Page 86 of Appointment in Bath

She took deep breaths to manage her stammer, addressing the coachman, the innkeeper, and anyone else that was necessary. Come what may, it was she who was in charge of her future now. Going forward, the decisions were all hers to make.

Rather than book a room for the night, she engaged a one-horse gig to drive her the remaining few miles to Miss Adams residence in Pulteney Street.

“You sure this is the right address, miss?” the driver asked as he pulled up in front of one of the elegant townhouses. It was dark as pitch, with no light shining in any of the windows and no torches illuminating the path to either the front or the back door.

Meg swallowed hard. She hadn’t considered that her first view of Bath would be at night. “I believe so. But…would you mind waiting for m-me? There’s a small chance I m-might require a ride back to the inn.”

The driver inclined his head.

Meg climbed down from the front seat without any assistance—no easy feat considering the breadth of her skirts. Collecting her carpet bag, she picked her way along the darkened path to the painted front door. Taking a deep breath, she knocked.

No one answered.

Meg’s stomach sank. Perhaps Miss Adams and her future mama-in-law were away? The house was dark enough for it. And Meg had no idea what sort of schedule the ladies kept.

The full weight of the risk she’d taken in leaving home so abruptly began to sink in. Fear followed with it.

She was just raising her hand to knock again when a creaking tread sounded from inside. Moments later the door was opened by a portly housekeeper in a plain cap and wrapper. She held a small lantern in her hand.

“Who is it?” she asked.

“Miss M-Margaret Burton-Smythe,” Meg replied. “I have come to see Miss Adams.”

“No one told me she was expecting guests. Not at this time of night.”

“It’s something of a surprise. I haven’t—that is, I didn’t—”

“What’s going on, Florie?” a lady’s voice called from the top of the stairs. “How am I to sleep with all this racket?”

“This girl says as how she’s here for Miss Adams, Mrs. Philips,” the housekeeper called back.

“She what? For Miss Adams, did you say?” Mrs. Philips descended the stairs in the halo of a taper candle. Iron gray hair peeped from beneath her frothy lace sleeping cap.

“Aye, ma’am,” the housekeeper replied. “A Miss Burton-Smythe.”

“I’m sorry I’ve t-taken you unaware,” Meg said. “I hadn’t time to send word in advance.”

“It’s going on midnight,” Mrs. Philips said. “Shut the door, Florie.”

The housekeeper moved to close it in Meg’s face.

“Not before letting her in, you stupid woman!” Mrs. Philips exclaimed. “And you—” She addressed Meg with growing impatience. “Don’t just stand there. Come inside before you let all the heat out.”

Meg glanced back at the driver. He gave her a brief salute before clucking to his horse and departing. Meg hurried into the house. “I’m sorry,” she said again as she entered. “I didn’t intend to c-cause so much fuss.”

Mrs. Philips looked her up and down. “Miss Burton-Smythe, is it? The baronet’s daughter? Huh. Best repair to the parlor. Florie? Fetch the tea tray. And tell Miss Adams she has a guest.”

A footman in hastily donned livery materialized to take Meg’s bonnet, cloak, and gloves and to relieve her of her carpetbag.

Smoothing her plain wool dress, Meg joined Mrs. Philips in the parlor. The footman arrived a short moment later to stoke the fire.

Mrs. Philips lowered her aged frame into a high-backed velvet chair. She gestured for Meg to take a seat on the settee across from her. “You have no maid with you, nor a manservant, unless my eyes have mistaken me.”

“No, ma’am.” Meg sat down, folding her hands in her lap. Her gaze intermittently darted to the doorway, anxious for her former governess to appear.

“Have you run away?” Mrs. Philips asked. “It appears you have.”

“No,” Meg said. “I…That is…I did leave a n-note.”