The Saint by Hunter Madeline

Author:Hunter, Madeline [Hunter, Madeline]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 0553592734
Publisher: Bantam
Published: 2003-11-04T00:00:00+00:00

The mail coach careened around a bend and its passengers braced to keep from crushing to the left. Bianca huddled inside Jane’s light cloak, seeking some shelter from the damp chill that had reached her bones hours ago.

She had not expected this journey to be this miserable. The speed of the coach created a jaw-jarring ride despite the good roads.

There had been no alternative. Not only did she need to make this journey a fast one, but the money she had hoarded out of the twenty pounds extracted from Vergil would not pay for a private coach. She had permitted herself one break last night at an inn, and would do so on the way back, but she doubted that Jane could maintain the deception longer than three days.

She pulled the cloak snugger. Just her luck that the only hooded outer garment that Jane had brought to London was lightweight wool.

The request for Pen’s coachman to stop at a coaching inn near Laclere Park so that Jane could detour to visit an ill friend had not raised any suspicions. Nor had her own excuse to seek relief at the necessary. Back behind the building, she and Jane had exchanged cloaks and the wrong woman had returned to the carriage. Even the weather had cooperated, providing a light rain to explain the obscuring hoods pulled low over their faces.

Hopefully, when Jane arrived at Laclere Park, she had managed to retire abruptly with complaints of a chill. Snuggled in Bianca’s bed for a few days, wrapped and capped and sleeping off an illness, she might just avert discovery of her true identity.

If not, Bianca expected to return before a full alarm could be raised.

The biggest inconvenience in the plan, besides her numb extremities, was the fact that she had not been able to bring any baggage with her. The only items of toiletries and clothing that she carried were stuffed in her reticule and inside her bodice.

The coach sped into the environs of Manchester, making a series of quick stops as the countryside gave way to sprawling villages that then bled into the edges of the city itself. An odd combination of raw newness and old squalor flanked the residential streets. Perhaps on sunny days, and if a visitor weren’t bone-chilled and hungry, it would not appear such a dreary place. One knew without being told that this was a growing city. The congestion spoke of too many people cramped into too few domiciles.

Their pace slowed until the driver pulled to a halt. Two other passengers gathered their belongings. “If you want Manchester, this is it,” one said. “Coach heads to Liverpool now, and the mail for the city will be picked up here by others.”

Bianca stepped out into the drizzly mist. She entered the coaching inn and asked the man in charge where she could hire a gig and driver for a few hours.

Soon she was back in the damp again, this time squashed beside a portly driver snapping the gig through the city streets.

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