Educating Elizabeth. Yasmine HydeЧитать онлайн книгу.
She turned toward the front hall that would lead to the stairs that led to the front door. Standing there, she ceased breathing, wondering who would come to her home. It was the evening hours, almost eight by the clock in her room, and for the most part, she had lived alone over the last six months, her great aunt having returned to her home in Virginia since Elizabeth was going to be a woman of independent means soon. It may have also had a lot to do with the fact Elizabeth was 'a handful'. That was what her Aunt Lucille had said on a daily basis when she wanted to stay out late or dance with the same gentleman more than was proper, or heaven forbid she let one or two men walk with her in the garden, too close to dusk.
But Elizabeth was young, and soon she would be free, and the last thing she wanted was anyone to tell her what she could do or where she could go. She was a nineteenth century lady of sophistication…or that's what she aspired to be.
The knock came again. And she stepped close to the wall and hid in the shadows, even though she told herself it was silly, that no one could even see her from the front of the house to the upstairs. When the third knock came, she was sure she heard someone calling out her name. The familiar voice reminded her that the governor's clerk had asked to call on her, escort her to the theater. The man had taken a shine to her two days ago, at a lawn affair. She loved the theater and had agreed, instantly. At that time, she had known Nellie, her maid, would be available to attend as a chaperone type. That was before Mr. Gerner had sent over the urgent message that he needed to see her.
Shaking her head to clear it of the man growing colder as she delayed, she moved back to her room on silent feet and grabbed her carpet bag from the floor of her wardrobe. There was no time for her to hire a rental carriage and driver to help her get her things out of the house. With the clerk at the front door, that way was barred to her anyway for an escape.
For a moment, she considered going down and greeting the young man, allowing him to take her out. Then she could come home and pretend she had just found the solicitor on the floor, overtaken by burglars.
"No, no, no," she whispered this time. That wouldn't do. There was no way that she could appear calm and her normal vivacious self, knowing that a man was dead at her home. If she could pull that off, she could be an actress on the stage instead of a patron in the audience. She removed a few of her favorite skirts, tops, and underthings from the trunk.
I'll have to escape by the back door. She opened the top roller of her oak wood secretary and grabbed her journal. It was her secret place where she stashed bills from the budget Mr. Gerner, advised by her brother, kept her on. He made her account for every red cent, whether she bought a new hat, gloves, or replaced a buckle on her favorite boots. When her friends treated her to tea or a luncheon in the city, she'd put her cost for the meal away but let a small fib slip from her lips to the solicitor. She'd tell him she had spent it while out and lost the slip.
Why should he worry her so, when in a little while she'd be her own woman and she'd be telling him how much of her money to give her? Or so she had thought. However, she'd been so wrong. Her eyes began to burn as she thought about the papers on the table before the couch, scattered about. She had tossed them down after she read them. It had to be wrong, some foul trick.
Now, wasn't the time to replay the printed words. Instead, it was time for her to get away. Once she had some space to think, she would know what she needed to do. She could make a plan.
The last thing she grabbed was the sterling silver brush set her father had given her mother years before as a gift. Elizabeth loved the beautiful carvings and had often traced the vines that made a heart shape on the back. Heading out into the hallway, she moved quickly until she reached the back-servants' stairs. With her palm pressed against the wall for balance down the narrow passageway, she didn't stop. In the kitchen, she grabbed up the few rolls Cook had on a plate from breakfast. There was also a small pouch of shelled pecans. She knew that Mrs. Oaks had shelled them for her special pie on Sunday.
It made her heart ache to know that she would not be here to get a big slice when it was warm and fresh. Swallowing the tightness in her throat, Elizabeth pulled open the back door and went out into the night. There was a crispness to the air from the rain that afternoon, but it was still a beautiful night. It would have been a perfect night to walk with a gentleman under the streetlamps after a great performance. Tonight, was supposed to be one of the great Shakespearean tragedies.
She made haste along the stone path between the flower beds—one bed of daffodils and the other of crocus. The sight of the summer buds always brought a smile to her face when they bloomed each year. She wondered if she would ever see them again. On the other side of the wrought iron gate, she turned and stared at the bright red and purple petals in the late evening light. One step, then two, she backed away from her family home. It was time for her to go. By morning, the staff would return, and they would see what lay sprawled on the floor in the front room and the officers would be notified. They would come, and there would be many questions. A search for her would be on, and if they found her, she'd be tossed into prison.
That wasn't the life she wanted. It wasn't the life her parents would have wanted for her. Without further delay, she moved in the direction away from the main road. She'd need to think about how she could get away, far away. Where she could go, she wasn't sure, but here, she couldn't stay.
An hour or so later, when she was far enough away from her home and anything that was familiar, she spotted a carriage. Walking through a back alley, she was grateful that the lantern at the back doors of the shops had been lit. When she arrived at the side street, she barreled into someone who stepped in her path.
"Whoa there, miss." Thick hands grabbed at her forearms and set her away.
"Oh, excuse me, sir—" She looked up, and only because the air whooshed out of her lungs at the sight of the officer before her in all-black regalia and big silver buttons, did she not scream.
They've found me.
"No worries. Where are you 'bout?"
"Um…sick…carriage…sick…aunt…sick." Her words didn't make much sense to her own ears. Her tongue felt like a piece of wood in her mouth as it splintered out the lie.
He chuckled and tugged his hat back in place, knocked off center from their collision. "Ahh. A sick aunt, you say. No wonder you're at sixes and sevens. I'll get that rent a ride."
She told herself not to balk at the lawman's touch. He moved her to the curb as he whistled and grabbed the attention of the carriage driver. The driver was a bit on the unkempt side, but she didn't care at this moment. If someone created a yell, or for one moment, the officer saw something suspicious in her manner, he could start asking questions, things that she couldn't answer…didn't want to answer, lest she planned to spend the remainder of her days in jail.
Only a moment or two passed before she was helped up into the ride.
"Where are you needin' to go?" The Irish brogue of his accent filled the interior.
"The train station. I must catch a train." It wasn't until that moment that she realized where she needed to go. The locomotive was the fastest way to travel and she needed to get away fast, now.
"I'll see that he gets you there safely." The officer tipped his hat then moved away and closed the door.
She could hear him call up instructions and warn the man that if he didn't get her their safely, he'd have to answer to him.
The driver called out a garbled response before he set out. Elizabeth clutched her bag to her queasy stomach and sent up silent wishes that she would be able to leave the city. No matter where the train was going, she would be on it.
An hour later, Elizabeth settled into her seat in her satin dress. The bodice was practically soaked through from her sweat and anxiety as each minute ticked by while she sat in the depot waiting for the next train to arrive.
"Are you traveling alone?"
Elizabeth met the gaze of the woman seated across the aisle from her. "Um, yes."
The woman, with auburn locks wrapped in a severe high and tight