Chapter Eight

“Come on, Max,” Maggie complained. After several days in a carriage, entertainment was scarce and travelling games could become tedious. Maggie and Max were playing one of her favourites to play with her sisters. Maggie and Max’s palms were joined horizontally. Maggie’s hands were on the bottom. The object of the game was to slap the tops of one’s opponent’s hands before they could pull away. Max was playing atrociously on purpose, Maggie believed. “Do not just let me win!”

Max sniggered as once again he didn’t move his hands as Maggie slapped them. “You always complain when Emmett does not let you win at chess,” he reminded her. “What is the precedence? Do I let you win or don’t I?”

Maggie huffed. “Chess is difficult and Uncle Emmett has been playing the game since he was a boy himself! This is a child’s game!”

“Alright, you put your hands on top of mine,” he instructed.

Maggie had always liked Max’s hands. Usually, men in the aristocracy rarely lifted a finger and so their hands were smooth. But not Max’s. No, like her, Max had spent his childhood climbing trees and playing sports as well. He also spent his days lugging his canvases about the grounds and so his hands were rough and calloused in parts. Maggie thought them masculine hands. However, seeing as her own hands had not the feeling of silk, perhaps they were masculine, too.

Quicker than a flash of lightning his hands moved from under her palms to slap the top, but not hard enough to inflict great pain. “I won,” he said smugly.

“Again,” Maggie instructed, determined to win with him playing properly.

They played for another hour. They would have played longer were it not for the fact that they began to travel through outer London.

It had been over a year since Maggie had ventured into London, though before she had been accompanied by her entire family. Lizzie had been sleeping across her father and mother’s laps and Edward had been playing the same game with Georgie. Now she was travelling with only her dear friend. She had never travelled farther than the Ascot village unchaperoned as she was. It was very exciting.

London was so different to the small villages that Derbyshire housed. The grassy hills and picturesque scenery bordered every little town, while the London streets were modern, paved with cobble stones and lined with businesses that made all sorts of goods and provided every service imaginable.

The carriage was to take them to an inn. Isaac had rented rooms there when he had first arrived in London and before he had met Maggie. He had been hopeful that he would convince his daughter to go to America with him.

The inn was a fine stone building built above a busy tavern. They were arriving in the early evening so the gentlemen of the town had gathered to spend their wages on ale and a hot meal.

She knew her parents would not be comfortable with her staying above a tavern with all sorts of drunkards below but she felt safe with Max. Their driver opened the carriage for them and Max climbed out first so that he could help Maggie down. The driver began to remove their trunks from the roof so that they could be transferred to their rooms.

“Oh, Max.” Maggie suddenly gasped. “Will you please lend me some paper? I have not the time to search for my stationary before the carriage is to return to Montrose.”

Max obliged immediately and removed a piece of paper from his book and handed it to her. He also provided her with a graphite pencil. Maggie leaned against the carriage and scrawled a note to her parents.

It read:

Dearest Daddy, Mama, etc.

We have arrived in London safely and are to be received by Mr Lavelle directly.

Missing you all.

Yours,

M & M.

Her penmanship would have been neater were she sitting at a writing desk but it would do. Her parents would have word of her in a few days when the carriage arrived back at Montrose. It would tide them over for a few months. She would send word again once they were docked in New York and at every moment she could along her travels.

She would certainly send a detailed letter once they had arrived at the Lavelle Cotton Plantation. She would describe the house and her future lands. She would oblige her mother with a detailed description of her step-mother, in both appearance and character. She was curious about their nephew also. Isaac seemed to think very highly of him.

Maggie folded the paper into quarters and wrote ‘Nate and Charlotte Swift’ on the front. She approached the Montrose driver who had just finished retrieving the trunks. “Pardon me, but do you suppose you could put this into my father’s hands when you return to Montrose?” she asked politely.

The driver accepted the letter and placed it inside his breast pocket. “Of course, milady.” He nodded.

The arrival of such a fine carriage had attracted the attention of the tavern patrons inside. Several curious eyes were watching them from the windows which caused Max to instinctively bring her closer into his person protectively.

Maggie could hear jolly music coming from inside. She believed the instruments being played were a mandolin and a fiddle.

A burly man exited the tavern. He was taller than Max and thick with labouring muscle. His haywire blond hair was covered with a grubby, grey cap and his navy trousers were patched, most likely by his wife. His sheer size was intimidating yet he was smiling at them kindly.

“Do you need a hand, folks?” he asked cheerfully, looking to the driver who had just stacked the trunks.

The driver looked to Maggie for permission. Where could this stranger possibly take her belongings?

“Thank you, sir,” Maggie said appreciatively. “That is very kind of you.”

The man tipped his cap politely to both her and Max. “Always happy to help, especially seeing as you’re newlyweds.”

Maggie’s eyes widened and a sudden breath caught in her throat, causing her to cough. “Newlyweds? Oh, no, no we are not newlyweds, not at all.” She was blushing bright red.

“No, we are not,” murmured Max. Maggie looked up at him to see a blank expression on his face.

“We are siblings,” she replied, not wanting to risk her reputation. It was a silly excuse. She and Max looked nothing like each other.

“Oh, apologies for the confusion.” He did not look as though he believed them. Perhaps he thought they were eloping. He smiled coyly. “Alright, let’s get these trunks indoors.”

He and the Montrose driver worked together to carry the trunks inside while Max and Maggie found the tavern owner behind the bar. The tavern was filled with dark timber tables of varying shapes and sizes. At each table sat a group of men enjoying their ale and a game of cards. She had been right. Two portly, yet happy looking, men were playing their weathered mandolin and violin, providing the establishment with a cheerful ambiance.

Eyes still followed her as she was the only woman in the bar. Max followed her closely. No wonder the man helping the driver thought them to be newlyweds. He was behaving as though he was her shadow. She was grateful though. Were he not so close, she would have felt vulnerable. Before they could enquire after Isaac and their rooms, she spied Isaac sitting by himself at a far table with a pint of ale and a newspaper.

“Mr Lavelle!” Maggie called.

Isaac immediately looked up at the sound of his name. When he spotted Maggie and Max standing by the bar he stood up immediately and abandoned his table.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said sincerely. He then looked over her shoulder to see the two men handling their belongings. “Max, we can handle to trunks. We’re on the third floor.”

Together, they carried the heavy trunks up the stairs, making two trips. Isaac had rented three rooms. Maggie’s room was small, though any room would be small compared to the palace that she had at home in Derbyshire. There was a small bed against the far wall beneath the window as well as a table with two chairs and a basin with a fresh water jug.

“It’s not glamorous but it will two for a few nights.” Isaac smiled at Maggie and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m really glad you’re hear, Miss Maggie,” he said simply.

“So am I,” she replied.

“Miss Maggie,” he said again, “that’s what my staff will call you, I hope you understand.”

Maggie furrowed her eyebrows. She had not been a miss since she was seven years old. She had been ‘Lady Maggie’ or ‘milady’ for as long as she could remember. “Do Americans not recognise English titles?” she asked.

Isaac chuckled awkwardly. “Well, seeing as I will be bringing home my daughter she can’t really have another man’s title attached to her name,” he explained. “Southern society is not like English society.”

What Isaac did not know was that to Maggie it was a good thing that they differed. “Miss Maggie Swift,” she said, testing the name. It did roll off the tongue.

Again, Isaac chuckled awkwardly. “Lavelle,” he corrected, “Miss Maggie Lavelle. Just for now,” he promised. “It will not be a permanent change and you can still sign your letters as Maggie Swift to your heart’s content.”  

Maggie had promised her father that she would not take Isaac’s name, but for the sake of a few months, she supposed she could be called Miss Maggie Lavelle. In her heart, and on paper, she would still be a Swift. “Alright,” she agreed.

“You will be very popular, I promise,” he said encouragingly. “With that gorgeous accent and your sweet, soft nature, you will be a favourite.”

But Maggie did not have a sweet, soft nature, not when she was around people she knew. She was honest and blunt. What if she did insult someone without thinking? What if she insulted Joanna?

“I managed to book the three of us first class passage on a ship home,” he added, “so you won’t be trapped in a room this small. However,” he pursed his lips, “I was only able to book two rooms. Max!” He called out to Max who was in the next room settling in.

Max appeared in seconds.

“I was just telling Maggie that I was only able to secure two rooms for the voyage.”

Who was to share?

“If you two were to pose as brother and sister, I don’t see why you cannot erect some sort of barrier between the two beds,” Isaac continued. “Lord Montrose seems to trust you to be alone with his daughter so I think I can do the same.”

“But we are not brother and sister,” Max said intensely, almost angrily. “We are the farthest thing from brother and sister. There is nothing sibling-like about us. It is perfectly plausible that someone might perceive us to be something more than that. Why, the man downstairs thought we were newlyweds!”

Maggie did not understand why he was overreacting. They would be sharing a room as they had done when they were children on several occasions. In any case, she would rather share a room with him than Isaac. She was yet to feel that comfortable with the man. “Max, do not fret,” she insisted. “We shall erect a barrier as Mr Lavelle suggested. There will be no ill thoughts. People won’t ask questions if we have an adult with us.”

“How about a pint, lad?” Isaac suggested, wanting to change the subject. He slapped Max on the back yet Maggie could see he did not like the gesture. “I do like saying ‘pint’.” He chuckled. “The English are fascinating.”

“Thank you, no,” Max muttered, “and Maggie will not partake either.”

Maggie had not been planning to but she did not appreciate him speaking on her behalf. Were they alone she would have told him exactly what she was thinking. She would not have been polite.

“Suit yourself.” Isaac shrugged his shoulders and headed back towards the stairs.

They were alone now. “What is the matter with you?” Maggie demanded to know. “You are behaving as though you have been scorned. The man offered you a pint. He didn’t ask you to kill a man!”

“Maggie,” Max said tiredly.

“No, don’t ‘Maggie’ me,” Maggie snapped. “Tell me what is going on. Is there something I should know? Would you like to go home?”

“What? Of course not!” he exclaimed. “I am just tired of people making assumptions about us,” he clarified. “Is it so hard to believe that we are not brother and sister?”

Maggie did not understand why this was such an issue. Was this not a good thing? It was for her. Reputations were irretrievable for a young woman. Men did not have to worry. “Well, we look nothing alike,” she said, trying to sound comical in an effort to cheer him up. Max did chuckle. “But I suppose people are not used to seeing a friendship like ours, a friendship between an unmarried and unrelated pair. Men and women are scarcely alone in the same room together before marriage and yet you and I have spent more of our lives together than apart. It is only natural to suppose that we have a familial relationship as opposed to a romantic attachment. But if you like,” she said, trying to sound seductive but failing miserably, “I may loop my arm through yours like this.” She did just so, joining their arms as if they were a courting pair walking through the streets.

Max looked very taken aback and surprised.

After a few moments, Maggie laughed and released him. Men were too easy to handle. One only need nurse their egos for a moment before their moods completely changed. Maggie stood up on her toes and she kissed his cheek. “Now, go away, I want to sleep. Do not take it to heart but you are not the most comfortable pillow and I am most anxious to sleep in a bed.”

--

My best friend warned me a week ago that I would be sick and she was right. She's given me her bloody cold lol. I've been sucking on butter menthols like they're lollies :P 

Next chapter we'll finally be on the ship :) I wrote out my entire story plan last night. I usually do it after I've written a few chapters. I've added some more characters and I've completely written my villain's personality. Very excited for you to meet that person! 

Ugh, anyways, I have to be up in 6 hours to go to the netball courts. I'm up there for 9 hours every Saturday listening to bouncing balls and umpires whistles :P Anyways, happy Friday all, or as I will like to call it in 2 months time, Happy I finished my exams for the year and it's time to get p*ss drunk and forget everything I learned!! Yeahhhhhh. But yes, 2 months to go until I'm off until March next year!!!

Vote and comment!!