Sample from work in progress
Chapter One – Hiding
London, England, 1780
Run!
Tegan heard the rapid pounding of her bare feet slapping the bare wooden tread of the narrow servant’s staircase. Up and up and up the never-ending pile of steps.
She stopped.
Pressing her back against the wood-paneled wall.
Gasping for air.
High above her head a small lantern glowed. She strained to hear if anyone was closing in on her.
“You go up,” a man with a deep, raspy voice ordered from below, “I shall go down this hallway and see if the child managed to skitter out the back.”
“Aw right, you are,” a higher-pitched man’s voice replied. That man sounded close.
Better get a move on. Donna wan’ te get caught. That fat cook’s helper almost had me, but Tegan had faked her out and jogged left, instead of going right.
“Oy, you, there,” the man with the higher-pitched voice called from the landing a couple a dozen steps below Tegan. “You stops righ’ there. Don even thin’ of movin’. You are in big trouble, you are.”
Catch me ifin you can you tittering-thomas! Tegan turned and bolted threw the door on the landing two steps above her.
“Woah,” Tegan’s feet slipped out from under her on the fancy floor. She righted herself in the nick of time.
Ducked behind a huge blue and white shiny flower pot, twice her size.
The young footman, the one with high-pitched voice, who’d been chasing her, shot out of the door, she’d just come through. “Where you hiding you lil rodent?” the footman looked under the table on the other side of the hallway.
“You there,” a low-pitched commanding male voice said.
The footman startled and stood up quick, like a soldier, shoulders back, chin tucked in.
The man with the commanding voice walked up to the footman. “What are you about?”
“Uhm,” the footman mumbled.
“Speak up, man.”
“Mr Ellington, sir,” the footman said.
“Yes?” Mr Ellington obviously had no patience for dithering.
“Well, you see, sir, we ha’ lost a child,” the footman said.
Tegan threw her hand over her mouth to cover her giggles.
“The West’s child?” Mr Ellington asked.
“Oh, no, sir, our head laundress’ granddaughter. She bolted when her gran told her she needed a bath,” the footman said.
Mr Ellington shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, just like her gran did when she was getting a headache. “Find the child and get her below stairs, immediately.”
“Yes, Mr Ellington,” the footman who’d been chasing her said.
Mr Ellington walked away, heading toward the front door where another footman stood at attention.
“We are expecting Lord West any moment,” Ellington said to the footman beside the front door.
Her footman walked in the opposite direction, away from Mr Ellington. He moved down the hallway, past where she was hiding, opening doors and peering inside. “Come on out, sweetheart,” he said.
Sweetheart my arse. Hurry up, so’s I can get the hell outta here, ye great lummox.
From the spot, where Tegan was hiding, she could see the front door and the hallway her footman was walking down. But the area from her present position to the front door, was all open space, not a decent place to hide between where she was and making her escape. Even the large table in the center of the room with a giant bunch of posies stuck in some fancy thingamabob on it was naked—no cloth to duck behind. And the entire floor was covered in that slick fancy tile. The room was all bright and airy with glass over the front door. Everything shone and smelled nice.
Tegan sighed. Now what?
Her footman went around a corner, disappearing from view. Mr Ellington and the other footman were conversing and had their backs to her. She dropped onto her hands and knees and hugged the wall as she started down the hallway, away from Mr Ellington. She came to the first door her footman had opened. Maybe there’s a winda I can climbs outta inside this here room.