In Pursuit of Eliza Cynster (11 page)

Jeremy was unwavering in his solicitousness, in being ready with a hand, or his arm, to steady her. She would normally have found such constant attention irritating, yet tonight she was nothing but grateful. And surprised.

Surprised by just how aware she was of the man by her side.

He might be a scholar, as absentminded as they came, but he was also very tall, and quite …
manly
was the word that sprang to mind.

He possessed a great deal more physical presence than she’d recalled, an aura she found distracting. That made her senses skitter and her nerves tighten, that made her awareness focus on him, rather than on her surroundings.

Yet even distracted as she was, she didn’t need to be told that they’d entered, and were pushing further into, the better part of Auld Town. The houses changed; many were older, predating the fire; ornamentation on their stonework became increasingly more visible as the moon rose.

It cast more than enough light for her to appreciate the solid gentility that permeated the houses in the street they eventually turned into. The city’s bells chimed and clanged twice each as they strode up the slumbering street. Fishing in his pocket, Cobby halted before a three-story town house, then, latchkey in hand, he ascended the three steps, unlocked the door, set it wide, and with a smile to match, waved them in. “Welcome to my humble abode, Miss Cynster.”

Guided by Jeremy up the steps, she passed Cobby to step over the threshold, and he added, “Although your stay will be short, Meggin and I hope it will be comfortable.”

Crossing into the front hall, into welcoming warmth and soft candlelight, Eliza found a lady much her own age, with lustrous black curls and laughing blue eyes, waiting to greet her.

The lady smiled and offered her hands. “I’m Margaret — Meggin to all. Welcome to our home.”

Eliza found herself smiling broadly back. She put her hands in Meggin’s, without hesitation leaned close to touch cheeks, and for the first time in days, relaxed.

The door shut and bolted, they repaired to the drawing room where a tray with tea, small honey cakes, and a plate of more robust sandwiches was waiting. While Meggin and Eliza sipped tea from china cups and nibbled the delicious honey cakes, the men sipped from glasses of whisky and made short work of the sandwiches.

“It all went exactly as we’d planned.” Cobby waved a sandwich as he brought Meggin up to date. “We went straight to the High Street end, then counted back to find the right basement.”

“We were lucky that the same builder built that terrace all the way from the corner,” Hugo said.

“And that you found those youths to act as guides.” Jeremy set down his empty glass. “We could have found our way without them, but we’d have attracted far too much interest along the way. Having them with us allowed us to go in and come out without hindrance.”

Comfortably seated on the damask-covered chaise alongside Meggin, in a room whose amenity made her feel at home, for the first time since she’d walked into the back parlor of St. Ives House, Eliza felt her sartorial shortcomings. And the need of a hot bath. She glanced at Meggin, smiled rather wanly. “I wonder if I might trouble you for a change of attire?” Meggin was nearly a head shorter than she. “Perhaps you have a maid more my size …?”

Meggin laughed and patted her hand. “Actually, we’re going to do rather better than that. Water’s already being heated for a bath — we weren’t sure exactly when you would reach here, or it would have been ready sooner. However”— she glanced at Jeremy —“I suspect that you’d better hear the rest of the plan these gentlemen have concocted before you indulge.” Meggin briefly met Eliza’s eyes. “It’s they who have arranged your wardrobe for today.”

Puzzled, Eliza looked at Jeremy.

He met her gaze. “We need to get you away from Edinburgh to some safe house as soon as possible, and unless you can tell us of a nearer place, Wolverstone Castle is the closest I know.”

She blinked, thought. “I’ve visited Edinburgh twice before, but we have no family or close connections here.” After another moment considering, she nodded. “Yes, it would be Wolverstone. There’s the Vale, of course, Richard and Catriona’s home where Heather and Breckenridge sought refuge, but it’s all the way across the country, and some way south — not as close as the border south of here.”

“And Wolverstone’s not far beyond the border, so that’s where we need to go. Royce and Minerva are in residence, an added bonus.”

She nodded again. “So how are we going to get there?”

Jeremy glanced at Cobby. “Do you have that map?”

“Left it in the dining room — I’ll fetch it.”

While Cobby went to get the map, Jeremy went on, “Before I forget, I sent word to Royce by courier yesterday, telling him I’d found you and that we would make for Wolverstone with all speed, and asking him to send word to your parents. Of course, by the time they receive any missive, we should already be safe with Royce. However, in order to reach him, we have to take into account that it’s highly likely that Scrope will give chase.”

“Once he realizes I’m gone.”

“Precisely. Unfortunately, it isn’t sensible to leave before dawn, and he may realize you’ve gone shortly after, so we thought it best to have some strategy to slow him down.” Jeremy paused as Cobby came back in, carrying a large map, already unfolded.

Cobby laid it on a small table, then pulled the table between the chaise and Jeremy’s chair. Hugo pulled his chair closer. Cobby followed suit, saying, “It won’t hurt to go over it one more time.”

“Right.” Jeremy glanced at Eliza. “The plan we’ve come up with has two arms. The actual escape — you and me racing back across the border to Wolverstone — and the decoy.”

“That’s me and Hugo,” Cobby informed her.

“The four of us will leave here a little before dawn,” Jeremy went on. “We’ll split up immediately. Cobby and Hugo will go down to the smaller inn on South Bridge Street near the coaching inn where Scrope left the coach. My curricle and horse are at that smaller inn. Cobby and Hugo, pretending to be me and you, will take my bag, collect my horse and curricle, then drive out along the Great North Road, heading at speed for the border — exactly as anyone would expect us to.”

Leaning over the map, Jeremy traced Cobby’s and Hugo’s prospective route. “They’ll drive via Berwick all the way to Wolverstone, carrying word that you and I will be coming via a different, less obvious route.” He glanced up and caught Eliza’s eye. “Meanwhile, you and I will go down Cannongate and along High Street to the Grassmarket and the stables there, to the southwest of the town, then head out along this road”— he pointed —“heading southwest to Lanark via Carnwath. But at Carnwath, we’ll turn east.” He traced the road eastward. “Going via Castlecraig, Peebles, Innerleithen, Melrose, Galashiels, and St. Boswells through to Jedburgh and the border beyond.”

“The same border crossing they used on the way here,” Eliza said.

Jeremy nodded. “We’re wagering they’ll assume we’ll take the faster road with more traffic for cover. From their point of view, there’s no reason for us to use the Jedburgh, or more accurately, the Carter Bar crossing, because they can have no idea that we’re making for Wolverstone, which is actually more readily reached from that direction.” He looked at her. “If we leave at dawn, making all speed, with luck we should reach Wolverstone by tomorrow evening.”

Eliza frowned. “What I don’t understand is why they — Scrope and his people, possibly even the laird — would follow a curricle with Cobby and Hugo in it.” She looked at Jeremy. “Quite obviously neither of them is me.”

Jeremy grinned.

Cobby looked smug, and Hugo looked triumphant.

“What our magnificent trio have failed to mention,” Meggin said, “is that Hugo is a thespian of long standing.”

Hugo’s grin widened. “I have a wig that will match your hair well enough, and a gold silk evening gown much like yours. Add a little padding, throw your cloak over all, and I’ll pass as you easily enough — I’m not that much taller or broader, and I can assure you I’ve plenty of experience walking, gesturing, and talking like a woman, enough to pull the wool over most casual observers’ eyes.”

“And we only need to fool casual observers,” Cobby put in. “The ostlers at the smaller inn’s stables, and anyone else who might see us en route, who might be asked to point out where we’ve gone. I can pass for Jer well enough.” He glanced at Jeremy, grinned. “I have before.”

“In addition to that,” Jeremy said, his gaze refixing on Eliza, his expression growing serious and a touch uncertain, “we were hoping you would consent to donning male attire — breeches, boots, shirt, and coat.” Faint color rose in his cheeks. “In the interests of confusing Scrope and his people.”

Her gaze locked with his, Eliza’s lips curved, then she grinned as widely as Cobby. “That sounds like an excellent idea.”

Jeremy felt a surge of relief. “Good.” He glanced at Cobby and Hugo, then concluded, “So that’s our plan for confounding Scrope, his people, and even the laird, and getting you safely to Wolverstone.”

Eliza spent a glorious half hour relaxing in a hip-bath filled with hot water in a cheery upstairs bedchamber. Feeling clean and much more like herself, she reluctantly climbed out and dried herself. In a fresh chemise Meggin had loaned her, wrapped in a warm robe, she was kneeling before the fire drying her hair and quietly marveling at the turn of events — most especially at her new insights into an absentminded scholar who, viewed through his friends’ eyes, seemed far less distant and detached from wider life than she’d thought — when a tap on the door heralded her accommodating hostess.

Smiling as she shut the door behind her, Meggin held up the pile of clothes she carried. “These are Hugo’s contributions to your disguise.” Bustling over to the bed, she started laying them out. “I suspect the silk shirt and neckerchief are his, but the jacket, breeches, and boots most likely came from one of the theaters.”

Rising, Eliza joined Meggin by the bed. “How useful to be able to raid their wardrobes.”

“Especially as he was able to get alternatives — we can pick which best suits.” Meggin held up a tweed jacket. She wrinkled her nose. “That’s simply too countrified — it will make you stand out.” She looked down at the offerings spread on the bed. “You need to look unremarkable in every way.”

They picked through the clothes, holding each garment up, discarding some immediately, leaving others to be tried on.

“The three of them have put a lot of effort into this … this adventure, as Cobby called it.” Eliza met Meggin’s eyes. “I’m truly in their debt, and yours, too.”

Meggin waved. “We were happy to help, and truth be told, I haven’t seen the three of them so animated in months, if not years. All three normally lead very … well,
cloistered
lives, even Cobby. An event like this that gets them challenged, enthused, and out and about, dealing with the world even if only for a short time, is no bad thing.”

Eliza gestured to the clothes. “They seem to have thought of everything.”

“I’m sure they have.” Meggin sighed. “But they do have a tendency to assume that everything will go exactly as they plan. For instance, you and Jeremy reaching Wolverstone in one day by such a roundabout route. I have reservations, and raised them, too. I agree it’s possible, and with both Scrope and this laird potentially on your heels, there’ll be no time to dally, but that timing allows for no hurdles along the way, and in my experience nothing runs that smoothly.” Meggin caught Eliza’s gaze. “I did suggest that you and Jeremy take a maid with you, just in case, but they vetoed that on several counts, and I have to admit their reasoning is sound.”

Eliza tipped her head, considering. “Along the lines of, what would a gentleman and a youth need with a maid?”

Meggin nodded. “Among other things. Most telling was that you and he wouldn’t be able to travel as quickly as required while dragging an extra body along. Taking a maid would more or less ensure you had to pass the night somewhere along the road, and Jeremy is set on not allowing Scrope, or this laird, even that much chance to come up with you.”

Eliza grimaced. “That’s not something I would argue with.”

Eventually, she donned new silk drawers Meggin had bought for her, and between them they used a silk cravat to bind her breasts. Eliza kept her necklace on, tucking the rose quartz pendant safely out of sight between her squashed breasts; the fine chain with its amethyst beads was concealed well enough beneath Hugo’s silk shirt. The shirt fitted well enough in the body, but the sleeves hung past her fingertips. Meggin had brought needles and thread. They each took one cuff and, with a few quick stitches, shortened the sleeves.

“There. Try that.” Stepping back, hands on her hips, Meggin watched critically as Eliza redonned the shirt. Then Meggin nodded. “Good. That will pass. Now for the rest.”

Twenty minutes later, with rags stuffed in the toes of the boots to make them fit, Eliza stood before the cheval glass, settled the soft-brimmed hat over her tightly pinned hair, and surveyed their handiwork. “I really do make a passable young man.”