Читать книгу From Runaway To Pregnant Bride - Tatiana March - Страница 9

Chapter One

Boston, Massachusetts, August 1889

Annabel Fairfax tore open the envelope the post office messenger had delivered and peeked at the document inside. A money order! A money order for two hundred dollars! Glancing around the shadowed hallway to make sure the servants were not spying on her, Annabel slipped the envelope into her skirt pocket and hurried upstairs to her bedroom.

Two hundred dollars meant freedom.

Four years ago, after their parents died in a boating accident and their greedy Cousin Gareth came to live with them, the three Fairfax sisters had become prisoners in their own home—Merlin’s Leap, a gray stone mansion perched on a rocky headland just north of Boston.

Charlotte, the eldest, was the heiress, and Cousin Gareth had attempted to force her into marriage. Three months ago, Charlotte had escaped and was now living under an assumed name in Gold Crossing, Arizona Territory.

With Charlotte out of his clutches, Gareth had contrived to have her declared dead and Miranda, the middle sister, had been named as the heiress. Rather than fight Gareth’s advances, Miranda also had chosen to flee from Merlin’s Leap, and was now on her way to join Charlotte in the Arizona Territory.

Cousin Gareth had set off in pursuit, leaving Annabel alone with the servants, and their laxness had allowed her to receive the money order. With Gareth gone, the household staff no longer bothered to intercept the mail, or to keep her locked up in the house, which had allowed Annabel to walk into the village and post a letter to Charlotte, alerting the eldest sister that she was officially dead and buried in a grave at Merlin’s Leap.

Up in her bedroom, Annabel inspected the money order. The sender was Thomas Greenwood, the man whose mail-order bride Charlotte was pretending to be. The beneficiary was Miranda Fairfax, but Annabel was certain the local postmaster would let her cash in the document.

She grinned into the empty room. Gold Crossing, here I come. Not brazen enough to travel without a ticket, as her older sisters had done, she now had the funds to pay for her passage. And, with Cousin Gareth gone, she didn’t even have to plot for an escape. She could simply walk out of the house, as bold as a captain on a ship.

* * *

The adventure of it! Annabel sat on the train, trying to take in everything at once—the scenery flashing by, the passengers sitting in their seats, the uniformed conductor strolling up and down the corridor.

The constant craning was making her hair unravel from beneath the flat cap she wore, and she hurried to shove the long, dark tresses out of sight. A threadbare wool coat and trousers completed her outfit. On her feet she wore leather boots, much too large, but two pairs of thick socks improved the fit.

Would she pass for a boy? Her skin was too smooth and her features too feminine, and the rough garments swamped her slender frame, but she hoped the disguise would make the journey safer for a young girl traveling alone.

In truth, she wasn’t frightened, merely apprehensive. Her sisters liked to call her highly strung, but she was brave in her own way, almost as brave as Miranda, and no less determined than Charlotte. And everyone agreed she was the cleverest. It was merely that her emotions ran a bit closer to the surface, sometimes gushing out like water from a fountain.

On the bench beside her she had a canvas haversack, the kind sailors used. Annabel gave the bulky shape a pat with her hand, and in return she heard the reassuring clink of gold coins, hidden away in a secret compartment.

To start with, the postmaster had refused to let her cash in the money order, but she’d persuaded him by telling him that Miranda had suffered a mental collapse and the funds were required to pay for her care at a sanatorium.

Feeling the need to stretch her legs, Annabel slung the haversack over her shoulder and set off to visit the convenience at the far end of the car. Clumsy in her big boots, she trundled along the corridor.

The lock on the cubicle door showed red, indicating the convenience was occupied. Annabel waited, trying to look masculine. She dipped her chin, seeking to lower her voice in case someone addressed her and she would have to reply.

A minute passed, then another. Perhaps the cubicle was empty, the lock merely stuck on red. Annabel curled her fingers around the brass handle and twisted. The lock gave with a rattling sound, and the door sprang open.

Inside the cramped convenience stood a voluptuous young woman. Her gown was unlaced, the bodice folded out of the way. A plump baby suckled at her naked breast. Fascinated at the vision of motherhood, Annabel stared. The woman stared back, a stunned expression on her face.

Without warning, the iron wheels bounced over a junction in the tracks. The woman gave a shriek of alarm. She teetered on her feet, nearly dropping the baby as she struggled to maintain her balance against the rocking of the train.

Darting into the convenience, Annabel gripped the woman by the front of her gown. “I’ve got you!” A few stitches ripped, but Annabel succeeded in holding the young mother upright until she had recovered her footing and could hold the baby securely to her breast.

Vaguely, Annabel noticed the train was slowing for a stop. The woman, a blonde with arched eyebrows, glowered at her rescuer. “Young man, unhand me this very instant.”

Startled, Annabel released her grip. “I was only trying to—”

“Conductor!” the woman shouted. “Conductor!”

The conductor, a burly man with a moustache, sweat shining on his face, hurried over to them. By now, the woman had regained her composure and was using one hand to cover herself with the shawl she wore draped around her shoulders.

She gestured at Annabel with her chin. “This young man, this...urchin...forced the door on the convenience while I was inside, tending to my baby. He stared at my breasts and laid his hands on me, tearing my gown.” The woman lowered her voice. “Pervert, and just a boy. What’s the world coming to?”

Annabel shrank back a step. “I was only—”

“Is it true, young man?” the conductor boomed.

“I’m not...” Annabel glanced down at her clothing. I’m not a boy.

“Are you questioning me?” The woman’s voice grew shrill. She glowered at the pair of them. “Are you suggesting that I invited this perverted young man to ogle at me and damage my gown?”

Annabel fisted her hands at her sides. Her eyes stung with the threat of tears. She’d been so proud of how well the journey was going...she’d only been trying to help...but how could she explain without giving her disguise away?

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, only now remembering to lower the pitch of her voice. “I thought the convenience was vacant.”

“Sorry is not good enough.” The woman lifted her nose in the air and addressed the conductor. “I demand that you remove this young man from the train. He is a menace to the female passengers.”

Not bothering to investigate the accusation, nor giving Annabel a chance to defend her actions, the conductor merely caught her by the scruff of her neck and shoved her along. “Let’s be off with you, then.”

Stiffening her legs, Annabel braced her boots against the floor to halt their progress. The conductor swore and jerked her up in the air. Annabel kicked with her feet and flailed with her fists, but the burly man dangled her at a distance and her blows failed to connect.

By now, the train had rolled to a stop. Behind them, passengers were crowding to the end of the car, waiting to alight. A man carrying a suitcase pushed past them and swung the door open. The conductor stepped forward and without ceremony flung Annabel down to the station platform.

She landed on all fours. The impact jarred her bones, nearly tearing her shoulders from their sockets. The skin on her palms scraped raw against the rough concrete surface. Gritting her teeth, blinking back tears, Annabel fought the pain. Only vaguely was she aware of the stream of passengers filing past her.

Behind her, the train doors slammed shut. Her knees and hands throbbed, but the shock of the impact was slowly fading away. Annabel lifted her head. At least her flat cap remained securely in place, protecting her disguise.

Carefully, she rolled over to a sitting position and inspected the abrasions on her palms. Through the holes in her ripped trousers, she could see her skinned knees. Around her, people bustled about, boots thudding, skirts swishing, voices calling out greetings.

As her senses sharpened, Annabel could feel the hot afternoon sun baking down on her, could smell the scents of smoke and steam from the train. Gradually it dawned on her that something was missing...the weight that should be dangling from her shoulder. Her haversack, with all her possessions! With her money!

Panic seized her, making her forget the aches and pains. Frantic, Annabel scrambled to her feet and rushed over to the train and climbed up the iron steps and jerked the door open. The burly conductor stood waiting inside. Annabel tried to dart past him, but he lifted one booted foot and placed it against her chest and pushed, sending her toppling back down to the platform.

“Didn’t I tell you to get off?” he roared.

Sprawled on her rump, ignoring another wave of throbbing from the hard slam against the concrete platform, Annabel gave him an imploring look. “My bag... I must have dropped it when you threw me out...please...it is all I have...”

The conductor’s angry scowl eased. “What kind of bag?”

“A canvas haversack. Brown. This big.” She spread her hands wide.

“I’ll look.” He turned on his polished boots and strode out of sight into the corridor. Annabel waited. It was only a few steps back to where he had grabbed her. He’d find her haversack...unless one of the alighting passengers had taken it!

Alarmed by the idea, Annabel surveyed the platform. The crowd had thinned. She could see three disreputable-looking men—probably pickpockets—loitering against the wall of the station building. A shoeshine boy sat on a wooden box, and a woman in a gray dress was tidying up a display of fruit laid out on a trestle table.

The conductor reappeared at the door. “There’s no bag.”

“Please. Look again. Maybe it fell when I tried to help the lady. Maybe it is inside the convenience.”

Once more, the door to the railroad car flung shut. Annabel waited, too petrified to move, too petrified to do anything but stare at the closed door, her mind frozen in denial. The engine blew its whistle. A plume of steam rose in the air. The iron wheels screeched, and the train jerked into motion.

Desperation jolted Annabel back into life. She jumped to her feet and rushed over to the edge of the platform. She tried to grip the handrail by the steps, but the train was accelerating too fast for her to attempt boarding.

“My bag! My bag! Help!” Shouting, she ran alongside the train as it pulled away, leaving the station behind. Something appeared in an open window. A bundle of brown canvas. Her bag! She could see a pair of big hands clutching it in the air, the brass buttons at the end of the conductor’s sleeves glinting in the sun.

Relief poured through Annabel. She halted at the edge of the platform and watched as the conductor tossed her haversack out of the window. The bag fell onto the tracks, but the shoulder strap became tangled in the iron wheels. With each revolution, the bag flung up into the air and smashed down to the rails again.

Aghast, Annabel stared as the sturdy fabric tore into shreds. Clothing spilled out onto the tracks. Her food parcel unraveled, sending a loaf of bread rolling along. And then there was a flash of gold as a coin spun out...and another...and another...

Behind her, Annabel could hear the clatter of running feet. A man hurried past her and jumped down to the tracks. A second man followed, and then a third. The three ruffians who had been loitering by the station wall!

Annabel held her breath, hope and fear fighting within her as she watched the men race along the tracks, jumping from sleeper to sleeper. When they reached the remains of her scattered belongings they halted and began dipping down, in a rootling motion that resembled chickens pecking at the ground.

“Thank you,” Annabel shouted and waved her arms.

One of the men straightened to look at her. “How many?”

“Nineteen!” she called back.

The men resumed their search and then conferred, counting the coins in their open palms. Satisfied, they glanced back at her once more and waved a casual farewell before cutting across the tracks and running off into the fields. Annabel watched them shrink in her sights and finally vanish between the farm buildings in the distance.

“You was a fool to tell them how many.”

“What?” Stifling a sob, Annabel whirled toward the voice.

It was the shoeshine boy. Around twelve, thin and pale, he had wispy brown hair and alert gray eyes. He lifted his arm and brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. In his other hand he carried a wooden box filled with brushes and polishes.

“You was stupid to tell them how many. If you said seventeen, they might have left a couple of coins behind. Now they kept looking until they had them all.”

Annabel sniffled and gave a forlorn nod, unable to fault the logic.

“Where was you going?” the boy asked.

“The Arizona Territory.”

“Blimey. That’s a fair piece away.” Curious, he studied her. “You got any money left?”

“Three dollars and change. It’s all I have left. I bought a ticket to New York City. And I bought some food.” A sob broke free. “The rest of the money was in my bag.”

“It was a fool thing to carry the money in your bag.”

“The gold eagles were heavy. I feared my pocket would tear.”

“Ain’t you got a poke?”

“A poke?”

“Like this.” The boy swept a glance up and down the platform to check for privacy, then pulled out a leather tube hanging on a cord around his neck. Quickly, he dropped the leather tube back inside his faded shirt.

“I only had a purse,” Annabel said. “And I couldn’t take it because—”

The boy snorted. “You’ll not fool no one. You walk like a girl, and you were yelling like a girl, and your hair is about to tumble down from beneath your cap.” He gave her another assessing look. “How old are you anyway?”

“Eighteen.”

The boy grinned. “A bit skinny for eighteen, ain’t you?”

“I’ve bound...” Color flared up to Annabel’s cheeks. She made a vague gesture at her chest, to indicate where she had bound her breasts with a strip of linen cloth to flatten her feminine curves.

“What’s your name?” the boy asked.

“An...drew.”

The boy shook his head. “There you go again. You almost came up with a girl’s name. What is it anyway? Ann? Amanda? Amy?”

“Annabel.”

“Annabel. That’s a fancy name. I guess you’ll be gentry, the way you talk and that milky-white skin of yours.”

Annabel nodded. “Papa was a sea captain. I grew up in a mansion, but I am an orphan now, and I have no money, in case you are planning to swindle me.”

The boy grinned again. “Hardly worth it for three dollars and change.” He jerked his head toward the station house. “Let’s get out of the sun for a bit. There’s another train due in an hour. I’ll take you home with me. My sister likes nobs.”