The Duchess Hoax (World of Jordinia)

Chapter 5: Elsi

ELSI OPENED HER EYES. SHIFTING onto her side, she blinked at the drapes over the window. Dawn hadn't even arrived.

It took her a moment to remember where she was. She'd been dreaming of Sister Brigit at Sankta Anna's Home for Girls, the only home she'd ever known, before last winter. Not all the holy women there had been kind to her. But some were, and Sister Brigit had been Elsi's favorite.

She should go to Sankta Anna's and ask. Ask the sisters just who had brought her there, exactly when, and why.

Then again, if what Mr. Vogel had said was true, then the records would've been botched on purpose, with fake names and dates. A coverup, as Mr. Marchbanks had suggested. To save the duchess's life.

Her life?

Elsi buried her head under the pillow. Stop, she chided herself. Don't be such a fool.

But the image of the two men at the inn last night burned in her mind, replacing her memories of Sister Brigit. The unkempt face and shady eyes of Hugo Vogel...and his beefy blond friend with the pretentious name.

Elsi groaned. In spite of herself, she was intrigued. Not by the men (no, not by any stretch) but by their proposal. With near-perfect recollection, she conjured Mr. Vogel's one-shouldered shrug and persuasive rhetoric. Perhaps he was right. Didn't she owe it to herself at least to find out?

She sat up in bed, taking a deep breath. All right, she indulged, let's just pretend for a minute that I am the lost Duchess of Jordinia. There was no more royal palace, no empire, no title or throne.

But there was an uncle. And he was probably rich.

More than likely, if she truly was his long-lost niece, he would provide for her. Elsi imagined never having to worry about the rent again, or about holding down a job, or where her next payment would be coming from...

But she was getting ahead of herself. How trustworthy were those two, Vogel and Marchbanks?

Mr. Vogel had mentioned sources. He'd said they wouldn't be bothering with her if he didn't have strong evidence. Besides, he'd seemed so certain.

Each minute felt like a thousand as she waited for sunup to wash and dress. Mrs. Steinar served breakfast, and Elsi consumed hers quickly before cleaning up and skipping out the door, claiming to go looking for work.

She knew exactly which street corner to visit. No one was there when she arrived, but Elsi didn't mind waiting. It was early in the day. Passersby didn't pay her any mind as the street gradually filled with shop-goers and folks on errand, vendors, and men looking for odd jobs.

She ought to join them if she knew what was good for her. You're better off as a scullery maid. Yet, she'd probably manage to bungle that job, too.

A trip to meet the duchess's uncle, though... all she had to do was simply show up. She couldn't botch that, could she?

Perhaps it was destiny?

"Elsi?"

She turned. Hugo Vogel came strolling 'round the corner leisurely.

"Good morning, Mr. Vogel!"

He didn't seem surprised to see her. In fact, it was almost as if he'd been expecting her to show up, and not the other way around.

"So." He appraised her. "Come to a decision?"

Not wasting time, I see. Well, she wouldn't either. "Before I say anything, Mr. Vogel, I'd like to know about these sources of yours. Who are they? And what evidence have they given you?" If he could tell her anything more, something to latch onto, she could feel surer herself.

"All in good time, my girl."

"Oh, but I'd like to know now," she insisted.

"Well, you see," the man tugged at his coat collar, "my sources must remain anonymous. After all, the New Republic of Jordinia does not take kindly to royalist sympathizers, even after all these years. Therefore, for their protection, I vowed not to reveal their identities."

Identities, plural? So there was more than one other person suggesting that she, Elsi, was—?

"I hope you realize, too, we aren't without competition on this quest," he added seriously. "The sooner we arrive, the sooner we beat all those who are pretending to be the duchess. Who knows who Hessian Gatspierre might fall for before he has the chance to meet the real you?"

Good heavens, Elsi hadn't even thought of that. A sense of dread—then urgency—overcame her. If she truly was the best match for the lost duchess, then it was her duty to go. She couldn't let someone else lay claim to her plausible identity and deceive Mr. Gatspierre.

"We ought to go, then."

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes, and we shouldn't waste any time!"

"We'll leave straightaway." Mr. Vogel beamed. "How long will it take you to pack your things?"

"Not long," she said breathlessly. There was hardly anything to pack, after all. For once, she was glad of that.

"Well then, chop-chop!" He clapped his hands. "Go home and get your things. What is your address? Mr. Marchbanks and I shall bring the carriage 'round in an hour or so."

Elsi was impressed. They owned a carriage?

She gave him the address, then hurried back to Mrs. Steinar's. When Elsi came barreling through the door, the older woman clutched her chest.

"Goodness! Back so soon?"

Elsi could scarcely catch her breath, having run all the way home. "Yes, ma'am!"

"Did you find work, then?"

Elsi nodded so she wouldn't have to lie aloud. Maybe it wasn't work, per se, but it could be money. Big money.

"Mrs. Steinar, I've found a way I might be able to—to pay you back for all your kindness. But I must leave straightaway."

The landlady fingered the locket around her neck. "Where are you going? Not traveling alone, I should hope?"

"I'll have chaperones." Elsi was careful only to address the second question, and to keep her answer vague. She was sure Mrs. Steinar would not approve of her traveling alone with two strange men she had just met.

"Well, I trust you've found an opportunity to put your skills to good use."

"Yes, ma'am!" She waited until Mrs. Steinar disappeared into the kitchen before darting up the stairs. Elsi tore open the chest of drawers, yanked out her stockings and unmentionables, and tossed them haphazardly into the worn-out floral carpetbag she'd been given when she left the orphanage. She took her only other skirt and blouse off the hanger in the wardrobe and stuffed it in, too.

She glanced around. "What else?" She added her hairbrush, some hairpins, and the fresh soap block by the basin, still wrapped in wax paper. Then she stood back, hands on her hips. That was it. That was everything she owned.

She carried the carpetbag out to the balcony and waited, watching the streets for any sign of a carriage.