I halted and waited as Cynthia caught up to me at a run. She wore boots laced to her knees, which were encased by cuffs of knee breeches nearly hidden by her long coat. She’d dressed more mannishly than usual today, with a scarf wrapped around her throat and a tall hat pulled down over her scraped-back hair. If I had not known better, I would have thought a slim young gentleman chased me down.

Cynthia carried a satchel in her fine-gloved hand. “Where are you off to, Mrs. H.?” Her breath fogged in the cold air.

“The East End. To see a vicar.”

“Capital. I’ll join you.”

I was not certain the East End was the place for Lady Cynthia, no matter that she was dressed convincingly as a male. The toughs there would steal every bit of clothing from any well-clad person, regardless of their sex.

“Where were you off to?” I asked, eying the satchel with suspicion.

She swung that article. “Me? Running away from home.” Cynthia laughed cheerily. “Let’s fetch a hansom, shall we?”

8

There was absolutely no use dissuading Cynthia and sending her back home, and I did not try very hard. Truth to tell, I was grateful of the company today—I would discuss her rash decision later.

“We are going to Shadwell,” I informed the cabbie Cynthia had hailed. “A church called All Saints.”

The driver, bundled against the cold, never looked at us twice as we settled in. Cynthia did not speak to the driver at all, to my relief. She shoved the satchel, apparently heavy, under the seat, and sat back, arms folded.

The hackney clopped away. Slowly. Traffic was heavy in Piccadilly, and it took a long time to move.

“Have you ever been to the East End?” I asked Cynthia.

“Of course. Bobby likes to slum. Poverty doesn’t shock and offend me, Mrs. H. Saddens me, rather. What a shame, that I’m expected to put on frocks that cost the earth while others can barely buy bread.”

“Sad, yes, but also dangerous. We are not taking a holiday.”

“Do give me some faith that I’m not a frivolous being. I will help you with whatever you are up to, and keep an eye out for new lodgings at the same time.”

I did not answer. Cynthia, I’d come to know in the year I’d worked for her family, could be kindhearted and generous, often impulsively so, but not always wise. I agreed her situation was troubling, but a gently born young woman had a terrible time making her way in this world alone. She would need a safe place to stay, a friend to look after her.