Page 86 of Miss Dauntless
“Oh, my gracious,” the clerk said. “She could sail to Calais, of course, but also to Le Havre, Cherbourg, Amsterdam, Dieppe, the Channel Islands… If she sails from Dover…”
“She’s gone for good,” Harry said. “Ifshe’s gone to Dover. She might well be headed for Yorkshire. Just when you think a woman’s become predictable, she surprises you.”
“Where is the porter who took her luggage?” Tremont asked as a well-fed elderly woman in weeds and black bonnet stepped up to the reception desk. She’d pinned back the veil of her bonnet, probably the better to glower at all and sundry.
“The porters assemble at the far end of the veranda, sir, and come when summoned by the doorman. No telling which one took any particular guest’s luggage.”
“I’ll have a word,” Harry said, tipping his hat to the older woman and sauntering out the door.
“Pity the lady if she is married to that one,” the clerk muttered, “but I’m afraid I cannot help you, sir.”
“She is married to him,” Tremont said, “but there’s hope.” He bowed to the glowering woman and stepped out into the malodorous cold of the winter day. The sense of activitywas relentless, on the walkways, the veranda, and the street. Somewhere in this morass of bustling humanity was somebody who’d caught a glimpse of Matilda and Tommie, somebody who’d watched them climb into a stage coach or…
“No luck,” Harry said, sending a scowl in the direction of the loitering porters. “The fellow who took Matilda’s bags was subsequently tasked with taking a load of trunks to some Mayfair hotel. He might not return to his post until tomorrow.”
“Then Matilda and Tommie did not go far,” Tremont said. “If they left only an hour ago, and the porter had time to see them to their destination and then return for another assignment, they did not go far.”
One of the porters watched them, though clearly neither Tremont nor Harry had any bags to be carried. Something about the man looked familiar, as if—
“The porter coming back quickly doesn’t tell you anything,” Harry said. “Tilly could have gone a quarter mile down the wharves or two streets over to a coaching inn. She’s gone, and she learned from me how to hide her tracks. She’ll speak with an accent—Dorset or Yorkshire, one distinctive enough to leave an impression, but not an impression of the Matilda you’re searching for. She’ll walk differently and maybe use an alias.”
“You and your damned aliases. Matilda is not trying to hide from me. She will travel as herself.”
The same porter had sidled closer, a tidy fellow with the wiry strength of a yeoman and the wheat-blond hair of a Saxon.
Harry droned on, about all the theatrical tricks he’d used to disguise himself, while Tremont focused on Matilda andwhat Matilda wanted. Safety, of course. Security. Peace and quiet. She’d go someplace affordable—most of the Continent was affordable compared to England. Someplace where nobody knew her. Someplace where she could find honest employment, which meant no tiny villages.
What else did she want? If granted three wishes, what would they be?
“Beg pardon, sir,” the towheaded porter said. “You’d be Lord Tremont?”
“I have that honor.”
The fellow stood straighter. “Thought that was you. Wanted to wish you a fine day.”
While Tremont wanted to toss the fellow into the river. Manners and something more—a niggling at the back of Tremont’s mind—stopped him.
“Thank you, and the same to you. I have the sense we’ve met.”
Harry glowered at the fellow, who was grinning as if he’d just been given the Freedom of the City and all its pubs.
“I knew you’d remember me. Shores, sir. Corporal Dennis Shores, which is a joke now that I’m working on the riverbank, innit? I served under Dunacre along with you, and I heard what you done for some of the men now Boney’s been trounced.”
Vague recollections, of a skinny fellow who’d advanced to corporal thanks to excellent aim with a rifle and a well-timed jest.
Every moment spent passing the time of day was a moment Matilda and Tommie were farther away. And yet, one did not snub a former comrade-in-arms.
“Shores, how good of you to introduce yourself. I hope you are thriving.”
“Keepin’ body and soul together. And it’s thanks to you I’m alive to do that. My brother was with us at Waterloo, too, and he’s got a fine job as a footman. I heard this’ un”—Shores jerked his chin at Harry—“asking after a young lady and a lad. Did the lad have a stuffed horse stickin’ out of his coat?”
Thank the angels of mercy and a small boy’s attachment to his friends. “He surely did.”
“They took ship for Dover not an hour past. Martin hauled their luggage for ’em, though ’tweren’t much. Long gone, given the tide, but she were Dover-bound, sir.”
“Shores, I could kiss you.”
“A handshake will do, sir.”
