Free Her Lord's Table by Alysha Ellis Page A

Better to let her fellow passengers believe her too tired to wake up than to have them know she couldn’t afford any of the meager fare the posting house offered.
    By the time the coach rattled over the cobbled streets of London, she didn’t have to feign tiredness. She ached all over—her eyes felt gritty and dry. She dragged herself out of the door and picked up her small case from the pile the coachman tossed onto the pavement, ready to make her way to her brother’s home.
    She knew she drew some strange looks. Her clothes were worn and out of style but were originally of good quality, an indication that someone her age and gender should have been accompanied by a maid. Still, she assured herself, serving girls walked about London every day without being accosted. If they could do it, so could she.
    Nevertheless, when she finally turned the corner near Charles’ house, she picked up speed, running up the stairs to grab the knocker.
    The door swung open, but before the butler had a chance to speak, she burst out, “Oh, Roberts, I am so pleased to be here. I’ve been on that wretched coach all day. I’d love a cup of tea and something to eat.”
    An unfamiliar voice, cold and formal, replied, “I beg your pardon, madam. You seem to have made a mistake.”
    Susan looked up. She didn’t recognize the man standing there. “Where’s Roberts? Don’t tell me my brother let him go? He’s been with the family forever.”
    “I’m afraid I don’t know anyone named Roberts, madam. Nor do I know who your brother might be.”
    Susan frowned. How dare this man speak to her in such a haughty manner? “I am your employer’s sister. I wish to come inside. If Roberts isn’t here, let me speak to Mrs. Good.”
    The butler blocked her way into the house. “My employer is Lady Milthorpe. I am not aware of her having a sister. There is no one named Good here.” His daunting formality dropped. He glared at her. “I don’t know what your game is, girlie, but you’d best be off. Go on, before I get one of the footmen to chase you away.”
    Waves of dizziness washed over Susan. She was too tired and too hungry to make sense of this. She looked frantically at the façade of the house. She’d definitely come to the right place. “This is my brother’s house. I don’t understand who you are or why you’re lying.”
    “Is there a problem, Henry?” The soft voice spoke from just behind Susan.
    “Lady Milthorpe.” The butler stood to attention. “This young person claims to be seeking her brother. She says he owns this house.”
    Susan turned. A well-dressed, elegant woman, accompanied by a footman and a maid, stood on the step below her. She looked Susan up and down, her expression neutral. “Is Mr. Charles Brody your brother?” the woman asked.
    “Yes,” Susan said, sagging in relief at the first thing anyone had said to her that made sense. “Charles is my brother. This is his house.”
    The woman’s white forehead wrinkled. “I bought the house about a month ago.”
    “Then where is Charles? Where is the staff?”
    “I couldn’t say where the staff have gone, but your brother has left for the West Indies. I am led to believe he had to flee some gambling debts. I am afraid…”
    The woman’s voice seemed to come from a great distance away. The twilight deepened into black. Susan thought she ought to say something, but the steps heaved in a strange manner. Darkness absorbed all the light and sound.
     
    * * * *
     
    When she opened her eyes again, she lay on a couch in a small room. For a moment she couldn’t get her bearings, then she realized she been taken to the rose sitting room of the London townhouse. But it wasn’t rose pink anymore. The entire room had been repainted in soft shades of blue.
    “Here, drink this,” a female voice said.
    Susan felt the cool press of glass against her hand. From the acrid fumes, it had to be some kind of alcohol. She took one sip. The harsh fluid caught at the back