escaping, either of you. You’d have to drag the other with you."
They started to march the two of them outside.
"Say, what about him?" Sophie asked, jerking her head in the direction of Reverend Chitterdean.
"What about ’im? He can’t tell anyone where we’ve gone. He can’t talk!" Georgie guffawed, slapping his knee as if that were the greatest joke he’d ever heard.
"Yeah, you’re right," Sophie said with a slow grin. Then seeing Jane pause to look back at Reverend Chitterdean, she shoved her forward, nearly pushing Jane and Helmsdon off-balance. She laughed. "Step lively. It’s your weddin’ day!" They bundled Jane and Helmsdon into the carriage. Sophie climbed in after them, taking the opposite seat.
"Here," Georgie said, thrusting a pistol into Sophie’s hands. "I don’t trust him. Keep my barker trained on him. "
Sophie tsk-tsked after Georgie shut the carriage and they felt him swing up to the box. "I don’t unnerstand a cove like you, all unner ’atches, turnin’ your nose up at a chance to a well-’eeled match. You ought to bless Georgie and me. And Lady Tipton, too. All you do is sit there and glower. "
Jane and Helmsdon didn’t say a word.
"I dunno why she wants you married off, but she’s paid ’andsomely. Bought me all manner of purty things to be this Lady Willoughby. She were sure distressed when I couldn’t learn to talk refined, but ya never know’d, did ya? That raspy voice ’id it all. Now Georgie, ’e come by ’is fine speech natural, ’im being the get of some gentry mort. Family ’ushed it up. Finally saw ’er married, too. They paid fur ’is schoolin’ and a place in the army, then forgot ’im. Wiped their ’ands of ’im, they did. Probably ’oped ’e’d get ’isself kilt."
She laughed. "Ya know what Georgie’s goin’ to do with ’is share? Trick ’is self up and go visitin’ ’is oh so proper mama. ’E knows where she is. Found out six months ago, ’e says. Just been waitin’ fur the right time."
"What are you going to do, Sophie?" Jane asked softly, hoping to keep the woman distracted. She couldn’t think why she should, what purpose it would serve, but felt impelled to do so.
"Me?" she laughed mirthlessly. "I don’t know. I was doin’ purty good with the ballet until two months ago. Turned me off they did, said I was too old." She sniffed. "I can dance better’n most those fresh-faced chits they’re bringin’ in. They’re more interested in what they earn lying on their backs than trouping ’cross the boards. Now I ain’t goin’ to sit ’ere and say I didn’t git non’a them favors, but faugh! There ain’t no art anymore," she declared disgustedly.
Her lips twisted in a pout. "That were the real reason I were turned off, ya know. I could dance circles around the others! Made ’em all look bad. Like a pack o’ galloping animals. They complained, ya see."
She paused, a thoughtful expression on her face as she rocked with the carriage’s movement. "Y’know what I’d like ta do? Start me a school ta teach dancin’ fur the stage. Real purty dancin’. That would show ’em, that would!"
A marshal light burned in the woman’s eyes, and Jane almost hoped she’d get her dream. Somehow she found she couldn’t hold either Georgie’s or Sophie’s actions against them. They were ripe pigeons for Serena’s ilk: as much prisoners of their lives as Helmsdon and she were prisoners in the carriage.
The carriage rocked around a corner, throwing her against Sir Helmsdon. She looked up at him, and found a strange expression in his eyes. Almost one of guilt. She raised an eyebrow quizzically. He smiled and shook his head.
Sophie's head began to drop. It didn’t seem she was going to reveal any more secrets. They could tell she was locked within herself, remembering the perceived injustices she’d received. She sighed heavily and leaned back against the plush squab seat cushions, the pistol steady in her hand, her path chosen.
When Royce turned the last page of the novel he’d been reading, the afternoon shadows were long and the sun was beginning to turn orange. He placed the book back on the table where he’d found it. Earlier in the afternoon he’d picked it up out of boredom. When he saw Jane Grantley’s name on the flyleaf, he settled down to read it, curious as to what Jane liked to read. It wasn’t his normal bill of fare, but he had to admit he enjoyed it.