Oriana changed into a black shirtwaist that, under the borrowed apron, would pass for a housemaids. Then she moved her nightstand away from the wall and used her shoehorn to pry up the short floorboard underneath. In an old netted handbag tucked under the board, shed hidden every last mil-réis she could save. It wasnt much, but the stash of coins would pay for a place to live while she searched for a new position. She weighed it in her hand, then tucked the small bag into the bottom of the portmanteau and arranged her clothes and hat atop it.
She closed up her case with a touch of room to spare. She might be able to retrieve her other garments when she returned to the city. She unpinned her hair, combed it out, and braided it, making a simple knot at the nape of her neck. She checked the small mirror on her wallyes, she did look like a housemaid.
But at least she would be a housemaid who had seen Paris, the French City of Lights.
Oriana checked her left sleeve, feeling the reassuring stiffness of the dagger strapped to her wrist. Perhaps Isabel was correct and everything would work out. Even so, it was better to be armed than trusting.
The clock in the hallway struck ten just as she reached Isabels bedroom. She let herself in and was greeted by the sight of Isabel standing proudly by her trunk, all the catches closed and the strap already buckled. See? I did it all by myself, Isabel said, a sly look in her eyes. I know you didnt think I could manage it.
Oriana inclined her head, granting Isabel that point. She didnt comment on the additional portmanteau half-hidden behind Isabels skirts. I am impressed.
Isabel chewed her lower lip. Now, how do we get these downstairs without the butler noticing?
The other servants were all aware that the family needed this marriage in order to pay the bills, but the butler had old-fashioned opinions about what was appropriate for the daughter of an aristocratic
family. Hed created one difficulty after another to keep Mr. Efisio away from Isabel.
Carlos will help, Oriana decided. The first footman hated the butler with a passion. He might do it just for spite. Do you have a couple of mil-réis to spare?
Isabel produced them from her little handbag, and Oriana slipped downstairs to bribe the footman. As shed expected, Carlos was on the back steps of the house, smoking a cigarette. He proved willing to help and, a few minutes later, carried Isabels two pieces of luggage out to the corner of the courtyard.
The court behind the row of houses was private. Beyond the courtyard were the mews that served the wealthy homeowners of the Street of Flowers, and the scent of dust and horses carried in the cool night. Under the streetlamps, it was bright enough to see the whole alleyway, but Oriana couldnt make out a coach waiting in either direction. She turned to Isabel, who, with her white cap and apron, almost looked the part of a housemaid, although an impudent one. Where is Mr. Efisios coach to meet us?
Isabel pointed to the farther end of the block with her chin. On Formosa Street. His driver is to wait for us there.
Oriana groaned. That was several houses away. She should have bribed Carlos to carry the luggage all the way there. Casting about, she spotted the small stair leading from the cobbles down to an old basement entry, the coal room. Reckoning no one would be using that door tonightno shipment of coal was due for another month at the earliestshe took the two portmanteaus down and tucked them by the steps, where they wouldnt be seen. Then she and Isabel picked up the trunk between them and began the trek down to the far end of the alley.
Isabel had thrown herself into the adventure of the moment. She didnt complain about having to carry her own luggage. She didnt complain about the weight of the trunk, or how far they had to go. She simply picked up her end and led the way. Oriana had to admire her for that, because the trunk was damnably heavy. Theyd nearly reached the end of the alley when a coach approached slowly and eased to a stop.
Thanks be to God! Isabel said passionately, tugging on her end of the trunk to draw Oriana along faster.
The driver of the coach set the brake and jumped down to help them. They lowered the trunk to the the ground as he opened the coachs door and folded down the steps. Isabel went to climb inside while Oriana spoke to the burly driver. I need to go fetch two more bags, she told him. Ill only be a moment.
He grunted his assent, and Oriana turned to dash back to the Amarals courtyard.
A hand grabbed her hair, fingers tightening about the braided mass at the nape of her neck. Off balance, Oriana stumbled backward toward her attacker. Before she could cry out, he pressed a cloth over her mouth and dragged her against his body.
Oriana bit down hard. But biting only drove the cloth into her teeth, a strange sweet taste on her tongue and in her gills. She struggled wildly as the fire in her stomach died back into cold fear. The big man had her pinned helpless against him. She kicked at his shins, but her heel tangled in the hem of her skirts, like seaweed wrapping about her legs. It was getting harder to move . All these damned skirts . . .