Regency Masquerade

Chapter Twenty Nine

Carleton sat fretting in silence in the dark. He had hired a hackney cab for the whole night, giving the driver ten pounds to be at his exclusive disposal. As this was more than he would make in a month, the man had been more than happy to oblige. Every so often he would flick the horse awake and they would take a turn around the block.

Impatiently, Frances waited for her dinner things to be cleared away and the household to retire for the night, then dressed thankfully in the items Mrs Pearson had brought to her. She sat down on the bed and checked that her pistol was loaded. Patience, she told herself, wait a bit longer. The minutes passed with agonising slowness until finally she heard the watchman call out the midnight hour. It was time. Hopefully Tom would have roused a little with the call.

She started groaning, gradually getting louder, "Oh my stomach," she moaned. She stumbled noisily from the bed and banged feebly at the door. "Help me, Tom, I feel so sick, I think I'm dying!"

She heard a shuffling noise, then his voice came through the door in a hoarse whisper.

"I'm not allowed to come in there, Miss. You'll be alright once you've cast up your accounts."

"It's not that, Tom, it's ..oh, I can't tell you, you would not understand. I need a female to assist me, get Mrs Pearson please, Tom!" She moaned again.

Alarmed and fearful about these mysterious feminine problems, Tom wavered for a moment then left his post in search of the old nurse, this was not something he could deal with by himself. Mrs Pearson rose quickly and draped a cloak over her nightclothes, "Whatever is the matter, Tom?" she remembered to ask.

"It's Miss Frances, she is not well. She asked me to bring you up to her," whispered Tom.

"Certainly," she agreed. "I will come straight away. Let's be careful not to wake Lady Murray," she added. Tom needed no reminder and they both crept back upstairs to the old nursery.

"Open the door, Tom," she ordered. Tom unlocked the door and opened it for Mrs Pearson to enter. His eyes went straight to the empty bed. Where was the girl?

"Come in both of you, please," came a familiar voice from against the wall, right next to the open door. Tom looked around and was dumbfounded to see a young man in front of him, pointing a pistol at him with very steady hands.

"Inside!" the youth gestured with the pistol. Mrs Pearson clung to Tom's arm, preventing him from tackling the stranger even if he had wanted to. "Oh do what she says, Tom, oh dear, I shall have a spasm for certain." She leant heavily on his arm.

Reluctantly Tom did as he was ordered, his brain only just catching up with the fact that the 'youth' wasn't a stranger at all. Tom was a strapping young man and it went against the grain for him to submit to a chit of a girl, pistol or not, but he could hardly throw Mrs Pearson to the floor.

"The key please!" demanded Frances. "I must warn you that I am a crack shot," she threatened, then added cheerfully. "Of course, I could scarcely miss from this distance!"

Tom handed the key over unwillingly. The youth, who Tom knew must be Frances, edged out of the room. "I am afraid you are not going to have a very comfortable night, but I need a head start. Give my regards to Grandmother!" Then they heard the sound of the key turning in the lock.

Tom half carried, half dragged Mrs Pearson to the bed then flung himself at the door, but as Frances had discovered previously it was exceedingly solid. Mrs Pearson sat back on the bed and looked at the ceiling, it was going to be a long night.

Frances slid noiselessly along the candlelit passage, her boots in one hand and her pistol in the other. The haversack was slung over one shoulder. She reached her blue bedroom without incident and found it much as she had left it. Hastily, she packed a few valuable items into the haversack, including her father's ring, the more costly of her wigs, the water green gown and a few small items of clothing. The rest of the articles could be retrieved later if possible, unless Lady Murray destroyed them in a fit of pique.