Chapter 34

Lady Eva Galpin, née Stanton, did not object to being nearly bowled over by Kitty. This was apparently not wholly unexpected, for she only huffed out a surprised laugh, but gleefully wrapped Kitty up in a warm embrace.

"Am I to understand that I have been missed, then?" Eva asked dryly.

"You've no idea!" Kitty cried, releasing Eva only long enough to draw her further into the room. "I can't tell you what a relief it is to see you here."

"Well, I could scarcely miss my most darling, dearest Kitty's wedding, now, could I?" Eva replied smoothly, her velvety voice a balm on Kitty's bruised heart. Nonchalantly, she took Kitty's hand in both of hers in a simple gesture of friendship that no one would have suspected; quickly, however, she used her thumb to mark a little "x" on Kitty's hand just above the thumb.

Kitty looked into Eva's face, who with only the smallest quirk of her eyebrows indicated that Kitty had not been mistaken. It had long been the signal they would give to each other when in the company of one or the other's parents that they had something important to say, but only in private. Kitty understood at once, and glanced over Eva's shoulder.

"Mother, might you find some tea for Eva? Her poor hands are nearly frozen solid," Kitty asked sweetly, reaching deep for one of her dimpled, winning smiles.

Mrs. Johnson hesitated, her lips pursing a little. "Oh, very well," she relented when Kitty gave her a beseeching look. "The modiste will likely wish for refreshments as well."

The moment that Mrs. Johnson had departed, Kitty slowly closed her door, not wishing to raise any alarms. She waited for a moment, listening at the door to ensure that Mrs. Johnson really had gone down the stairs. Satisfied, she turned back around to Eva, who had not removed her dark blue travelling cloak yet.

"If Mother returns, we are discussing your recent tour, nothing more," Kitty said hurriedly, her voice low. "Is everything alright? What is it?"

"I might ask you the same thing," Eva replied, reaching into the folds of her cloak and withdrawing a folio that was tied shut with a burgundy ribbon. "Some strange girl pounded on my door before the servants' were even awake, scaring Josiah and I nearly half to death, and demanded that I place this into your hands as soon as possible."

Eva did just that, thrusting the folio in Kitty's direction. Kitty took it automatically, frowning a little in confusion. "A strange girl? Who was it?"

"Someone I've never laid eyes on before, at least to my knowledge," Eva continued, drawing her hands from her gloves, then releasing the tie on her cloak. "A Miss All-Cod?"

"Miss Alcott?" Kitty asked, her eyes growing wide. Immediately, she sat on her bed and began unknotting the ribbon holding the folio closed.

"Entirely possible," Eva said, stretching her hands out in the direction of the low fire. "She was speaking so fast it was nearly impossible to understand her."

A small card was slipped into the folio, resting on top of a sheaf of papers, some yellowed with age. On the card was written a brief note, the letters so precise that they looked nearly printed by a press.

"Miss Johnson,

I believe this is the key to the mystery at the heart of this whole affair. The land that Sir Wright has claimed is not his at all, but was seized through an Enclosure Act. He has no right to this, nor to use it as a bargaining chip. Do not let him get away with it!"

Miss Alcott had signed it roughly, her anger showing in the harshness of her signature. Beneath was all the evidence she had acquired, showing that the patch of land in question was indeed the property of someone last named Tyrell. It had been used as a common green for so long that all knowledge of ownership had passed out of memory; thus, Sir Wright had been able to instigate an Enclosure Act in Parliament, evicting all those who made use of it.

Kitty stared down, her fingers moving faster and faster over the pages. She did not understand all of it, but it was clear that Sir Wright and Mr. Alcott had done some swift manoeuvring to secure this.

"What is it? Kitty, you've gone white as a sheet!" Eva said, sitting next to Kitty and putting an arm about her.

"It's Sir Wright," Kitty breathed, distracted by her reading.

"What of him? Your fiancé, yes?" Eva asked.

"Yes," Kitty said, still reading. "It would seem that he and his solicitor have done something quite underhanded indeed. The poor Tyrells, whoever they may be, have been completely cheated of their property! Of all the low things to do—"

"Kitty!" Mrs. Johnson barked, standing in the doorway and holding a tray. Kitty had been so absorbed by her reading that she had not heard her approach. "That is no way to speak of the man that you will marry." She stepped closer, putting the tray down with a clatter on a side table. "What on Earth even is all that?" Mrs. Johnson demanded, snatching up the folio before Kitty could stop her.

"Please Mother, you must listen!" Kitty cried, reaching for it.

"What is—Kitty, what are you doing with a map of Pittman's Green?" Mrs. Johnson continued, pulling out a piece of paper from the folio. "I had completely forgotten about it; what does all of this mean?"

"Pittman's Green?" Kitty echoed, her eyes narrowing. "I've heard that name before?"

"I should wonder if you hadn't," Mrs. Johnson continued, huffing a little. "It's been in my family for centuries. Of course, these days, most people call it Pittman's Common, which is not correct, naturally."

"Pittman's Common," Kitty repeated. Without warning, she pounced on the folio that Mrs. Johnson was still holding. Mrs. Johnson made sounds of protest, but Kitty ignored her, rifling through the pages. "How does the name Tyrell fit into all of this?"

"My family were descended from Tyrells," Mrs. Johnson answered, as if it should be common knowledge. "Honestly Kitty, you are worrying me with all—"

Kitty ignored her, rounding instead to her bed. The picture she had taken from the trunk was not there, and she bent over nearly double as she attempted to see if it had fallen during the night. It had, cracking the glass. Still, Kitty let out a yell of triumph and lifted it as if it were a mighty trophy. Unceremoniously, she thrust it at Mrs. Johnson.

"This is the land you were speaking of, yes? This is Pittman's Common, which is really Pittman's Green?" Kitty demanded, holding the picture a scant couple inches from Mrs. Johnson's nose.

"Oh for heaven's sake Kitty, that is filthy!" Mrs. Johnson protested, but Kitty would not relent. "Yes, that is it," Mrs. Johnson clarified at last, trying to draw back from the pile of dust and grime.

"Why does Sir Wright claim to own it now?" Kitty asked the room at large, which only caused Mrs. Johnson to look at her blankly.

"Would the Tyrells have sold it?" Eva suggested.

"Perhaps, I know they ran into difficulties in the 1720s with the credit bubble," Mrs. Johnson agreed.

Kitty, however, was ignoring them. She was peering at the map in the frame, turning it this way and that, now that she could see it in daylight. It seemed that there was a fold along one edge, the map too fat to simply be a single sheet of paper.

"Eva, help me get this out of the frame," Kitty commanded. Together, they flipped the picture over, Eva's fingers scrabbling against the little latches on the back.

"It's rusted shut," Eva grunted, trying her best to wrench the latches free.

Kitty's eyes darted about, looking for something to use to prise them loose. Her gaze landed on the corner of the hearth, and she flipped the picture over to see the glass front. Without warning, she snatched it from Eva's hands, lifted it over her head, and brought it down with a smash on the corner of the hearth. Glass splintered and cracked, falling out across the floor.

" Kitty !" Mrs. Johnson gasped, her mouth a neat "o" of surprise. "What is the meaning of all of these dramatics—"

"Not now," Kitty said absently, delicately reaching into the frame and withdrawing the map.

As she suspected, it was indeed folded over, several times in fact. Gingerly, mindful of the aged parchment, she laid it carefully out across her bed. With each unfolding of the document, more and more became apparent. It was a beautifully rendered map, with Pittman's Green clearly laid out in a bold outline.

Along the margins, faded but still legible penmanship was scrawled, stamped here and there with important looking seals and ribbons. Kitty's eyes roved over the writing, her mouth moving as she read it. She did not understand a lot of it, but there were some phrases that were patently obvious.

"Mother," Kitty breathed, "Sir Wright doesn't own Pittman's Green—you do!" Excitedly, Kitty waved Mrs. Johnson over, her obliged grudgingly. "Look here! It says that this piece of land is willed along the female line of your family! It was never sold, just forgotten—it was to be used as a dowry in case there were no other means."

"But…but Sir Wright said…" Mrs. Johnson protested weakly.

"Mother, he meant to stick you and father into a nasty little house along a turnpike, and force you to use your daughter to pay for the privilege! And expected you to be grateful about it! On your own land ," Kitty cried, outraged.

"Oh, that is—that's—" Mrs. Johnson floundered, her normally placid face showing concerned creases.

"And what's more," Kitty said, straightening, her arms flapping about a little in her agitation, "he meant to use this stolen land to blackmail Seth—Viscount Cluett—into giving him a piece of the proverbial pie when the land was developed."

Eva stared at Kitty, and Mrs. Johnson, still holding the folio, looked from the map on the bed to the folio in her hands. Kitty marched over, snatching it from her mother's hands. "This is why he was so eager to arrange the marriage between his solicitor's daughter and the oh-so-eligible Viscount Cluett," she said, closing the folio with a snap and shaking it in Mrs. Johnson's direction. "It was all a part of this scheme! Oh, this is too much."

Mrs. Johnson now joined Eva in staring at Kitty. She was silent for a moment more, then blurted, "The scoundrel!"

Now it was Kitty and Eva's turn to stare at Mrs. Johnson. "Mother," Kitty breathed, for it was the harshest thing she had ever heard her mother say about anyone, ever.

"That brings me to the other half of the message Miss Alcott left me with," Eva interjected. "She said that she would stall for as long as she could, but she and her father were going to the Cluetts to sign marriage contracts at ten o'clock this morning. She said, and I quote, ‘Please tell the frilly miss to make up her mind quick, and her feet quicker.'"

The hall clock downstairs chose that particular moment to chime nine times, marking the hour. Kitty could feel the blood drain from her face. "I have to get across London, and quick! Eva, might I borrow your carriage?"

Eva shook her head. "No such luck, I'm afraid," she said ruefully, "I had to hire one."

Feeling a little wild, Kitty began to pace, considering the options. There was no way there was time for someone to run down to the stables and hire one out, and then get across London during the morning crush. It was folly to even consider.

"How much money have you to hand, Mother?" Kitty asked suddenly, her eyes fixing on Mrs. Johnson.

"Well, I was supposed to pay the butcher today, but—"

"Fetch it, quickly," Kitty said. Darting to her wardrobe, she threw open the closet, rummaging through it. "I have a riding habit somewhere in here, I am sure of it."

Mrs. Johnson paused, partway out of Kitty's room. "We had to put much into storage, your wardrobe wasn't big enough to accommodate everything."

Kitty stared again, feeling everything slip away from her. Out of habit, she locked eyes with Eva, who bit her lip, troubled. There was no way that Kitty could go riding off across London without a proper skirt, and there was no other option.

Everything would be so much easier if I were simply a man , she thought without real conviction.

And that was the precise moment that an idea so audacious dawned in her head that she knew if she dared to utter it outloud, not only would her mother denounce it there and then, but Kitty would likely lose her nerve, too. With much greater calm than she actually felt, Kitty crossed the room to her window and threw it open, leaning out on her hands. Her eyes searched the little alley below until she caught sight of a grubby boy.

"You! Yes, you, little fellow! Would you care to earn some silver?" she called down, waving a little to get his attention.

"Yes miss!" he called back up without hesitation. His face was thin and he wore only rags about his feet, likely one of hundreds of little scrappers from one of the rookeries coming to rummage for something to eat.

"Go and find me a horse—any horse! Bring it to the front door of this house quick as you can!" Kitty shouted down. The boy tipped his hat at her, and Kitty withdrew back into her room, slamming the window shut.

"Eva, come with me," Kitty instructed, breezing right past Mrs. Johnson. "I will need your help to dress. Quick, we have to go to the attic."

"The attic?" Mrs. Johnson and Eva asked in unison.

"Yes," Kitty said without slowing. "That is where Steven's trunk is."

"Why—what are you—Kitty, you cannot!" Mrs. Johnson stammered, protesting, her voice rising with each piece of a sentence.

Eva, however, was silent, and followed Kitty obediently. Together, they forced open the swollen door of the attic, a waft of cold air greeting them. Kitty glanced back over her shoulder, finding that Mrs. Johnson was frozen in place.

"The money, Mother!" Kitty cried, her tone growing desperate. With a strange look on her face, Mrs. Johnson turned away and hurried to her own room, hopefully to retrieve the required funds and not Mr. Johnson.

Within a quarter of an hour, Kitty had shimmied into one of Steven's musty shirts, creased from years of being folded into a trunk. Both Kitty and Eva hadn't the slightest clue what to do with the cravat, so the neck was left open. Thankfully, Kitty had left her chemise and stays on underneath, so she wasn't totally exposed by the long slit at the neck. After some hesitation, Kitty had managed to get her legs into the breeches, but then simply stared down at the buttons and fall front without a clue as to how they worked.

"Oh for—" Eva huffed, stepping forward and expertly buttoning them about Kitty's waist. Kitty said nothing but gave Eva an arch look, which only made her blush a little and wave Kitty off.

With the addition of one of Steven's red coats and her feet stuffed into riding boots that were sizes too big, Kitty looked the part—or nearly, until Eva jammed a hat on her head. With a nod and a quick swat of her behind, Eva sent her on her way, Kitty galumphing down the hall in a manner so gangly that it simply defied description.

* * *

Madame d'Aubry (real name Bertha Dunbar) had seen more than a few things in her time as a modiste, particularly when it came time to fit wedding dresses. She'd had to discreetly let out seams, ignore tears, and pretend not to hear all manner of tawdry utterances about the intended groom. She'd also had a number of reservations about paying a call on Mrs. Johnson on behalf of her daughter, soon to be married, at an address in Cheapside, but had been persuaded by the promise of sufficient compensation.

She had arrived in style, trailing an assistant and alighting from a carriage. With one gloved hand, she was prepared to knock on the door, grimacing a little at the lack of a dignified bell to pull, when the door was yanked open violently from the inside.

A young soldier burst forth, pushing past Madame d'Aubry so abruptly that it upset not only her own sizeable person, but that of her assistant as well. The two of them went tumbling backward, crying out in alarm. The soldier did not pause, his hair wild and cheeks flushed as he sprinted to a waiting horse, held at the mouth by some unfortunate boy.

The modiste managed to get her feet under her just as she watched the young man scramble awkwardly onto the horse, who looked to be harnessed for a cart and not riding. It had the heavy bones of a workhorse too, but the young man dug his heels into its sides, and they were off down the street. The urchin left behind waved merrily after them as they departed, seemingly unconcerned by the shouts from down the street and the chaos at the door of the house.

Well, there's an ill omen for a wedding, Madame d'Aubry sniffed to herself. Always bad tidings when a young man is chased from the bride's home before she marries another.