No warning of impending disaster struck the sleepy village
of Paddington. A kindly sun obligingly cast its warmth
upon the grateful inhabitants, while May bees and
butterflies flitted about their business in the hedgerows.
The carter's horse plodded slowly around the confines of
the Green, and the baker's boy, sauntering from the shop
to set out upon the next of his deliveries, let out a
jaunty whistle.
He gave a cheery wave as he took in the identity of the
young lady perched upon the fence that edged the Green,
alongside the road leading to Edgware and thence to the
metropolis. The baker's boy was scarce to blame for
missing the tell-tale reddened eyes, their brown the more
lustrous for having being drowned in tears, for Miss
Katherine Merrick undoubtedly added something to the
picturesque scene.
A quantity of lush black curls descended halfway down her
back, escaping from under a straw hat that framed a
countenance undeniably lovely. A straight nose and a
pretty mouth, just now turned down in discontent, were
worthy of an ensemble more becoming than the dimity gown
of faded pink, with its unfashionably low waist and three-
quarter sleeves, and the short hem revealing more than a
glimpse of the white cotton hose that Miss Merrick
thoroughly detested.
Truth to tell, the young lady loathed every item she had
on, from the ancient black shoes to the unmentionable
undergarments that confined her curvaceous figure in the
least flattering way. The gown was only marginally less
hateful than the rest. Only how was one to manage upon a
paltry income of three shillings a week?
It was through the agency of the upper maid at the
Paddington Charitable Seminary for Indigent Young Ladies —
which had been Miss Merrick's home for more years than she
cared to count — that she had acquired the pink cast-off
gown. Where Parton got it, she could not have said.
Indeed, she took care not to enquire too closely.
"Let's just say as I've a friend of a friend as is friend
to a parlour maid in the house of a great lady hereabouts.
And this one will be three shillings, if it's to your
liking, Miss Kitty."
It was not much to Kitty's liking, but for want of any
other means of augmenting her wardrobe with anything fit
to wear besides the horrid grey Seminary uniform, she had
handed over the entirety of the week's wages. Now that she
was no longer strictly a pupil, Mrs Duxford had decreed
that she must receive a little something for her services.
And not before time! It was more than a month since she
had been dragooned into the trying task of inculcating a
modicum of grace into the clodhopping feet of the junior
girls. It was like teaching a roomful of elephants!
Kitty dabbed at her eyes again with the sodden pocket-
handkerchief. Perhaps she had best swallow her yearnings
and take up the latest in a series of beastly posts the
Duck wished to thrust upon her. Only what hope had she of
emulating the success of her dearest friends as governess
in a household where the eldest son was but eleven years
of age, and there was not a widower in sight?
A fresh deluge of tears cascaded down her cheeks at the
melancholy remembrance of Helen Faraday's coming nuptials.
The letter handed over to Kitty at breakfast this morning
by Mr Duxford, who always dealt with the post, had been
couched in rhapsodic terms wholly unlike Nell's usual
manner. Kitty held the handkerchief to her eyes as she
vainly attempted to stem the flow. She was happy for Nell,
she told herself miserably. Had she not predicted this
outcome the moment she had heard of the widowed Lord
Jarrow and his Gothic castle? She had told Nell to fall in
love with him, and her friend had done it within a few
short weeks. While as for Prue — ! Who would have thought
that so unpromising a creature would have captured any
man's romantic fancy? Mrs Rookham she was now, and
disgustingly happy. It was too bad!
But no sooner had this unkind thought passed through her
mind than Kitty chided herself for a beast. She could not
envy darling Prue. Nor would Kitty have settled for a mere
mister! But it was hard indeed to be the only one left,
and with no prospects. Of the three, she had been the one
to repudiate the future to which she had been raised, and
if she ended after all as a governess, it would be the
greatest injustice imaginable!
There was but one consolation, her present status
permitting her to escape now and then upon the flimsiest
of pretexts. This morning she had volunteered to nip out
to the village shop in order to procure three pairs of the
regulation hose for the latest orphaned arrival, along
with a toothbrush and a tin of toothpowder — essential
items that had been mysteriously forgotten by the persons
who brought the child. Having made the purchases, Kitty
had thrust them into her inner pockets and dawdled in the
shop as long as she dared without buying anything more.
Having used every penny of the last of her pupil's
allowance, as well as her new wage, she had no money left
to spend.
But the thought of returning to the Seminary, and to the
task of listening — her unenviable occupation now of a
Friday afternoon — to one of the worst-fingered pupils in
the place practising upon the pianoforte, was altogether
unbearable. Especially at a time when she was severely
moved by Nell's good fortune — and no privacy in which to
indulge it. The two other beds in her shared accommodation
were now occupied by girls much younger than herself.
Seventeen and eighteen — and Kitty was one and twenty in
all but a month or two.
One and twenty! It was all of a piece. By rights she
should have made her come-out and been long betrothed, if
some ill-disposed person had not cut her off from the
heritage she was convinced should have been hers. And
condemning her thereby to a life of drudgery. She was the
unluckiest female in the world!
A sound unusual in this out-of-the-way village penetrated
her self-absorption. A vehicle coming down the lane, and
drawn by several horses? It could not be the stage, for Mr
King's coach boasted but one pair, and it was travelling
too fast for a carrier. Distracted from her troubles by an
idle curiosity, Kitty looked towards the sound, which was
coming from the direction of Westbourn Green.
Around the corner swept a team of matched greys, drawing a
smart-looking open carriage. It was driven by a man who
looked to be a gentleman, with a liveried fellow up beside
him, whom she took to be his groom. Tutored by her avid
reading, Kitty recognised a fashionable spencer in the
short green jacket, worn over a brown frock coat, the
whole topped by a stylish hat. She watched the approach of
the carriage with a feeling of envy. How she would love to
be driven in so dashing a vehicle! Was it a curricle?
The carriage sailed by, and Kitty could not help but preen
herself a little upon seeing its occupant glance in her
direction. Especially when she thought she caught an
expletive bursting from his lips. She was used to being an
object of male attention, even if her admirers were for
the most part bucolic yokels like the baker's boy. It did
her heart good to know that her features had caught the
interest of a personage of this calibre.
And then Kitty realised that the carriage was slowing. In
some surprise, she watched it come to a halt, and saw the
groom jump down and run to the heads of the leading pair
of horses. Had the driver mistaken the way? A riffle
disturbed her pulses as an enticing thought struck her.
Perhaps he took her for a village maiden, and had leaped
to the notion of indulging in a little flirtation.
The horses began to back, guided by the groom, and Kitty
experienced a moment of doubt. Hitherto, her flirtations
had been confined to the ilk of old Mr Fotherby, who lived
in the house at the top of the Green, and knew how to keep
the line. Lord, what if this man were to —
There was time for no more, for the carriage was coming
level with where she perched, the gentleman's attention
fully directed upon Kitty. She took in a vaguely pleasing
countenance, just now marred by a heavy frown, and a
glimpse of yellow hair under the wide-brimmed beaver,
brown in colour. And then the gentleman addressed her, in
strongly indignant tones.
"I thought it was you! Dash it, Kate, what the deuce are
you about? How did you get here? You haven't run away,
have you, silly wench? Didn't I tell you not to fret?"
As Kitty stared at him, utterly bemused, his glance raked
the surrounding area and came back to her face, a pair of
blue eyes popping at her.
"What the devil — ? Have you come here alone? Where's your
maid? Gad, Aunt Silvia will be having a blue fit! I'd best
take you home without more ado. Come, get off that fence
and hop up!"
Bewilderment gave way to wrath, and Kitty found her
tongue. "I shall do no such thing! Who are you? I do not
know you, nor have I heard of your aunt Silvia, and I'll
thank you to take yourself off, sir!"
"Oh, will you?" muttered the gentleman grimly. "Stop
playing games, Kate, for the Lord's sake!"
"I am not Kate," stated Kitty bluntly. "I do not know who
you are, and my name is Kitty."
"No, it isn't," argued the young man. "Kitty indeed! Never
heard such flimflam."
"It's the truth!"
"And I'm a Dutchman."
Kitty blinked. "Are you? You sound English to me." The
young man groaned. "I'll throttle you in a minute! Now be
sensible, there's a good girl. Leave off joking, for I
haven't got all day."
Kitty began to feel desperate. "Sir, I am not joking. You
are quite unknown to me. I am not this Kate, whoever she
may be, and —"
"Next you'll be telling me I'm not your cousin Claud!"
"I haven't got a cousin Claud! Indeed, I have no cousin at
all."
Claud — if that was indeed the gentleman's name — gazed at
her in a look compound of disbelief and frustration. Kitty
pursued what she perceived to be an advantage, and assumed
as haughty a mien as she could.
"Be pleased to drive on, sir."
The gentleman threw his eyes to heaven. "Will you stop
behaving like a third-rate play-actress? Are you going to
get into this curricle, or do I come and get you?"
A rise of apprehension made Kitty grasp tightly to the bar
of the fence upon which she was perched. Was the man mad?
Her voice quivered a little as she tried again to disabuse
him of his strange delusion.
"Sir, I have n-never set eyes on you in my life! You are m-
mistaken in me, I do assure you, and I most certainly will
not get into your curricle."
The gentleman cursed fluently, and called to his
groom. 'Hold them steady, Docking. I'll have to get down."
Seeing him move to alight from the curricle, Kitty jumped
hastily off the fence and made a dash for safety, running
away from the vehicle in the direction of the little bank
of shops to one end of the Green. The thunder of feet in
pursuit threw her heart into her mouth, and she gasped her
fright as a hand seized her from behind.
"No, you don't!"
Kitty shrieked, trying to pull away, as the relentless
young gentleman tugged her round to face him. Panic took
her.
"Let me go! Let me go!"
But his hold instead strengthened upon her arms, and he
berated her with some heat. "Will you stop making such a
cake of yourself? Enacting me a tragedy in the middle of
the street, silly chit! Come on!"
"I won't! Let me go!"
"Kate, I won't brook your defiance! Get into the carriage!"
Glancing wildly round for succour, Kitty saw only the
empty Green. The hideous truth of a quiet country village
hit her. There was no one to come to her aid! Those few
inhabitants round about would be stuck in their parlours
or out in the gardens that looked away from the Green.
And there was little to hope for from the proprietors of
the few shops for which she had been headed, who were in
all likelihood snoring at their posts. She was alone with
a madman, whose tight hold she could by no means shake off.