Page 38 of Not a Fine Gentleman

Sal gave Margaret another sympathetic look, and led the way to a small, modest dining room. Limp curtains framed a window where dust motes danced in a ray of sunlight.

“Ye be wantin’ breakfast, then?” Sal asked.

At their assent, she bustled out.

Smiling, Margaret lowered herself into a chair at the small dining table. “It seems I have an ally.”

Jackson grimaced. “She thinks you’re guilty but justified.”

“Let’s hope the magistrate isn’t so quick to believe I’m guilty, justified or not.”

Sal returned moments later bearing a tray of bread, sausage, tomatoes, eggs, and tea. She leaned in toward Margaret. “You let me know if you need anything, dearie.”

Margaret gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you, Sal.”

After Sal left, Margaret added a lump of sugar to her tea and stirred absently. “You don’t believe I’m innocent, do you?”

Conner tucked into his eggs. “It doesn’t matter what I believe. Your brother hired me to bring you to safety. That’s what I’ll do.”

“Will you be called upon to testify if I’m charged and have a trial?” She watched him over the brim of her teacup as she sipped.

“Possibly.”

“What would you say?” She held her breath.

“That you are a troublesome wench who I was glad to turn over to your brothers.”

She huffed a laugh. “You’re still grumpy because I hit you over the head.”

“You are not the first woman to strike me, and I doubt you’ll be the last.”

She exaggerated a pout. “How disappointing. I’d hoped I was your first. Maybe I should hit you again so that lump is bigger—give you something by which to remember me.”

“Trust me, I won’t forget you.”

She eyed him, searching for a second layer under his meaning, but could find no evidence of it. Just as well. She would likely forget him the moment she returned home. He would become the blank face of the constable who delivered her to her brothers. Nothing more.

The thought failed to ring as true as she’d hoped.

As they finished their meal, Sal returned. “Did you eat your fill?”

“We did, thank you,” Jackson said.

Sal barely glanced at him, focusing instead on Margaret. “Dearie? Did that cull—” she jerked her head toward Jackson— “let you eat enough?”

Margaret set down her napkin and smiled at the woman. “I had plenty, Sal.”

“I wouldn’t put it past ’im to starve you so’s ye wouldn’t ’ave the strength to escape.” Sal glared at Jackson.

Trying to hide all signs of her amusement, Margaret glanced at Jackson before replying, “Then I suppose it’s fortunate that I was apprehended by someone who doesn’t believe in starving his prisoners.”

“Will ye be wantin’ anythin’ else, then?”

When they declined, Sal cleared off the table and carried out the tray of used dishes.

“We’ll need to be more careful of our route back to London,” a brusque tone edged Jackson’s voice. “The closer we get, the more people will know your face. The sooner this is over, the better.”

She stiffened. Of course. He viewed her as a burden and wished to be rid of her. Likely, he cared little about what happened to her once he completed his assignment.