Cynthia Bailey Pratt Read Free

could not quite tell but knew it was best to be wary. His eyes seemed to take in more than those of ordinary men. Perhaps he might be some sort of criminal.
    No matter what his station, it would be basest ingratitude to refuse to do him some small favor. He had, after all, extricated her from a charge of theft that would have led to a worse charge. Her hand still tingled from the vegetable marrow’s contact with the constable’s head. It would have been impossible to free herself from gaol without calling in her aunt and uncle and revealing her shameful costume and behavior. Her reputation would be worthless if word of today’s escapade got out. The stranger had saved her from all these consequences.
    Jocelyn said manfully, “I’ll do whatever I can for you, sir, of course.”
    His long fingers rested on her shoulder for an instant, as if gauging her moral strength. “Good,” he said, nodding as if he approved of what he found. “Come with me.”
    As they emerged into a wider street with more light, Jocelyn inspected him still more closely. Despite the elegant touch of the beautiful ebony and silver cane, Jocelyn now noticed that his coat was so old it no longer looked black, but rusty brown. He wore knee breeches quite out of style and baggy at the knees. The points of his collar drooped above a ragged cravat.
    He noticed the unfavorable impression his clothing made and smiled with cheerful unconcern, revealing white, well-formed teeth. “We seem to make a matched pair, you and I. Neither of us can be said to be in the first stare of fashion. By the by, do you know where we are?”
    Jocelyn looked from the stranger to their surroundings. They’d emerged into a wide pleasant street that looked familiar, yet Jocelyn did not think she’d ever been in it before. Fewer people walked here than down by the river. They dressed more elegantly and strolled with pleasure as their aim, not bustling along in the interests of commerce.
    Jocelyn and the man went on a few steps, and then, as she looked down another avenue, she cried out in recognition, “Yes! There’s the chemist and just beyond that is Mr. Yalter’s shop. That big gray building is the Groat and Groom.”
    “That, I take it, is some sort of inn.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Is it popular?”
    “Yes, sir. Many people visit it of an evening.”
    “Then it is not what I want. Can’t you take me someplace . . .”He looked around and then finished his sentence. “Someplace quieter?”
    Now that her feet were on a road she knew, Jocelyn almost felt as if she were in her proper clothes, thinking her usual thoughts. She knew it wasn’t right for her to be alone with a strange man, although she sometimes went in mixed panics on longer walks than this. But on those excursions girls remained with girls, and the young men congregated even more closely. Then, too, on those occasions she had always been decorously dressed. Jocelyn said, “Well, sir, if I knew why—”
    “If I wanted you. to know why, I would have told you already!” he snapped. At once he seemed to regret his bad temper and said more gently, “Now, please, a quiet inn where a man might rest the night undisturbed.”
    Looking past him toward the top of the street, Jocelyn saw someone she knew, but she did not go to him for help. Grim Cocker, the vicar’s new manservant, seemed to be searching among the passersby, his ugly face tense. His reptilian eyes passed over her and her companion, passed over and returned. He began to come toward them. Two ladies with open parasols blocked the pavement.
    Jocelyn turned casually to walk away from Cocker, the man in the old coat following her. Jocelyn shivered as though with cold. Ever since she walked home alone from church three Sundays before, her two cousins being confined at home with the grippe, Jocelyn had done her best to avoid Cocker. His bold comments on that occasion might well be repeated if she were glimpsed in a tight pair of breeches and a boy’s