Abigail Moor (11 page)

“Mrs Moor... Is
everything well with you?” he added.

Abigail looked
into his eyes, deep and searching. “Yes, very well. Good night,
sir,” she repeated, and shut the door behind her – perhaps a little
too quickly.

The following morning Joshua left Molly sleeping. This morning he
knew Drab would return before the London coach left. So how was he
to leave the inn with the young woman unseen? He had already seen
the maid and Mrs Moor leave the inn and hoped to ask for some help
with Molly. However, he could hardly follow them into the street
and make a nuisance of himself. So he decided to take a walk. See
if there was any sign of Amos Drab lurking around.

He wanted rest.
Leaving the girl was the only way to test a mutual trust. Why he
should care he knew not, but he had seen too many young lives
destroyed on all sides of the war; this one he could help. Molly
was an innocent who had been thrust into a world unshielded from
its reality; the young lady was truly innocent of the wider world.
He wondered if her maid would be able to keep her safe.

Joshua suddenly
had an inspiration and returned shortly to the inn with renewed
enthusiasm.

“Molly, we need
to leave here because Drab is in the area.” Joshua saw the alarm on
her face.

“He’ll skin me,
mister, if he catches me.”

“I don’t doubt
it. So we had better stay one step ahead. I want you to wear these.
He dropped some clothes at her feet. They were the clothes of a
boy.

“You want me to
wear breeches?”

“Yes. I want
you to wear breeches, shirt, jacket and cap. I want you to leave
your old rags here in that fire and I want you to act as though you
belong with me. Follow at my side. God knows why, but it appears I
am going to help you.”

She felt the
quality of the garments and looked up at him and grinned. “You is a
real gent.”

“Say it often
enough and I might start believing in my own virtues.” He winked at
her, leaving her to change into her new disguise.

Abigail had woken like a woman with a mission. She marched Martha
back to the dressmaker’s shop behind the minster.

“Can I help
you, milady?” A tall straight figure greeted Abigail somewhat
apprehensively when Martha entered behind her, panting slightly as
she carried their bag.

“Yes, I require
a mourning dress, pelisse, hat, gloves and a quality fur muff to
match.” Abigail held herself straight with complete confidence and
her natural decorum.

The woman’s
eyes lit up at the prospect of the forthcoming sale. “If you would
care to come through to my pattern room I will measure milady and
then she can choose her fabrics and patterns.”

“That would be
most enjoyable. However, unfortunately I require them today.”
Abigail saw the smile drop from the woman’s face as she turned to
look back at her.

“Today?” she
queried. “This is really quite irregular.”

“Yes, today.”
Abigail stared directly at her not flinching in her resolve.

“Isn’t that
rather sudden?” The lady tilted her head slightly at her as she
spoke.

“Death often
is. I am leaving York today and need suitable travelling attire.”
Abigail had seen the woman’s samples displayed in her pattern room.
One, a long black pelisse, would do her fine. If only she could
convince the woman to part with it.

“I do not have
clothes made ready to wear. I am a perfectionist, ma’am. I make
garments of quality that fit my ladies perfectly, so that when
their friends and relatives espy them, they all wish to purchase
their attire here, from me, personally.” She held her fingers
together in front of her own exquisite gown. “There is an
establishment that sells second-hand garments of dubious quality,
at a reasonable price, near the Barr. Perhaps madam should try
there.” Her voice and tone was not condescending even if the advice
clearly included a message.

“How much would
that ‘perfect’ pelisse cost?” Abigail asked, gesturing to the back
room, and ignoring the slight that had been intended.

“That is one of
my most precious show pieces. I could not possibly let anything
leave my shop that was not a perfect fit on the person who is seen
wearing it.”

“Then you have
just missed the opportunity to make a direct sale and actual coin
as opposed to an order on account, madam. Come, Martha, we shall go
elsewhere.” Abigail turned slowly to leave hoping the words ‘actual
coin’ was sufficient to persuade the woman to part with her
precious pelisse. Abigail knew that many respectable society ladies
would pay on account or by note. Some never paid at all, but
Abigail hoped that she was an astute business woman.

“Perhaps,” she
said, “I could be persuaded to part with such a precious garment if
indeed it did fit you adequately.” She disappeared into the back
room. Abigail followed. A chaise longue had pride of place along
the centre of the wall opposite; its golden chintz gave the room an
air of luxury. Two matching chairs were positioned either side of
it.

Abigail removed
her pelisse and wrapped herself in the black one; it was indeed
well made, with a fine silk lining and fur trim. It fitted her
comfortably, perhaps a little more room than she needed, but not so
much that anyone would notice.

“I will buy it
if you ask a fair price.” Abigail stared pointedly at the woman who
discreetly licked her lips. Martha was watching her closely.
“Perhaps a little more than your normal charge for the
inconvenience I have caused you.”

“I shall charge
you the price as I would for the garment to be made up, plus one
tenth of the cost as I will not have it to show my customers until
I can replace it. Would you consider that fair?”

Martha opened
her mouth to speak; however, Abigail put out her hand.

“Have you sold
a garment such as this to anyone else recently?” Abigail asked,
wondering if the woman had a record of a fair price.

The lady smiled
and walked over to a desk in the corner. She removed a ledger and
opened the leather-bound book, flicking purposefully through its
pages.

“I have no need
nor wish to extort money from my customers. I do not know what your
circumstances are, but you obviously are in a hurry so I shall show
you the last sale of the coat. Pay your money and be on your way. I
have an important lady arriving shortly to order her new wardrobe
and I will give her my complete and utter attention. So if you look
here,” she pointed to the figures in her ledger, “you can see what
was charged. Now, do we have a sale?”

“Yes, we do.”
Abigail smiled gratefully at her and relaxed her manner. She opened
her purse and started to count out her money. It felt very strange
to be handling money herself.

The lady
brought over a matching box hat, a muff and a pair of black kid
gloves.

“You will need
these also, I think.”

“Yes, of
course, thank you. I wish to keep the pelisse on.” Abigail pulled
off her own gloves and Martha helped to fix the hat on her lady’s
head.

“Excuse me, my
dear, it is worn so.” The lady adjusted Abigail’s hat and gave
Martha a scathing look.

“Are you
staying in York?” she asked idly.

“No, we are
making our way to London,” Abigail answered and saw that Martha
approved of her lie.

“Well, my dear,
you should be fine in this, but please go straight to a ladies
outfitter of note, or else no one worth knowing will wish to
associate with you.” The advice was well meant, Abigail
decided.

Her own coat
was wrapped by a young assistant as a large coach drew up outside
the establishment.

Instantly, the
place was a hive of activity. Two young girls, immaculately dressed
with starched white aprons, opened the shop doors wide. A footman
was dropping the step of the bright yellow carriage, dramatic
against the black trimmings. Abigail stared at the coach. The coat
of arms was not one she recognised but it brought back to her
memories of her home, Lord Hammond and their own fine livery.

The lady who
stepped out was in her middle years, Abigail guessed, but she was
exquisitely turned out. Her skin was fair, unlike Abigail’s darker
hue, her hair like gold and, as she turned to enter the
establishment her green eyes sought out the fawning shop owner. The
lady held her head high and erect. Abigail thought this was a woman
who knew the value and effect of her own beauty.

“Lady
Fenton-Grange, I have a tray prepared for you, milady. I hope your
journey wasn’t too arduous?” The shopkeeper did indeed fawn with
all her attention.

“Yes it was. It
always is. However, you may show me what you have prepared and I do
hope this will not be a wasted journey. I am on my way to see Lord
Fenton-Grange and need my wardrobe packing today! Should anything
be incomplete I shall be left without, and that will not do! When
we are back at Over Bagby Hall I shall send for you again, but now
we are on our way to Dower House and I need and demand everything
to be perfect, Miss Blossom.”

“Of course,
nothing less will do in my establishment.” Miss Blossom looked
directly at Abigail who had been waiting to leave.

“Is this to be
a public viewing, Blossom?” Lady Fenton-Grange glared at Abigail,
and then stepped in front of her, peering down upon her face. Her
green eyes looked full of surprise. “Do I know you, girl?”

Abigail did not
care for her tone or being referred to as a ‘girl’ once more. She
ignored her question and addressed Miss Blossom instead.

“Thank you for
your help, Miss Blossom. I shall pass on my approval of your
establishment to all my friends.” Abigail saw the older woman smile
politely at her. Abigail turned to summon Martha. She looked to one
side of her and then the other to discover Martha had already left
the premises.

“Good day,”
Abigail said to Miss Blossom, then looked directly at the irate
emerald eyes that glared at her, “No, I don’t believe we have met,
or are likely to again.” Abigail stepped outside without waiting
for the indignant woman’s response, although she pitied Miss
Blossom who would no doubt receive the wrong side of the woman’s
tongue. Abigail still felt as though she was being watched by the
lady, but she refused to look back at her. Abigail peered up the
length of the street and then heard a low whistle. It was Martha
standing on a corner further down the road from the shop.

“Why on earth
did you leave me like that?” Abigail was most annoyed. She had not
even seen her slip out of the shop. “I thought we were to stay
together.”

Martha shifted
uneasily and struggled to balance both the bag and the wrapped
parcel. “Sorry, Abigail, Miss Hammond, I found out where the Whitby
coach goes from, but it ain’t going today.”

“What? We have
to go today or else we’ll be discovered for certain.” Abigail
sighed heavily as she looked up towards the imposing towers of the
Minster. ‘God, tell me what are we to do now?’ she muttered to
herself.

“We shall go to
ask about hiring a chaise. The mail coach goes tonight, which may
be too late.” Martha patted Abigail’s arm. “We have no choice, Mrs
Moor. God willing, our future will be protected and safe.”

“Martha, you
are…”

“Standing here
wasting our precious time with this chatter. Now, I have directions
to go to a place where we can rent one. It’s two streets down to
the right, next to the coppersmith’s place. So we best be on our
way.”

“You are a
marvel and I’d be lost without you.” Abigail completed her sentence
as they walked on.

“So long as you
remember that… Mrs Moor.”

Joshua and a boy left the Phoenix Inn. They made their way around
the huge Minster that dominated the sky line and headed towards
Micklegate. Here they had been told they would be able to rent a
small coach. Joshua walked as casually as he could with his slight
limp. Molly walked confidently by his side. The big cap shaded her
face. The clothes were roomy on her but she had told him that did
not matter as they were both warm and comfortable. Joshua glanced
down at her with amusement as she had her back straight and had
adopted a much bolder gait. She played the part well.

They crossed
the soiled and muddied street to the yard where he could see a
coach and gig housed outside.

“This is the
place.” Joshua moved his bag from one hand to the other and placed
his free one on Molly’s shoulder. “Keep that hat tilted down and
let me do the talking. Whatever happens, if you see Drab, don’t
run. Stay at my side.”

“Yes, guv’ner,”
her reply was in a much deeper voice than her usual one.

“Captain will
do. You’ve not just fallen out of Seven Dials.”

“Where?”

“Just stay
quiet.”

Abigail approached the yard. Martha had done well to find this
place. They would soon be on their way. Within moments she had been
given the choice of a gig, which neither of them could possibly
handle, or the expense of renting a chaise.

She could
afford it, but Martha was dead set against the expense of the
vehicle which was too roomy for them, plus the two horses and the
postilion rider. The charge Martha claimed was too high. Her maid
wanted to keep as much money back as possible for their survival in
Whitby.

Undecided,
Abigail was annoyed she had not over-ruled her maid’s dissent when
she found that she had competition for the vehicle. Captain Rusk
and a boy were also interested in renting it. Abigail was filled
with a wave of emotion at seeing him, which she found strange, yet
exciting. Was fate showing its hand?

“Martha, we
shall have to take it or we shall be discovered.” Abigail stood
forward.

“Captain Rusk,
we are already in discussions for the purchase of the rental of
this chaise to take us over to Whitby.” She had hoped she had
sounded firm enough to be taken seriously, unlike her attempts at
being listened to in Mr Ashton’s establishment. That experience had
not boosted her confidence although the way she had handled Miss
Blossom had.