The Gentlewoman's Deception

Ch. 4 // My Father's Handler

Louisa wished she wore anything other than the shoes she had on right now. That wasn't to say she didn't adore these suede boots, they were a gift from her father after all, she just yearned for another pair. It wasn't the color nor the laces that criss crossed up the front in a tight plait that bothered her. It was the wooden heels. The same wooden heels that were rapping the floor of the carriage she was currently sitting in.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

She bounced her foot up and down in anticipation, with each movement causing the heel to hit the floor with a clatter. By the time the two-hour carriage ride was over, she was sure there would be a hole bore into the floor due the increasing levels of friction she was surely inflicting on the bottom of this elegant wagon.

And if by some miracle she managed to leave the floor intact, there was no doubt that the coachman wouldn't scold her for the irritating repetition of her heel taps while he led them to Yonkers.

Maybe I should have thought this through a bit more, Louisa thought as she anxiously picked at her bottom lip. I should have waited one more day to plan this trip.

Truth be told, Louisa wasn't confident that this journey would lead her to answers about her father. She'd been sitting in the same position on the thin cushion covering the carriage bench for the past hour and a half thinking about the sequence of events that led her to this moment. The death of her father, the brainless Sir Godfrey Genkins and his pitiful courtship, the hidden compartment under the floorboard, or even the pastry that she ate for lunch could not have prepared her for William Baker's coded letter to H. Taylor.

Looking out the window, Louisa could hardly pay attention to the passing houses. Her mind was whirling with what ifs and maybe nots.

Was she too quick in thinking that this mysterious H. Taylor possessed the knowledge to tell her what her father meant in his letter? Did she even want to know why her father wrote such a thing? In her heart of hearts Louisa knew that what she was most scared of wasn't whatever H. Taylor was going to say, but that it would taint the memories she had of her father.

She leaned her head to the side so it rested against the window. Louisa needed to relax or she would be too scatterbrained to ask H. Taylor the proper questions. Her eyes slowly began to droop, the excitement of the day finally catching up with her.

⁂

"Miss? We've arrived," came a muffled voice from outside the carriage. Louisa opened her eyes to see the coachman waiting to help her climb down. Taking the gentleman's outstretched hand, she stepped out and looked up to the supposed residence of H. Taylor.

Huh, she thought. It's smaller than I'd imagined.

In her mind, Louisa pictured a castle. If her father was writing something so important that it could not be read by the average man, then surely the recipient was of high society. A nobleman who lived in a castle, protected from the dangers of the outside world by a crocodile-infested moat. Maybe a garden with statues rivaling those in ancient Athens or a drawbridge leading to a heavily locked door? At the very least, she was certain she'd see a couple of bird baths, but no, all she saw was a concrete pathway overgrown with weeds leading to a dull front door with only one lock.

"Thank you, sir. You may leave, as I am unaware how long this visit shall take," Louisa nodded politely to the coachman.

"Good day, ma'am," he bowed as he prepared the carriage for its departure.

Louisa looked back toward the house. "Who are you, H. Taylor?" she wondered aloud. There was no use in wasting any time as she already threw away two hours of the day on the ride here. Carefully, she made her way to the front door...