The Paper Princess by Marion Chesney Read Free Book Online Page B

nothing very odd or criminal in receiving a drugged body on board. In these days, when press-ganged victims could arrive bound and gagged, it was nothing much to take on the body of a drugged maid.
    Luck was with Mr. Palfrey. The wind was fair, the good ship Mary Bess, would set sail before the morning, and when Bessie came out of her stupor— if she came out of her stupor, for he might have broken her neck dragging her down the stairs—she would be well on the way to the New World.
    Anxious to remove himself from the vicinity as soon as possible, Mr. Palfrey did not stay at the comfortable inn, but set out on the road home, singing snatches of song as he bowled along the Cornish roads.
    Once back, his long-suffering valet prepared his master for bed again. Mr. Palfrey kept having fits of the giggles, for all he had drunk, both with Mr. Pulkton and the sea captain, had finally gone to his head.
    The bed seemed to have a tendency to run about the room. He glared up at the canopy, willing the room to stop spinning.
    All at once he was stark, staring sober.
    The will!
    The will was still somewhere in Bessie's capacious cleavage.
    His mind raced and spun as the drunken room had done only a few moments before.
    And then he gave a deep sigh. What could a bonded servant do about anything? If she survived the journey, which was unlikely, she would be sold. She would not be paid a groat until her seven years of slavery were over. Surely no American was going to listen to a mere housemaid's babbling about some will. Salt water, or rats, or sweat, or any of the hazards of the journey would probably destroy that paper before Bessie ever reached America.
    Felicity was crossing the hall the next day when she saw a woman dressed in black bombazine standing with her face to the wall.
    “It is I, Miss Felicity,” she said impatiently. “You may turn around, Mrs. Jessop.”
    Felicity thought Mr. Palfrey's treatment of the servants was disgraceful.
    The housekeeper bobbed a curtsey. “I heard the footsteps,” she said, “and thought it was the master.”
    “Has Bessie left yet?” asked Felicity.
    “Yes, but it's ever so strange. She did not take a thing with her, and she even left fifteen pounds on her bed.”
    “I gave her that money. I was sorry for her,” said Felicity.
    “You shall have your money back, miss. Mr. Anderson has it in safekeeping. I would not feel too sorry for Bessie. She could be lazy and a bit cruel with some of her remarks.”
    “But if she left the money and her belongings, something may have happened to her,” cried Felicity.
    “That's what I thought. But Mr. Palfrey told me he saw her slipping out of the castle last night, and he says as how one of his silver snuffboxes has been taken.”
    “And did he inform the parish constable?”
    “No, miss. He said he didn't want any scandal.”
    “Thank you, Mrs. Jessop.” Felicity went up the stairs, wondering a little about Bessie's sudden turn to crime. Then her thoughts moved to her prospective marriage. She felt tired and beaten down, and weary with grief. She had not made any further protest about the marriage.

    A little glowing image of Lord Arthur Bessamy's handsome face rose before her eyes.
    She gave a resigned shrug. Dashing and handsome and tantalizing men were for more fortunate females.
    Best put him completely out of her mind. She had not really liked him very much, so it was odd how much the memory of him kept returning to plague her. She would, in all probability, never see him again.
    But Felicity was wrong.

Chapter Four
    “Got a letter from that old rascal in Devon,” said Mr. Charles Godolphin to his friend Lord Arthur Bessamy.
    Both men were strolling along the pebbly beach at Brighton, having followed the Prince Regent to that famous resort after the Season finished in June.
    “Your uncle?”
    “Yes, him. A most odd letter. He wants me to go there.”
    “Has he decided to leave you his moneybags after all?” asked Lord