Entering the tiny private room, Helen was about to take a seat on one of the benches near the flickering fire when she noticed another occupant poking the smoking logs with a stick.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed. “I thought this room was not in use.”

  The boy stood up and eyed her with such an expression of exasperation that she flushed. “Well, it is in use, isn’t it? Who are you?”

  Helen’s surprise turned to irritation at his insolent tone. He was a stocky boy about her height, with brown hair and eyes, and an annoying degree of self-possession. Pulling off her gloves, Helen strode into the room, determined not to allow this child to force her out of her private room.

  “I’m Miss Archer and this is my room. What are you doing here?”

  He gestured towards the table where the remains of a meat pie rested at the end nearest to the fire. “I’m eating, that’s what.”

  “And who are you?”

  “Ed—Ned Br—er, Ned Brown.”

  The way he stumbled over his name gave her the distinct impression that he hadn’t told her the strict truth. Not that it mattered overmuch. His hands were a little grubby, but he appeared clean enough overall, and the brown jacket and long pants he wore were of decent quality. He did not look, or act, like a servant’s child. Perhaps he was simply travelling to London just as she was, although he ought to be in the care of a guardian. Unless he had run away.

  He certainly had the cockiness suggestive of a runaway.

  “Where is your guardian, Mr. Brown?”

  “I’m meeting him in London,” he replied promptly.

  “You’re traveling alone?”

  “I would have to be if I’m going to join my guardian in London, wouldn’t I?”

  Helen’s brows rose at this statement, but she continued in a level voice, “No one lets a child travel alone. Who is your guardian?”

  “Mr. Brown.”

  “Of course,” Helen murmured, suddenly tired. She dropped her reticule on the table and pulled out one of the chairs. “Well, you can’t travel alone. It’s too dangerous. Anything could happen to you. I think it’s best if you join me in my carriage tomorrow. I’m going to London, and at least you will arrive there safely.”

  “How do I know I’ll be any safer with you than I am on my own? You could be planning to kidnap me and hold me for ransom.”

  “Nonsense. I assure you I can be trusted. I have not kidnapped any young persons in ages. And I, at least, introduced myself using my true name.”

  Instead of reassuring him, this seemed to produce disappointment. He turned partially away from her and stared at the worn carpet, working the toe of his boot into one of the rapidly-expanding holes.

  She eyed him, waiting for the silence to encourage him to confess the truth. However, before young Mr. Brown decided to reply, the door opened again, revealing a short man whose most prominent feature was a bulbous, bright red nose. The man glanced at Mr. Brown and Helen before his gaze returned to linger on Helen. Finally, he entered and shut the door.

  “The inn’s terribly full tonight,” he commented, rubbing his hands together. “Not a spare room to be had. I hope you and your little brother don’t mind if I join you?”

  “This is a private room, sir,” Helen replied coldly, not liking the way he smiled at her without meeting her gaze directly.

  “Please, I beg you to allow me to share this snug little room for a few hours. Let me introduce myself.” He bowed at Helen, staring at her bodice. “I am Mr. Stewart, and I have the honor of addressing …?”

  Helen ignored his request for introductions and turned instead to the boy. She very nearly made the mistake of addressing him formally before she stopped. If Mr. Stewart believed Mr. Brown was her brother, who was she to discourage him?

  “Ned, I’m going to my room to refresh myself. I’ll return with Sally in fifteen minutes. Be good enough to order supper for us, will you?”

  “Yes, sister,” he replied with patently false meekness.

  Helen nodded sharply to Mr. Stewart, hoping he would have left before she returned. If not, she supposed she could have a tray sent up to her room, although the prospect failed to excite her. As she picked up her reticule from the table, a small blue vial fell out. It was the medicine she used to soothe her stomach when travelling. It rolled toward the interloper.

  Mr. Stewart grabbed it and held it out to her with a bow. She took it out of his greasy hand and thrust it back into her reticule, before escaping the stuffy little room.

  She wished fervently they hadn’t decided to stop here for the night.

  But at least she would be gone by morning.

  Chapter Seven

  “A chief part of his duty consists in assisting in the rough work ….” —The Complete Servant

  Edward Brown-Leigh studied Mr. Stewart as Miss Archer left the room. The man was really offensive, another word which had recently come into his vocabulary and was already proving useful. Edward wanted to punch him in his red nose for the way he stared at the delicate Miss Archer.

  “You were lucky, sir,” Edward said when the man turned towards him. Despite teasing Miss Archer, Edward had rather liked her. She was pretty and she hadn’t treated him like a sapskull, two qualities which immediately endeared her to him. He was also tired enough after walking all day with his heavy valise to be grateful to her for her offer to take him to London tomorrow in her carriage.

  He did not like Mr. Stewart, however. Or the way his beady little eyes had followed Miss Archer.

  After Edward’s comment, Mr. Stewart laughed, although it had a hollow, false note.

  “Lucky? I agree. It was a lovely piece of luck to find the inn so full that I was forced to share a room with such a charming couple as you and your fair sister.”

  Edward shook his head and fixed a pious expression on his face. “Oh, indeed. But what was lucky was that my sister hadn’t the opportunity to serve you anything to drink.”

  “To drink?” Mr. Stewart echoed Edward’s words before giving another, less hearty, laugh.

  “You saw the blue vial she carries?” Edward shook his head mournfully.

  “Yes. What of it? Just smelling salts or some similar medicine. All delicate ladies carry such things.”

  Edward sighed. “If it was only that ….”

  “Only that?”

  “We’re going to London to see a doctor, you see. I only hope we can get there without any more … incidents.”

  “Incidents?”

  “Yes. I probably shouldn’t tell you about our difficulties, but it’s been preying on my mind ever since father took ill last winter and left it up to me to see that my sister gets the care she needs. I’m only praying she won’t end up in Bedlam, though if another man …. Well, I shouldn’t tell you our troubles.”

  “Bedlam?” Mr. Stewart’s voice squeaked. His ruddy face grew pale although his blob of a nose remained bright cherry red.

  “Yes. You see, my sister is easily annoyed by strange men. And when she gets annoyed, she has a way of slipping a little something extra into their drink.”

  “Poison? Why in God’s name isn’t she locked up?”

  “Oh, she hasn’t actually killed anyone.” He smiled reassuringly and widened his eyes to prove his earnestness. “Not yet, anyway. And fortunately, she listens to me and is quite docile when I'm present. We have every hope for a cure after we get to London. We’re going to see a specialist.”

  Li
fting his hat in one hand, Mr. Stewart wiped his sleeve over his brow. When the door behind him opened, he jerked violently, hitting the table with his hip. Edward stared at the floor to keep from laughing at the expression on Mr. Stewart’s face when Miss Archer entered the room, followed by a woman Edward presumed to be her maid.

  “Oh, you’re back!” Mr. Stewart exclaimed. “I’m dreadfully sorry, but you must excuse me. Terribly sorry.” He dashed past the two women who stared after him, open-mouthed.

  Edward smiled triumphantly at Miss Archer and was rewarded with a puzzled look that made him somewhat nervous. A slight frown pinched the skin between her brows. If she heard what he had told Mr. Stewart, she might take it amiss.

  He shuffled his feet and gazed at the door, wondering if discretion really was the better part of valor as The Aunts had insisted.

  Perhaps they’d been mistaken about that and he should admit the truth to Miss Archer and hope for the best.

  Chapter Eight

  “Quietness, in every respect, is of the first consequence.”—The Complete Servant

  Helen recovered from her astonishment at Mr. Stewart’s abrupt departure and faced Ned Brown. He was brushing invisible dust off his sleeves and looking suspiciously angelic.

  “What did you say to him?” Helen asked.

  “Nothing. I think he had an appointment elsewhere.”

  “No, he did not, or he would have mentioned it earlier.” She held up a hand. “And do not try to gammon me, brother dearest. I’ve already spoken with the management and the inn is indeed overflowing with patrons. There’s scarcely an inch of floor space to spare. Now, please be honest with me, what did you tell Mr. Stewart that made him leave so precipitously?”

  “Precipitously ….” Ned repeated, as if savoring a new word. He refused to meet her gaze and stared at the floor, tracing the edge of one of the thick boards with his toe. “I didn’t —”

  “You must have said something. Truly, I won’t be angry if you tell me the truth.” When he did not raise his glance, she continued, “I don’t see how we are to take you up in our carriage tomorrow if you can’t trust me enough to tell me the truth now.”

  “I —”

  “The truth, Ned. Please.”

  He glanced up at her with a defiant angle to his stubby chin. “I told him to leave you alone. I didn’t like the way he ogled you.”

  Helen laughed, touched by the boy’s admission. He had a rather lost air about him that made her want to throw an arm round his shoulders and hug him, before giving him a plate of cakes. “Is that all? Surely, you must have said something else to make him run off in that nervous manner. You did not threaten him, did you?” she teased.

  “Well, I asked him if he had seen that blue vial you carry.”

  “My blue vial? Why would that alarm him? It’s just oil of mint to soothe my stomach when I travel.”

  “Well, you see, I rather let him think it might be poison.”

  “Poison?” Helen repeated in horrified tones. Images of Bow Street Runners meeting their carriage in London and hauling her off to gaol flickered before her eyes. “You told him I was carrying poison? I supposed you also just happened to admit that I’m in the habit of poisoning rude strangers too?”

  A gleam of satisfaction lit up Ned’s brown eyes. He nodded, and then added with a great deal of relish, “And I told him I was taking you to see a doctor in London. And perhaps to Bedlam, as well.”

  “You told him I was mad?” Helen did not know whether she ought to laugh or cry. She leaned against the table, but before she could decide, her body quivered. A small giggle escaped.

  Ned grinned back and let out a deep breath. “Now you can enjoy a quiet supper, can’t you?”

  She could not help it. She burst into laughter. “You really shouldn’t have told poor Mr. Stewart those dreadful things, Ned. What if he goes to the authorities?”

  “Oh, I told him you hadn’t quite killed anyone. Yet.”

  “And I appreciate your self-restraint, but it might have been easier if we’d let Mr. Stewart have this room and gone to our own quarters.”

  “This is my room. I didn’t want to waste my money on one of their silly bedrooms when I can sleep right here by the fire.”

  “You shall do no such thing!” Helen replied, appalled that the boy intended to spend the night curled up on the rug like a dog, instead of safely tucked up in a proper bed. Then she remembered the overabundance of guests and the resulting shortage of rooms. She had been lucky to get the last room, according to the innkeeper. “We’ll have a trundle bed set up in our room for you. It’s just for one night, after all.” Helen turned to her maid. “Sally, please see to it before all the beds are bespoke.”

  Shutting the door behind her maid, Helen turned back to Ned. He had picked up one of the large yeast rolls from a basket on the table and appeared to be completely absorbed in buttering it.

  “What would you think of a frog living in a tea pot?” he asked, out of nowhere.

  “A frog? In a tea pot?” There was no tea pot on the table that she could see. “I suppose I’ve never really thought about it.”

  “But what would you do if you found one?”

  “Well, let it go, I suppose.”

  He frowned. “But you can see, can’t you, that a tea pot is a good place to keep a frog? At least temporarily?”

  “The pot is not full of tea, is it?”

  “No,” he replied, scornfully. “Just a little pond water.”

  “Then I suppose it might be all right, as a temporary home.” The notion appeared harmless enough, if a trifle eccentric.

  He nodded, appearing satisfied.

  “There aren’t any frogs in tea pots here, are there?” she asked, hoping the discussion was entirely theoretical.

  “Of course not! I don’t suppose they even have tea pots here!”

  “I’m sure they do. But they’re probably full of tea. And a jar would be better, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose.” His toe dug at little more at the carpet. “If I had a jar. But you’d have to have holes in the lid. They need to breathe, you know.”

  “I’m sure they do. Do you have a frog?”

  “Not any more.”

  Thank goodness.

  “Well, maybe you can find one in London, after we get there. Now, where are we to take you when we arrive tomorrow? Where were you to meet your guardian?” she asked, her voice betraying her doubts. Ned Brown hadn’t given her his destination, and given his predilection for well-embroidered tales, she wasn’t sure she ought to help him in his adventure.

  What if he was some lord’s runaway heir? No one would thank her for assisting Ned in his escape.

  Her doubts increased with Ned’s next comment. He shrugged and said, “Anywhere’ll do. I can find my way well enough once I’m there.” Cramming the first roll into his mouth, he chewed while he picked up another bun and the butter knife.

  “Yes, but where does your guardian live? We ought to leave you safely in his care.”

  “I’ll show you when we get to London.”

  “You don’t know, do you? Because you’ve run away from home. Who is your real guardian? Where does he live?”

  His eyes flickered, however he devoured half of the second warm yeast roll before answering, “In truth, I don’t know.”

  “You did run away!”

  “No.” Ned broke up the remains of the second roll and added more butter, only to stop and glance up at her. His fingers nervously tore the bread into smaller and smaller pieces.

  “If you did not run away, then why don’t you know Mr. Brown’s address? If there is a Mr. Brown.”

  “No, I honestly, well, I’m not sure because I don’t remember!”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “I’m only eleven, Miss!” he wailed.

  Helen stared at him, nearly sure he was play acting, but uncertain enough to put her arm round him and give him an awkward hug. “So you aren’t running away, but you do
n’t know where you are going in London? Truthfully?”

  A sob shook his shoulders. “I—I don’t remember!”

  “Then we shall take you back to your home. It can’t be that far if you walked here today. Surely the constable can help you find your family.”

  “That’s just it, Miss. I woke up in a field this morning with nothing but this old valise and no idea where I should go. All I could remember was the name ‘Ned Brown’ and the notion that I had to go to London. That’s all. So I thought it best to continue onward.”

  “That sounds an awful lot like a Banbury tale to me.”

  “It’s all I can say, Miss.” He hiccupped and wiped his nose on his sleeve, before Helen pushed one of the linen napkins into his hand.

  “Or all you will say. Wipe your nose. It is not all that terrible, after all. You’re perfectly safe with me, and we shall find where you belong soon enough.” She studied Ned, but was none the wiser after her perusal.

  Then sudden inspiration made her smile.

  Uncle John often had occasion to hire an inquiry agent. It would be a simple matter to employ one to determine who Ned Brown was and where he lived.

  She squeezed his shoulder and smiled encouragingly. “Never mind. Perhaps you’ll remember after a good night’s sleep. Or maybe a glimpse of London will bring your memories back.”

  “Perhaps,” Ned replied. He sounded doubtful and sullen.

  Helen’s heart went out to him. It must be frightening to be only eleven years old and alone. Ned was being such a brave little soldier, trying to carry on without any help.

  At least he did not have to be alone any more.

  She would do everything she could to help him and still find the Peckham Necklace. There was plenty of time to be a true adventuress, she thought as she chewed another fingernail down to the quick.

  Chapter Nine