Chapter Sixteen

M arie rode in a hackney carriage with Thom, who sat patiently beside her. She felt every bump and jolt of the cheap carriage against the rough and jagged flagstones of the London streets. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"East India Docks. We'll meet the ship there." He looked at her. "If you can catch this ship, you can meet your family within a day or two, or even a few hours."

Marie gasped. To be reunited with her parents in a matter of hours. Was it even possible? She sat and once the carriage had stopped at the docks and Thom stood by her, looking for the Frenchman, she asked, "Thom. Why are you helping me?"

He shrugged. "You're paying me." Seeing her raised eyebrows, he added, "Julia was just jealous, you know. She was the one talking about you behind your back and calling you ‘princess.' She was furious that you got to dress up like a lady and drink wine and dance with the guests when she didn't. She was downstairs stuck with us. It was all her doing."

She glanced at him. She remembered very well him calling her "princess," his teasing and glowering looks. He'd played a part in making her life unbearable below stairs as well. She knew he couldn't be trusted—and was only as good as the money she paid him. But she couldn't miss out on the chance of seeing her family.

"Come on." Thom took her arm and waved to a sailor. "Oi!"

"Thom?" Marie said, disliking his grip on her arm. "What are you doing? Will this man help?"

Thom's grip grew hard, like iron. "You think you're so smart. But Julia told me everything. She heard it from that new employer o' hers. You're nothing but the snot-nosed brat of some no-name family in France. And they didn't even want you, so they sent you here. Yer uncle isn't even your uncle, he's a servant. But you're so full of your airs. Not even a knife in your pillow scared you off." He grunted, ignored her, and held her fast before the burly sailor.

"This the girl?" the sailor asked.

"Sure is. She'll give you a good time, mate. You can count on it," Thom said.

"Thom? What are you doing?" Marie said.

The men exchanged money and Thom shoved her at the sailor. "Farewell, princess. You'll make a few new friends on the journey home."

"What?" Marie stared and tried to run, but the man held her, his rough hands gripping her arms like steel. "Let me go!"

"You're bought and paid for, girlie," the sailor said.

She screamed in the man's face, hit his nose with her skull, and he dropped her, falling back. He cursed, blood spurting out of her nose.

Marie scrambled away and ran, running for dear life. She heard shouts and footfalls after her, and she tripped and fell off of a stone outcropping on the dock, plunging into the water below.

Back at the Lyon's Den, Samuel rounded on the girl. "Where is she? Tell me?"

Lucy shoved the letter at him. "She says she went to meet a man at the docks and catch a ship to France, to meet her parents."

"What man?" Baptiste asked. "Tell us what you know, Lucy."

Lucy fretted. "I don't know anything. I only saw her walking away with Thom a quarter hour ago and thought they were on an errand for Mrs. Dove-Lyon. That's all I know."

Mrs. Dove-Lyon's expression was stormy and even beneath her black veil, her eyes blazed. "He was dismissed from my service last night. He should not have been on the premises past dawn."

"What docks?" Mrs. Martin asked.

"There're loads of docklands around London. She could be at any one of them," Mrs. Dove-Lyon pointed out.

"Then how do we find her?"

"We split up," Mrs. Dove-Lyon ordered. "And we look for Thom. Lucy, stay here and if Thom returns, alert me immediately. I think he may have some malicious plan for Marie."

"I'm going to the docks," Samuel said.

"Me, too," Baptiste said.

"Take a few of my men. They'll help with the search," Mrs. Dove-Lyon said.

"I'm going too," Mrs. Martin said.

"Out of the question," Baptiste told her.

"Absolutely not," Samuel said. "This could be dangerous."

She glared at the both of them, her hands on her hips. "Miss Cadeaux is my friend. I am going with you. Now."

They left.

At the docklands, they split up. Baptiste went with two of the footmen, whilst Samuel and Mrs. Martin stayed together. They walked fast along the docks, hurrying from one to another. Samuel said, "There're too many ships. What if he drugged her? "

"We have to find her. We can't give up." Mrs. Martin looked at a crowd of people staring at the water. She approached them and asked, "What happened?"

A boy, most likely a pickpocket, looked up at her and said, "Girl fell in the water. She got into a fight with one of the men on the ship. She hit him in the head and ran, then she slipped over the edge and fell in the water."

Samuel stared. "Did no one try to help her?"

"No." The boy went off to play.

Samuel and Mrs. Martin ran to the water's edge and began calling Marie's name, but the wind had picked up and their calls were drowned out by the sound of seagulls, men calling and whistles.

Samuel peered over the side, when Mrs. Martin grabbed his shoulder and said, "Look!"

Marie was splashing and clawing for breath, kicking at the water. "Help!"

Before he could think, he'd stripped off his red regimental coat and dived in. The water was fiercely cold, and the chilling waves and sea foam chopped at his bare skin and stabbed at his limbs like ice. He clawed through the water, moving his hands like knives, and began to rise to the surface, kicking his feet.

He spotted her a short distance away. He swam quickly, powerfully, grateful his father had taught all his boys to swim. He reached her in a short time, just as a fishing boat pulled up alongside her.

"Marie," he cried, as she was tossed a rope. She grabbed at it and was tugged along. He followed thereafter and was helped onto the boat, which rocked as they both were pulled up onto it.

"All right, sir, we've got you."

"I can swim," Samuel said. "I was going after her."

Marie looked at him. "Lieutenant?"

He took her in his arms, both of them shivering with cold. "I found you. "

"You came for me?"

He nodded, his teeth chattering.

One of the fishermen handed them a blanket and Samuel wrapped it around her shoulders, rubbing her arms with his hands, which felt numb with cold. Her hair was wet and plastered across her face, and she shivered uncontrollably.

"I-I'm so… glad you came…" she chattered.

"Shh." He rubbed her arms. He loved her, even though she looked like half-drowned. Maybe especially so. She was alive. She was safe. And he was never going to let her out of his sight again.

The boat slowly made its way back to shore. Mrs. Martin, Baptiste, and the two footmen ran to meet it, running and climbing down a set of iron ladder rungs and walking on the rocky sandy shore, thanks to the low tide.

Marie was helped out of the boat and instantly embraced by Baptiste and then Mrs. Martin.

"M-Mrs. Martin? What are you doing h-here?" she asked, her teeth chattering with cold.

"I came to rescue you, petite . Can't let you have all the adventure yourself. What are you doing here?"

"Thom told me that a man had information from my parents back in France, and they wanted to see me. I could board the ship and see them as soon as the ship crossed the channel." She looked away. "I should never have trusted him. I knew he was hiding something. And I know it sounds silly, but I couldn't let the chance pass by without trying to see them. For what if he was actually telling the truth?" She let out a bitter sound. "He wanted to sell me as a whore for the men's sea voyage."

The men shared grim expressions. One of the footmen said, "We will deal with Thom."

The other footman cracked his knuckles but said nothing. That somehow made it seem more chilling .

Samuel stood by Marie, not letting her leave his sight. "Let us return to the Lyon's Den," he said.

They ended up taking two carriages back to Mrs. Dove-Lyon's establishment, with Baptiste, Marie, Samuel, and Mrs. Martin in one, and the two footmen in the other. No one wanted to leave Marie's side, and she was well looked after by Mrs. Martin, who took off her fine coat and put over Marie's shivering shoulders.

"Why did you come?" Marie asked, still shivering.

"We would not leave you, especially not now, since…" Mrs. Martin glanced at Samuel.

"I thought you didn't want to see me again. After last night… I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner I was working for Mrs. Dove-Lyon. I enjoyed our conversations and then we became friends and… I didn't want to ruin things between us. It seemed easier to keep pretending I was a real lady."

"I had an idea something was off," Mrs. Martin said.

"You did?"

She ticked off the reasons on her gloved fingers. "When you declined my invitation to lunch, a footman from the Den presented it. You are a terrible dancer, when any young lady of quality would know the English dances back to front, and you said your uncle was present at the Den when Lieutenant Gage asked permission to court you, yet he disappeared before we could meet, but most of all, what sort of gentleman allows his niece to walk around a gambling den unescorted? Highly irregular."

"Well, when I suppose you put it that way…" Marie began. "I'm sorry."

" Non, petite. I should have seen the signs. I'm sorry I made you feel you could not trust me."

"I didn't think you would want to be associated with a servant."

Mrs. Martin shrugged. "Perhaps not. I was angry, and hurt. But I have come to view you as a friend. As we all know, you are not any ordinary servant." She glanced at the men sat across from them. "Otherwise, Lieutenant Gage would not be here."

Marie lifted her eyes to Samuel. "Why are you here? I saw the morning papers. Is it true? About you and Miss Campbell?" Her face was pale.

"It's a lie. Just a scandalous rumor Miss Campbell or her mother circulated about herself. I've already asked the newspaper for a retraction," Samuel said.

"Then you're—" Marie paused. "You're not engaged."

The carriage pulled to a stop outside the Den. Mrs. Martin opened the door and said, "Baptiste, help me out, would you?"

Baptiste helped her out and she closed the door. "Let's give them a minute."

"But she could be shivering to death in there. We have to get her inside—"

Mrs. Martin stood in front of the carriage door before him with her arms crossed, daring him to come any closer. "He will keep her warm, I'm sure. Give them a minute, monsieur ."

She's as skilled as any fierce footman , Samuel thought, and he looked at Marie, shivering quietly on the seat across from him. "I came here earlier today looking for you."

"Why?"

"I came to ask your uncle permission. To ask for his blessing, so that I might ask your hand in marriage."

Her eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open a little. "You did?"

"Yes. But he did not give it." He looked down.

"Why?" Marie demanded.

He glanced up. "Because he is not your uncle. And your name is not Cadough, but Cadeaux. He informed us today that since the start of the French Revolution years ago, your parents entrusted him, their loyal manservant, to have a care for your safety and look after you, until it was safe to return. He posed as your uncle and found you both work as servants, and that is how you hid."

"He's not my uncle," Marie said. "I knew it."

"No. So I could not ask his permission. I'm sorry." He rested his hands on his knees.

"Yes," she said simply.

"What?" He looked up.

"Yes. I accept your proposal. I say yes ," Marie said, her eyes shining.

"You mean…"

She reached for him, shedding the fisherman's blanket and Mrs. Martin's coat and kissed him, wet and bedraggled and all. It was to be the first of many more kisses, he discovered.

A few minutes later, there came a knock on the carriage door. Mrs. Martin said, "All right in there? Are you two formally engaged yet?"

Samuel opened the carriage door, not wanting to let Marie go.

Baptiste shouldered Mrs. Martin aside. "Well?"

Samuel looked at Marie with a wide smile. "She said yes ."

Mrs. Martin jumped for joy. "I knew it! Oh, I love a wedding. Come, we have plans to make. Now, the way I see it…"