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  I reached up and kissed him on the cheek, the kiss of Judas, but I felt no remorse, only a terrible weariness.

  Upstairs in my room I suddenly remembered Paul's clothes, the ones I had worn to the political rally at the Red Lion. I had put them in a box at the back of the wardrobe. I searched for it feverishly and found it under a pile of worn garments set aside to be used in quilting. Escape as a boy would be much easier, and since my hair was long and heavy and might not stay tucked under my cap I would cut it off, but that didn't matter. I only wished that I had had a topcoat of Paul's, for it would be cold, but there was none. I would just have to put warm things underneath. I found some plain scarves that might pass for a boy's, and I tied the five-guinea piece in the corner of one of them. In going through my draw­ers, I found the lunch I had not eaten and I stuffed what I could of that into the pockets of Paul's jacket. I would proba­bly be hungry later. Then I put everything back in the box and hid it in the wardrobe and got ready for dinner.

  The evening passed without great incident. Howard was elated with his victory. He talked copiously of the future, with father sitting back and listening, satisfied that he had brought his reluctant sheep back into the fold. Mother said little, which was normal, while Netty hung on Howard's words and kept whispering to me how lucky I was. I think Thomas and James were impressed with their new brother-in-law-to-be, or their presumed new brother-in-law-to-be, thinking perhaps to follow eastwards in his footsteps. I said nothing, my silence probably being taken by Howard to be the silence of a newly affianced maid overcome at the thought of the joys and myste­ries that awaited her, and by my family as the silence of sub­mission. Howard insisted that I accompany him to the front door as he waited for his horse to be brought round, and fa­ther handed me a wrap and with it his tacit permission to bid my fiance good night in private.

  Outside Howard pulled me to him.

  "You won't regret your decision," he said heavily, breath­ing father's best port in my face. "I'll make you the smartest lady in this part of Wiltshire. Perhaps I'll get a title for you. How would you like to be Lady Ramsey?"

  Being anything Ramsey was repugnant to me, and when he pressed his lips on mine, I turned my head slightly so that his kiss fell on my cheek. His hand came up like iron and gripped my jaw unmercifully.

  "No, no, my dear Alex, that won't do. I won't have that. You have obeyed your father in the past, but from now on you will learn to obey me."

  He brought his lips down on mine, and with his fingers clenched on my cheeks, forced open my jaws so that his tongue could pass between my teeth and probe the recesses of my mouth. I felt violated, but when he finished I said nothing except to wish him a good night.

  "That's better," he said. "I warrant you'll soon warm to my ways."

  I went in and up to my room without a word to anyone, though I knew father and mother were waiting for me to re­turn to the drawing room. I suppose I should have bid them a good night that would have been good-bye, but I could not bring myself to do so. I might cry, and that would ruin every­thing. I thought perhaps I should write them a note, but when I sat down in front of a blank sheet of paper I found I had nothing to say to them. I removed the ring Howard had cere­moniously placed on my finger earlier in the evening and laid it on my dressing table. It would, I hoped, be returned to him.

  When I was sure that everyone was asleep, I got up and put on Paul's clothes, and in the dark I hacked off my long curls and then crammed Paul's cap over the shorn tresses. I put the hair into my pocket. I would throw it into the hedge­rows on my way for the birds to discover and use in their nest building. I did not wish to leave any evidence of the guise in which I had left. They would enquire for a young woman, not a scurvy boy. With good luck my escape was assured.

  XIX

  I reached the Castle in Marlborough just as the morning light was breaking over the downs. I hadn't thought to take so long. I knew the road and six miles was no great distance for I walked quickly, but I had not taken into account the bitterly cold wind or the darkness of the night, which made even the most familiar crossroads difficult to negotiate.

  I was soaking, for it rained, and I had no change of clothing. All I carried was a package containing some of my stories and poems, my journal, and the copy of the letter I had sent to Mr. Hillaby with The New Cassandra. The walk had been difficult, and it was with great relief I saw the tower of St. Peter's loom through the grey morning mist as I made my way down the High Street to the Castle.

  Once there I was, however, at a loss. Never having trav­elled by stage, I knew nothing of how or where to purchase tickets for the journey. I asked advice of a young lad leaning against the wall in the courtyard; he directed me inside, but with such a curious scrutiny I wondered whether my disguise was the cause or whether it was my voice that made him stare. In any event I decided to say as little as possible. I only hoped the sight of my five guineas would eliminate questions, and in the taproom I duly presented my gold piece to a thin, agitated man who appeared to be taking care of the stagecoach pas­sengers.

  "I should like a seat on the London Mail—inside, if you please."

  I thought at first I had given myself away or at least said something terribly wrong, for he looked me up and down in­dignantly before saying to the world at large, "Look at this young chap, gents, look at 'im. Wants to ride inside, if you please, inside with the women and the toffs. I'd never 'ave thought of such a thing in my young day, spending a fortune to ride inside when he could go out in the fresh air for 'alf the price. And I don't doubt that this is all the money 'e 'as to 'is name." He held up my miserable gold piece, which he had rightly assessed to be my entire fortune, for examination by all and sundry. "But that's what we find today, boys molley-cod-dled from the cradle, want nothing but luxury. What was good enough for you and me's not good enough for them, oh no."

  There were a few guffaws from the still-sleepy passengers. I felt every eye in the room fixed upon me, probably the only one there who craved anonymity. I longed to run from the room, never to return, but it was more imperative than ever that I gain a seat on the coach after the scene he was causing, for if asked, people would surely remember me.

  "Anywhere'll do," I said gruffly, aware of my face redden­ing beyond the scarlet already wrought by my walk through the bitter night.

  "Just as well, my lad, for there's only one seat left and that's outside," he said, taking my money and giving me change, which I stuffed into my pocket. It was on the tip of my tongue to demand why he hadn't told me that in the first place, but I held my peace.

  "Where's your things—they're due to pull out any minute."

  I pointed to the small packet I carried.

  "That all you got." I ignored his sarcasm and nodded.

  "Better take it up with you then, but mind it don't get in the way of the other passengers."

  I took off outside to board the coach, and as I climbed up to my perch, I remembered that I had not had the hot toddy I had promised myself. Still, I was aboard; that was what counted. I would get it at the next stop.

  By the time we reached the Black Bear at Hungerford, I was almost frozen. I climbed down with the rest of the passen­gers, who were now becoming friendly with one another, though they had ignored my presence. As I purchased the toddy, which did indeed warm my insides, my heart became heavy in paying the reckoning, for I discovered that the ob­noxious man at the Castle had sadly shortchanged me. I had barely enough money left to cover my food along the way. It meant I would arrive in London quite penniless. Nevertheless I was away, and cold, tired and hungry as I was, I was free, for the moment at least.

  I climbed up into my perch with renewed energy, with a determination to last out the journey and not allow myself to be cheated again. My fellow passengers had, apparently, well partaken of liquid refreshments at the stop, and they were soon passing a jug from one to the other, not forgetting the coachman, who became so jolly as a result that he almost overturned us into a ditch. Luckily we w
ere not upended. The wheels, however, were quite stuck and we had to wait several hours before being pulled out.

  I had refused to take any of the grog, shaking my head whenever the jug was passed to me, but as my fellow passen­gers became more mellow they began to have sport at my expense and soon I was obliged to drink the raw, fiery liquid, which burned my throat and made me cough and splutter, to their immense amusement and my indignation, though it may well have kept me from freezing.

  Talk became coarse, and the coachman began singing lewd ditties and, ignoring his accident, taking curves and tra­versing villages at a frantic pace. I clung onto my seat and jammed my hat firmly down on my head, fearing that to lose it would expose my face and my ragged haircut, so hastily undertaken before I left, and surely reveal that I was no boy.

  Thanks to the coachman's negligence we did not arrive in London that evening but were forced to continue through the night. At Reading a large, heavy-jowled man got up beside me. He grew loquacious as the night hours wore on, asking questions and telling me of his trade. He was, he told me, a draper who could make good use of a youth like me if I moved fast and didn't mind working long hours. I hardly found his offer tempting, empty though my pockets weie, for he greatly troubled me with his pinching, mauling hands, which he re­fused to keep to himself. I could not tell whether he had a penchant for young boys or whether he had seen through my disguise, but I was obliged to stay awake and keep as far away from him as our crowded conditions would allow.

  I was thus in a very poor state when we pulled in to the Swan with Two Necks in Lad Lane early the next morning: bruised, my clothing wet from the sporadic showers and my fingers and face chilled and chapped. My box companion asked cheerfully whether he could take me anywhere, but de­spite having only two copper pennies left after giving the coachman the tip he demanded, I shook my head. I would have to walk to Cheapside, and I was none too sure of the way. It was, however, the safer means of transportation, and hold­ing my parcel under my arm, I ran from the seething activity of the yard into the London streets, anxious to become lost in the populace so that neither my fellow traveller nor anyone searching for me would find me.

  Had I felt more alive than dead, and had I known in which direction to walk, I would have found much to interest me in my surroundings. The streets were teeming with ven­dors of every imaginable food and ware—meats and sausages, shawls and dresses, tin pots and pans, potatoes, apples and breads that smelled so sweet I was forced to stop and buy a roll and a cup of saloop, a sweet, hot drink, lavishly spending three ha' pence of my twopence. It was a luxury, yet I had to keep my teeth from chattering.

  I was jostled by clerks rushing to their shops and offices, raffish bucks who had obviously not seen a bed, at least of their own, that night, poorly clad chimney sweeps pushing their way through the crowds with their long brushes, pros­titutes, cripples and drunken wretches of both sexes. It was the tumult of the streets, I believe, rather than the directions I received that made me turn towards Shoreditch rather than the river, for later I was to discover that Lad Lane gave egress onto Gresham Street, which ran parallel to Cheapside. It was a walk I could have undertaken in a quarter of an hour, in­stead of which two hours later I was hopelessly lost in the midst of the Spitalfields district, which had so upset me on my earlier visit to London. In the year since I had seen it, it had not improved. In fact the poverty, seen at street level rather than from a coach, was even more distressing.

  Again I stopped to ask directions, this time of an old woman selling roasted chestnuts from a charcoal brazier. As I warmed my hands on her fire, the chestnuts smelled so ap­petizing that I could not resist spending my last ha'penny on a bag, which I swallowed while trying to follow her mumbled instructions. Then I was off again, only to be even more hope­lessly lost half an hour later.

  In the course of the morning I had had several frighten­ing experiences. One young lad had attempted to steal my packet and another had tried to entice me into a house, for what purpose I did not stay to find out. I was frightened, hungry and wet and I felt I had not the strength to find Mr. Hillaby's office even had I known the way. As I sat by the side of the road to rest, trying to think what I might do, a small urchin of indistinguishable age came and sat beside me.

  "Wotcher guvner!" he said cheerily.

  I didn't reply, too weary even to talk. Then I pulled the address from my pocket and showed it to him.

  He grinned. "Can't read. I'm no tosh." I read it to him and an instant look of recognition crossed his face.

  "That where you want to go? I'll show you. Me dad's not far from there," and off he ran with a hop and a jump, myself following as well as I could. It was an effort to keep up with him, and I had no idea whether he was taking me where I wanted to go or leading me into some trap, but I felt I had little choice. I had to trust someone. We went through stinking alleys filled with such filth and stench they made me want to vomit, but whenever I paused, the dark little figure ahead of me would turn round and wave his arm, giving an infectious grin, so that I found myself stumbling along after him, nause­ated or not. I must have recrossed streets I had earlier passed through, but I was dazed and recognized nothing. At last we came out on a busy thoroughfare and he pointed to a dark building.

  " 'Ere we are," he said triumphantly.

  My eyes focussed on a brass plate bearing the name of Alistair Hillaby, Publisher and Printer.

  I felt dizzy and afraid I could not stand up without trem­bling, for my legs were weak, my head ached and I had a raging fever. I was in no condition to confront a publisher for the first time, and realizing that I might have difficulty in convincing him that I was really the author of the books he had published, I was glad I had brought with me the copy of the note I had written to him on submitting The New Cas­sandra. I pulled this from my packet before signalling for the boy to wait for me for I was most anxious to reward him for his pains. Then I went inside.

  The surly clerk, the same one who had received my man­uscript when first I visited that office, again barely looked up as I asked for Mr. Hillaby, muttering only that he was at home. I was in despair. Did he never spend time at his busi­ness establishment?

  "But I must see him. It's a matter of life and death. Please help me. Where does he live?"

  The clerk looked me over curiously, prepared, I was sure, to make a curt reply, but his expression changed as he took in my dismal appearance. Without another word he turned and wrote something on a piece of paper.

  "Just don't tell him I gave it to you," he growled.

  I tried to thank him, but already he had turned back to his accounts, so, without further comment I hurried back to my companion who awaited me in the street and told him the address I had been given.

  "Cor lumme! 'Ans Place, that's Chelsea. Well, come on then, but we'd best move quicker than we done up till now."

  The idea of moving at a faster rate was grotesque, but my young companion was off at a jog trot with me behind him, summoning up strength I was sure a moment earlier I had not possessed. I cannot think where we went, except the streets became wider and somewhat cleaner and the people we passed were better dressed and of an elevated station in life from which they regarded my companion and myself with acute disfavour and suspicion. They stared in disapproval, first at my ragamuffin companion, then at my ragamuffin self, draw­ing their cloaks closer around them as though they expected we might steal the very clothes from their backs. When I thought I could go no further, my companion showed me how to catch rides on passing carts by waiting at corners and, as they slowed down, grabbing for the bars behind the rear wheels. It worked quite well for a while, till one driver spotted me and gave me a fierce lashing across the back with his whip. My companion picked me out of the gutter.

  "You'll soon get used to that. It don't 'urt after a while. But you gotter make yerself small when you get on. Don't stand up there like you bought a ticket."

  "I'd sooner walk," I said through clenched teeth. I thought the pa
in would never go away.

  "Awright, come on then!"

  It was quite dark by the time we reached the steps of the Hillaby residence on Hans Place. Groggily I signalled for my companion to wait as I mounted them. If Mr. Hillaby refused to see me, I believed I would die there on the spot.

  The door was answered by a manservant who took one look at me and told me to be off in no uncertain terms. I had the presence of mind to wedge my body across the threshold before he could make good his threat to close the door on me.

  I pulled the cap from my head and shook out my ragged but, nevertheless, decidedly feminine curls, saying in my nor­mal voice and my very best diction, "I will see Mr. Hillaby without delay. If you know what is good for you, my man, you will get him immediately or else, I can assure you, you will regret it."

  It was said with all the bravado I could muster. The man­servant's jaw dropped but he did nothing to stop me from walking into the neatly polished, tiled hall, where I sank into a chair to await my publisher.

  A grey-haired man, stern-faced, with small spectacles perched on an overly long nose, dressed in tweeds of good cut though certainly not in the height of fashion, came into the hall, bent, I was sure, on ridding his house of my presence.

  I stood up, swaying slightly, and pulling the now very crumpled copy of my letter from my pocket I extended it to him in an extremely grubby hand.

  "Mr. Hillaby, I am the author of Sum of Glory and The New Cassandra. I've come to London to discuss my account with your house and future publications."

  He was completely nonplussed. The manservant stood by, itching, I suspected, to throw me out under his master's approving eye. I closed my eyes for an instant, praying that he would receive me. Divine aid must have been at hand, for when I reopened them it was to see Mr. Hillaby glance briefly at the letter before gripping my still extended hand in wel­come.

  "My dear young lady, what a pleasure. Do come in. Mrs. Hillaby will be delighted to meet you. I'm sure you have had a long and trying journey. You must want some tea." He spoke as though my visit were expected, my odd garb an everyday occurrence. I could have hugged him.