Tatiana March - His Mail-Order Bride

Miranda went to the door, eased it open and glanced down the hall once more to make sure no one had been listening. Turning to look back, she signaled with her hand. Charlotte walked out of the parlor, her heart hammering against her ribs as she headed along the deserted corridor toward her bedroom. If things went badly, the sisters might never see each other again.

* * *

Charlotte stood waiting by the tall window in the hall, hidden behind the thick velvet drapes. She wore leather half boots, a pale gray blouse, a green wool skirt and a jacket to match. Her oldest clothing. Something to blend in with the crowd. She’d packed a small traveling bag that contained a pair of kid slippers, two extra sets of underwear, a nightgown, another blouse, and a few toilet articles and personal treasures.

The clock chimed to announce the full hour. One o’clock. Charlotte strained her ears. A few seconds later, a high-pitched shriek came from the direction of the kitchens. Then a hysterical voice yelled something about a mouse. Well done, Annabel, Charlotte thought. A rodent would send the servants scurrying.

She could hear more voices, this time from the other end of the house. Masculine shouts. Then the tinkle of breaking glass and the acrid smell of smoke. Charlotte took a deep breath and emerged from behind the curtain. She hurried to the front door, unlatched the lock and darted out and clattered down the stone steps, speed more important than moving without a sound.

Her running footsteps crunched along the gravel drive. Arrow straight, the drive seemed to stretch ahead endlessly. In the sky the clouds had thickened, and were now shedding a fine drizzle that bathed the landscape in a curtain of mist.

Charlotte veered left, across the lawns, toward the forest. Her heels sank into the soft earth. The wide brim of her bonnet protected her face from the rain, but she could feel the dampness penetrate her clothing. Already, her skirts were heavy and clinging, hampering her speed.

The line of trees ahead formed a green wall that didn’t seem to get any nearer as she hurtled along. Her bag bounced against her thighs, a painful slam at every step. She didn’t dare to look back over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching. She simply ran, legs pumping, muscles straining, skirts flapping. It seemed an eternity before she reached the thick canopy of the forest and dived into its shelter.

Her heart pounded, partly from fear, partly from the effort of the wild dash. She paused to catch her breath, and finally turned around to survey the house. Mist hovered over the lawns, but there were no signs that anyone had noticed her escape. Through the library windows she could see an orange glow, already fading.

Charlotte turned around, forced her way deeper into the forest. It was less than a mile to a streetcar stop, but she didn’t dare to take local transport. People might recognize her, remember her. She’d obey Miranda’s instructions and walk all the way to Boston. Four miles. Charlotte gripped her bag tighter in her hand, ducked between branches and set off through the forest, making her way south toward the city.

* * *

Twilight was falling when the train pulled in at the railroad station in New York. Charlotte gripped her leather bag in one hand and climbed down the iron steps from the second-class car of the New York and New Haven Railroad Company train. She came to a halt upon the teeming platform and swept a frightened glance around.

So many people. So much noise.

Porters dashed about, pushing through the crowds. Relations welcomed passengers with joyful greetings. Street vendors hawked their wares. Dogs barked. Beggars cried out their pleas. Street urchins raced about, yelling at each other. The cacophony of sounds filled her ears, booming and relentless, like the trumpets of doom.

The journey had taken her two days, even with the trains rushing along at speeds in excess of twenty miles an hour. Who could have imagined that apart from the costly express service there was no direct connection, but a bunch of local railroad companies, half of which seemed to be going bankrupt at any given time? She’d had to change trains three times, and the overnight stop in Hartford had made a further dent in her funds.

“Miss, do ye need a place to stay?”

Startled, Charlotte whirled toward the coarse voice. A man had stopped beside her. Short and stocky, he wore a gaudy brown suit. He whipped his bowler hat down from his head, exposing coils of oily black hair. His dark eyes raked over her in a bold inspection. His lips curled into a suggestive smile.

“New into town, ye’ll be,” the man said, with a note of satisfaction in his tone. “A pretty girl like you could do well in the right place. I’ll show ye where to go.”

He reached out to take her traveling bag. Charlotte gave an alarmed squeak and jumped backward. She gripped her bag tighter, spun around and hurried down the platform, away from the man. In her haste, she kept bumping into people. Rough hands groped at her and another man shouted a lewd comment after her.

She increased her pace, panic soaring inside her. She might be innocent, with no exposure to life outside of Merlin’s Leap, but she possessed common sense. A young female alone in a big city was easy prey to the worst elements of humanity.

Her hair was disheveled after her flight, her clothing dried into wrinkles from getting soaked in the drizzle, her face a mask of fear and uncertainty. Everything about her revealed that she was down on her luck and therefore an easy target for the predators.

Along the platform, a conductor was yelling instructions to board a departing train. “Train to Chicago and cities and towns west,” the dapper little man shouted. “All passengers to Chicago and cities and towns west must board immediately.”

Charlotte’s gaze fell on the open door of the railroad car. Her steps slowed. She knew she didn’t possess enough money for the long-distance fare, but boarding a train without a ticket seemed less terrifying than facing the dangers of New York City after nightfall.

The train blew its whistle. The iron wheels screeched, spinning into motion. Charlotte gripped her bag tighter and sprinted forward. Reaching up, she grasped the handle on the door and climbed up the steps into the railroad car.

* * *

The train chugged over the flat prairie with a dull monotony. Charlotte dozed in the hard wooden seat, crammed between a large woman on the way to her sister’s funeral and a thin salesman who sold farm equipment. Sunshine streamed in through the windows, making the air hot and stuffy.

All through the night, as the train rolled from town to town, making frequent stops to take in water for the steam engines, she had moved from compartment to compartment, snatching a moment of sleep whenever she could, while at the same time trying to avoid detection by the conductor.

The man beside her shifted in his seat. He fumbled in his coat pockets, his bony elbows butting into her side. Charlotte stirred from her slumber and cast an alarmed glance down the gangway. The conductor in a peaked cap and uniform had entered through the frosted glass door at the far end of the car, and he was inspecting tickets.

With a muttered apology, Charlotte jumped up and hurried in the opposite direction. At the end of the car, she darted through another door and lurched toward the convenience tucked away in the corner. She’d already made it without a ticket most of the way to Chicago, and she had no intention of being caught now.

The lock on the convenience door appeared stuck. In a burst of panic, Charlotte rammed her hip against the peeling timber panel. The door sprang ajar, and then jammed again, meeting some obstacle on the other side. Scuttling backward like a crab, Charlotte squeezed in through the narrow gap. She dropped her bag at her feet, kicked the door shut and turned around to survey her refuge.