Elizabeth Thornton by Whisper His Name Page B

“We’ll be quite comfortable here, Nan.”
    “We won’t be comfortable in prison,” said Nan, “and that’s where they’ll put us for wot we done.”
    “Nonsense,” said Abbie. “Why should they do that?”
    “ ’Cos the duchess will ’ave to pay our shot.”
    “I’ll tell them it was all a silly mistake, beginning right now, as soon as I find a chambermaid. You worry too much, Nan.”
    Abbie spent the next little while finding a chambermaid to take care of their needs: their boxes had to be collected from their hired chaise; a fire had to be lit; a tray suitable for an invalid had to be sent up; and hot bricks to warm the beds. At first, the chambermaid, who was as harried as the desk clerk, was uncooperative, but her frown soon changed to smiles when she saw the half-sovereign Abbie proffered as a tip.
    When Abbie descended the stairs to keep her appointment with Mr. Norton, she tried to look natural and managed to smile vaguely at an elderly gentleman who passed her on the way up, but she wasn’t nearly as composed as she pretended to be. The thought that
    “he” might be watching her made her tremble all over. If it weren’t for Mr. Norton, she wouldn’t have left her chamber.
    On entering the dining hall, she was dismayed to find that it was thronged with people. She scanned the tables for a glimpse of Mr. Norton. Eventually, she walked part way down one side of the hall, then the other. He was not there.
    She retreated to the lobby and concealed herself in one of the curtained window alcoves while she waited for Mr. Norton to appear. There were plenty of people coming and going, but none of them looked suspicious.
    She studied the hotel’s guests. Two gentlemen had just finished a game of chess, and they pushed back their chairs and began to idle their way toward the stairs. Her eyes moved to a young couple who seemed to be having an argument. The wife dabbed at her eyes with a scrap of lace handkerchief, then stormed out of the inn with her husband hurrying to catch up with her. Two more people who had been turned away to try their luck elsewhere, thought Abbie. A group of noisy young fops entered the coffee shop on a gale of laughter; another almost identical group left it shortly after. Liveried servants in coats of many colors were flitting about like exotic butterflies.
    When time had passed, and there was no sign of Mr. Norton, she decided to take a more direct approach. But when she asked at the counter whether Mr. Norton had registered at the hotel, she discovered, to her great disappointment, that he had not. There were no rooms available, the clerk told her. In fact, there were no rooms available at any of the inns in Marlborough. The young gentleman had probably decided to try his luck at the next stop.
    She was crossing to the stairs when she heard a familiar voice at her back.
    “Abbie! It is you!”
    Her jaw went slack, and she turned slowly. “Hugh!” she said. “What on earth are you doing here?”
    As soon as Nemo had caught sight of Abbie, he left the two gentlemen who were playing chess and began to mount the stairs. He was no longer Harry Norton. His hair was dark and threaded with gray; his shoulders were slightly stooped. He was dressed like any other guest, and as he passed her on the stairs, she looked directly at him, but gave no sign of recognition. So much for her phenomenal memory for faces, he thought, and allowed himself a small, superior smile. He’d matched wits with the best. This poor woman did not know what she was up against.
    The accident to the mail coach had served him well, but if there had been no accident, he would have found another way to meet her and set this up. If she had the book with her, he would find it.
    He reckoned he had five or ten minutes to search her room before she returned. It would take her that long to discover that he wasn’t in the dining hall. She would wait for him, but not for long. Unchaperoned ladies did not loiter in