Chapter 24

Bernadette looked around her bedchamber, heart pounding. Her only thought was to run. Judy was asleep—she'd told Judy she'd disrobe and comb her hair by herself. She had imagined that she'd be exhausted and wish simply to sleep. Now, she walked to her wardrobe, grabbing her travel case from where it lay unused in a corner. Her breath was tight and urgent with the need to flee. She took her two favorite gowns from where they were hanging and put them in rather haphazardly, then added some fresh stays and stockings and a pair of indoor shoes.

I need to get out of here, she thought wildly.

Aunt Rachel. That was the answer. It cannoned into her mind even as she reached for a solution. She could escape to her aunt in Yorkshire. As she disrobed, changing into a plain day-dress and hastily tying on a bonnet, she planned her trip in her mind. She could find some accommodation in London to stay the night, traveling by Hackney coach. Then she could take the mail coach in the morning. The route to Aunt Rachel's was one she had traveled when she was just fourteen years old. Then, she'd traveled in the family coach, but the names of the towns where they stopped along the way had lodged in her mind. And even if they had not, the risk of getting lost seemed almost insignificant in comparison to the hurt and pain and confusion she was enduring.

Despite the dangers, she could not stay here.

Packing took her mind off the horror she felt. She would not allow herself to stop and think about it. She would not give in to pain.

"Miss Rowland!" A small cry from the doorway made Bernadette turn swiftly.

"Judy," she murmured. Her maid was standing there, her hair awry, a candle in her hand. She was gazing at Bernadette in shock and Bernadette felt her throat tighten. She'd managed to ignore the fear and sadness, but now that someone was there; a person who looked at her with care and interest, not judgment and uncaring, she could not hold back any longer.

"Milady! What is the matter? Where are you going? Where are Lord and Lady Rothendale?" she added. "I didn't hear the coach outside."

"They're at the ball," Bernadette said hastily. She gripped the suitcase, scared that Judy would question her and make her question herself and her decision. "I can't stay here, Judy," she explained desperately. "I can't stay."

"Why, milady? Whatever happened?" she asked caringly.

Bernadette started sobbing. She breathed in, with tears running down her face. "I can't, Judy," she exclaimed through sobs. "I can't stay."

"Milady? Where will you go?" Judy asked. Bernadette took a steadying breath. Judy had not questioned her. That strengthened her decision.

"I will go to stay at Aunt Rachel's," she said decisively. "She invited me."

"But that's miles away!" Judy exploded. Bernadette stiffened her spine.

"I will be safe, Judy," she said slowly. "I just need to find somewhere to stay tonight. I can travel by mail coach. That will be safe enough." The mail coach would stop at inns along the way on the five-day journey northwards. The inns would be safe enough, particularly if she disguised her wealthy status by wearing ordinary clothes. "Would you know where I might stay? Somewhere safe?"

Judy took her hand, eyes pained. "Stay at Mrs. Brookham's house," she said swiftly. "It's in King Street. It's a boarding house that's safe for women. My cousin worked there."

Bernadette let out a breath. "Thank you."

She asked Judy to repeat the address, or as much of it as she knew, and then wrapped an old shawl around her shoulders, disguising the good muslin of her chemisette. The money she would need for the journey she took from her monthly allowance, concealing her purse below the shawl. Then, lifting her travel case, she hugged Judy swiftly, blinking so that she would not cry, and hurried downstairs.

The street was quiet when she walked briskly down the steps outside the door, the air cold despite her shawl. The serviceable boots she wore clicked on the cobblestones and she hurried to where the light from a torch bracketed to the wall would not reach her. She didn't want to draw attention to herself. This was the most dangerous part.

"Hackney!" she called, holding up a hand as she heard horses' hoofs. Her stomach knotted with fear. London—even Kensington—was not a safe place at night, not for a woman on her own. She let out a sigh of relief as the driver slowed and stopped.

"Where would you wish to be going, miss?" he asked, peering down at her. She blushed. A lady of any sort of reputation would not be on her own at night. He doubtless thought she was plying her trade in the wealthy houses and needed to get back to wherever she usually worked.

"King's Street," she said swiftly. "To Mrs. Brookham's boarding house."

The driver nodded, then jerked his head at the coach. "Ge' yerself in, love," he said with a strong Cockney flair. "It's no' safe out here."

Bernadette nodded, needing no encouragement, and swung herself into the coach, setting her bag on the floor. She leaned back, eyes shut. Relief made her suddenly exhausted. The trickiest part of the journey was accomplished. She had escaped.

The streets became rowdier as they moved out of Kensington and into the poorer areas of London. Bernadette sent up a silent prayer of thanks for Judy and her useful advice. The information could make the difference between her surviving the journey or not. The streets outside the public house were lined with men shouting and laughing, and the sound made her shrink back against the wall of the coach in fear. Soldiers, drunk and weary, sang and laughed in the street and a watchman yelled at them to be quiet. Another man, sleeping in a doorway, cursed loudly in answer to his bellow.

The coach rolled down a long, wide street and then stopped.

"Here we are, love. Mrs. Brookham's boarding house," the driver said as he thoughtfully jumped down to open the door. Bernadette swallowed hard. It was dark in the street—by the light of the coach lanterns she could make out a brick building perhaps three floors high. It was on her left and she indicated it with a nod.

"That one?" she asked softly.

"Yes. The big brick one. Safe journey," he added. "You owe me sixpence," he remarked with a grin.

"Oh. Yes, of course," Bernadette replied. She blushed, fumbling under her shawl, trying to retrieve the purse from where she'd tucked it into her bodice. He thoughtfully turned away and she found a sixpence and paid him, praying inwardly that nobody would round the corner of the street and see her, then hurried to the door, carrying her case in her hand. She stiffened as she heard footsteps, but when she turned around the driver was still waiting atop the coach until she went in. He was watching out for her. She knocked on the hard wood; breath held nervously.

"Who's there?" A female voice demanded through the door. Bernadette swallowed hard.

"My name is Miss Rowland," she said in a small, tight whisper. "I need lodgings for the night."

"Oh. Well, then. Come in, do." The woman's voice changed instantly from hostile to kind. Bernadette let out a breath of relief as the door opened, and a pool of lamplight spilled into the street. She turned around as the driver got the coach moving, her heart flooding with gratitude for his kindness.

"Thank you," she murmured as she stepped in over the threshold. She found herself in a narrow hallway, the walls plastered but unpainted. It was cold and she clutched her shawl around her, wishing she could have brought a cloak with her.

"I've a room upstairs you can use," the woman told her. Bernadette assumed she was Mrs. Brookham, the owner. "It's warm enough. Fees are six pence per night; a shilling with meals."

"Thank you," Bernadette said in a small voice. Mrs. Brookham was taller than her, with thick curly auburn hair covered by a cloth cap, a clean white shawl pulled tight about her shoulders. She had a soft face, but the expression in her eyes was shrewd rather than soft, her cheeks flushed from heat. Bernadette wondered if she had been working in the kitchen or the laundry—she was fully, and very modestly, dressed and clearly had not been sleeping.

"You can break your fast at six of the clock tomorrow," Mrs. Brookham said kindly. "Now, get yourself upstairs. You're almost asleep already." She paused. "Room's on the third floor." She passed her a key, big and heavy-seeming.

Bernadette nodded. "Thank you," she murmured again. She took the key Mrs. Brookham offered her and stumbled towards the stairway she indicated. She was on the landing of the attic floor when it occurred to her that she hadn't asked which room was hers. She tried the key in the door in front of her, then in the next one to her left, and let out a sigh of relief when it turned.

Stumbling into the darkened space, she lay down on the bed, shutting her eyes almost at once. The room was warm—probably because the chimney formed part of the wall. Her thoughts wandered, skirting anything from the last few hours, and she was thinking about how close the boarding house might be to the Thames when she fell heavily asleep.