Master Cedric.
As much as I’d enjoyed looking at him, seeing him now could most certainly create a problem in this brilliant plan I’d created . . . but I’d have to deal with that later. For now, I had other issues.
“Hop in?” I asked, putting my hands on my hips. “Aren’t you going to come down and open the door for me?”
The man gave an amused snort. “Listen to you, acting like a lady already. You aren’t a ‘jewel’ yet, missy. Now get in—we’ve got two more stops to make, and one’s by the Sirminican district. I don’t want to be out there any later than I have to. Those Sirminicans will rob you blind if you’re not watching ’em.”
I fumbled with the coach’s handle and finally figured out how to open it. Ungracefully, I half-stepped, half-tumbled into the carriage’s interior, without the benefit of a stool or pillow offered by a servant. Inside, the carriage was dim, lit only by what light made its way in through the smoky windows. As my eyes adjusted, I could see that the cushioned seat I sat on was made of a burgundy velvet of middling quality.
Without bothering to make sure I was comfortable, the driver set the horses on their way, causing me to jerk forward. I gripped the walls for support, staring out the darkened glass as the lights of my family’s home moved farther and farther away. I held my breath as I watched the retreating house, expecting a group of servants to come tearing out at any moment, swarming the carriage until it stopped and released me. No one came, though. The house went about its nighttime duties, soon vanishing into the night. Or maybe I was the one vanishing. Maybe I would be forgotten quickly, my face and voice gone from the minds of those I’d once known. The notion made me sadder than I’d expected, and I had to shift my focus back to the plan.
Presuming no one thought to check on my headache tonight, I’d have until morning before my absence was discovered, at which point I’d hopefully be long gone into the country. And that was assuming, of course, that Ada didn’t get cold feet and come back—if she’d even left the city. If things were on track, she’d have already bought passage with some group of travelers heading north.
There were a lot of “if”s in this plan, a lot of things that could go wrong.
The rocking carriage made its way through the city, into parts I’d never seen before. I was terribly curious about it all, but as the evening deepened, I could see less and less by the glow of the gas lamps used to illuminate the streets. The carriage finally came to a halt, and I heard a muffled conversation. Moments later, the door opened, and a girl my age stood framed in the doorway, her fiery red hair shining even in the twilight. She shot me a calculating look and then, like me, climbed in without benefit of a stool. Only she managed it better. She shut the door, and the carriage continued on its jerky ride.
We sat there, sizing each other up in silence as we moved down the cobblestone streets. Light from outside lamps came and went, creating a flickering show of shadows inside. When that intermittent illumination came, I could see that her dress was even plainer than mine, threadbare in some places. At last, she spoke, her voice tinged slightly with a working-class accent: “How’d you get your hair like that? All those curls lying just so?”
It wasn’t a question I’d expected. It also seemed blunt until I realized she thought we were of equal social rank. “It’s naturally wavy,” I said.
She nodded impatiently. “Yes, yes. I can tell, but the way those curls are all arranged so perfectly . . . I’ve tried that myself, like the highborn ladies do? I think I’d need half a dozen hands to do it.”
I nearly said I had had half a dozen hands helping me and then bit off the words. I’d thought I was so clever changing into Ada’s dress, but had gone off on this adventure with the same elaborately styled hair I’d had from this morning—which my maids had helped curl and pin in the latest fashion, cascading all around my shoulders. I gave my companion a tight smile back.
“Someone helped me,” I said. I thought about Ada’s backstory and tried to make it my own. “Since it’s a, uh, special occasion. I worked as a lady’s maid, you see, so I have friends who are really good at this kind of thing.”
“A lady’s maid? Well, that’s bloody lucky. I wouldn’t want to leave that post. Explains why you talk so well—you’ll have a leg up on the rest of us.” She sounded impressed . . . and also a little envious.
“It’s not a competition,” I said quickly.
There was another fleeting flash of light from outside, showing me a wry expression on her face. “The hell it isn’t. How we do and how well we learn affects who they offer us to as wives. I’m going to be a banker’s wife. Or a statesman’s. Not some farmer’s.” She paused to reconsider. “Unless he’s some dirty rich plantation owner, where I can order around the servants and the household. But an ordinary farmwife? Sweeping floors and making cheese? No, thanks. Not that any old farmer could afford one of us. My mother heard from one of her friends that the Glittering Court got a marriage price of four hundred gold dollars for one of their girls. Can you even imagine that sort of money?”
Vaguely, I recalled Cedric talking about suitors making “offers.” The contract had further elaborated how the Glittering Court’s agents made a commission off each girl’s marriage price. Cedric might have spoken in lofty tones about his new nobility providing a service to the New World, but it was obvious this was a huge money-making venture for the Thorn family.