his way to the wardrobe.
Behind him, the door opened.
Mr. Palfrey swung around.
Bessie Redhill stood there, smiling at him in a way he did not like at all.
“How dare you!” gasped Mr. Palfrey, one nervous manicured hand flying down to cover his private parts, although his nightgown was as thick as a bedsheet. With his other hand, he reached for the bellrope to summon help.
Bessie grinned broadly and held up the will.
With a squawk of outrage, Mr. Palfrey wrenched open the door of the wardrobe and scrabbled feverishly in the tail pockets of his coat.
Then he turned back to Bessie. His mind was working very quickly. The pleasant muzziness induced by his port-drinking session fled, leaving his brain sharp and clear.
He began to laugh. Bessie stared at him in surprise.
“You clever girl,” said Mr. Palfrey. “So you've got the better of me after all!”
“Well,” said Bessie, closing the door and moving into the center of the room. “I reckon we'll all be happy, sir, if we can do a deal.”
“Of course, of course,” said Mr. Palfrey, rubbing his hands. “Sit down by the fire; there's a good girl.”
Bessie sat down gingerly, clutching the will.
“Now, a glass of brandy to warm us while we get down to business,” said Mr. Palfrey cheerfully.
“Don't mind if I do,” said Bessie with a broad smile. Mr. Palfrey looked so ridiculous with his little, spindly, hairy legs poking out from the bottom of his nightgown and with his red nightcap perched rakishly on the side of his head.
Mr. Palfrey went over to a cupboard in the corner and fiddled with bottles and glasses and came back with two bumpers of brandy.
He handed one to Bessie. “Now, how much?” he asked pleasantly.
Bessie took a deep breath, her eyes glittering in the candlelight.
“Five hundred pounds.”
Mr. Palfrey stared. Five hundred pounds was a reasonable sum-very reasonable. But while he kept a smile on his face, his mind checked him by pointing out that Bessie would soon return for more. Like most of her class, she would probably drink to excess, drink would loosen her tongue, and before long the whole of the Duchy of Cornwall would know of his perfidy.
But just to make sure…
“And for five hundred pounds you will give me that will?”
“No,” said Bessie, an unlovely look of cunning crossing her plump features. She folded the single sheet of paper into a small square and thrust it into her bosom. “Reckon I'll hang onto it for a bit.”
“As you will,” said Mr. Palfrey. “A toast to seal our bargain. And to seal a bargain you must drain it to the last drop. Probably too much for you,” he said with a little laugh.
“Oh, I can take my drop,” grinned Bessie. She felt strong and powerful. She was now a lady of independent means. She would buy a silk dress and a carriage, and come calling on that housekeeper, Mrs. Jessop, and watch the old harridan's eyes pop out of her head.
She tilted the contents of her glass straight down her throat and then laughed and spluttered and gasped. Mr. Palfrey laughed as well and patted her on her plump shoulders.
“Now, wait here, Bessie,” he said, “while I go to the strongbox and fetch you the money.”
He darted from the room, but only as far as the other side of the door. He waited, his heart thudding against his ribs until he heard the sound of a heavy body hitting the floor.
His thin lips curled in satisfaction.
He opened the door again and went in.
Bessie Redhill lay with her head on the fender, as still as death. He bent over her and pried open one eye. “Still alive,” he muttered. “Better move fast.”
He had tipped enough laudanum into her brandy to kill anyone of a less robust stature.
He dressed himself in his traveling clothes, went downstairs, and roused his butler.
“Have my traveling carriage brought round to the front,” he said. “I am going off on private business. I shall leave in about half an hour. I do not want any servant to be visible. Is that understood?”
Anderson bowed. He saw nothing odd in the request. Mr. Palfrey was always complaining about the servants. Unless actually serving him with something, he expected them to be invisible.
Mr. Palfrey went back upstairs, trying not to run. He took a large linen laundry sack out of a chest and with great difficulty, but with the strength of acute fear, managed to stuff Bessie's heavy body into it.
The carriage having been brought round, the servants kept well out of sight but listened in amazement to the crashes and bumps from the staircase.
Mr. Palfrey was not strong enough to lift Bessie on his back and so, piously thanking God for polished floors, he had slid his burden to the top of the stairs and proceeded to drag it down behind him.
Once outside, he almost gave up and called for help. He thought he would never be able to get Bessie inside the carriage. But at last, with one superhuman heave, he stuffed her inside and slammed the door.
He climbed up on the box and set off into the night. The snow had changed to sleet and drove into his face. But the madness of fear was on him, and he felt no discomfort.
He was grateful that the port of Falmouth was not many miles away.
In Falmouth, he went straight to a tavern he knew was frequented by sea captains and soon found the sort of character he wanted.
Captain Ferguson was only too pleased to have the “present” of a fine, strong housemaid whom he could sell in America as a bonded servant. When Mr. Palfrey also gave him one hundred guineas, the captain swore lifelong friendship.
He saw nothing very odd or criminal in receiving a drugged body on board. In these days, when press-ganged victims could arrive bound and gagged, it was nothing much to take on the body of a drugged maid.
Luck was with Mr. Palfrey. The wind was fair, the good ship
Anxious to remove himself from the vicinity as soon as possible, Mr. Palfrey did not stay at the comfortable inn, but set out on the road home, singing snatches of song as he bowled along the Cornish roads.
Once back, his long-suffering valet prepared his master for bed again. Mr. Palfrey kept having fits of the giggles, for all he had drunk, both with Mr. Pulkton and the sea captain, had finally gone to his head.
The bed seemed to have a tendency to run about the room. He glared up at the canopy, willing the room to stop spinning.
All at once he was stark, staring sober.
The will!
The will was still somewhere in Bessie's capacious cleavage.
His mind raced and spun as the drunken room had done only a few moments before.
And then he gave a deep sigh. What could a bonded servant do about anything? If she survived the journey, which was unlikely, she would be sold. She would not be paid a groat until her seven years of slavery were over. Surely no American was going to listen to a mere housemaid's babbling about some will. Salt water, or rats, or sweat, or any of the hazards of the journey would probably destroy that paper before Bessie ever reached America.
Felicity was crossing the hall the next day when she saw a woman dressed in black bombazine standing with her face to the wall.
“It is I, Miss Felicity,” she said impatiently. “You may turn around, Mrs. Jessop.”
Felicity thought Mr. Palfrey's treatment of the servants was disgraceful.
The housekeeper bobbed a curtsey. “I heard the footsteps,” she said, “and thought it was the master.”
“Has Bessie left yet?” asked Felicity.
“Yes, but it's ever so strange. She did not take a thing with her, and she even left fifteen pounds on her
