The Long Way Home

By Jessica Cale

After saving the life of the glamorous Marquise de Harfleur, painfully shy barmaid Alice Henshawe is employed as the lady’s companion and whisked away to Versailles. There, she catches King Louis’ eye and quickly becomes a court favorite as the muse for Charles Perrault’s Cinderella. The palace appears to be heaven itself, but there is danger hidden beneath the façade and Alice soon finds herself thrust into a world of intrigue, murder, and Satanism at the heart of the French court.

Having left his apprenticeship to serve King Charles as a spy, Jack Sharpe is given a mission that may just kill him. In the midst of the Franco-Dutch war, he is to investigate rumors of a poison plot by posing as a courtier, but he has a mission of his own. His childhood friend Alice Henshawe is missing and he will stop at nothing to see her safe. When he finds her in the company of the very people he is meant to be investigating, Jack begins to wonder if the sweet girl he grew up with has a dark side.

When a careless lie finds them accidentally married, Alice and Jack must rely on one another to survive the intrigues of the court. As old affection gives way to new passion, suspicion lingers. Can they trust each other, or is the real danger closer than they suspect?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Publishing
• Release date: Feb 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781094436494

Jessica Cale

Jessica Cale is a romance author, editor, and historian based in North Carolina. Originally from Minnesota, she lived in Wales for several years where she earned a BA in History and an MFA in Creative Writing while climbing castles and photographing mines for history magazines. She kidnapped (“married”) her very own British prince (close enough) and is enjoying her happily ever after with him in a place where no one understands his accent. She is the editor of Dirty, Sexy History and you can visit her at www.dirtysexyhistory.com.

Book preview

Jack Sharpe left Southwark as he’d arrived, before dawn and with a canvas sack slung over his shoulder. It was a Monday morning in February of 1673. He was seventeen years old, and he was leaving his apprenticeship to join the army.

There was trouble on the Continent. The Dutch and the French were fighting each other, and England had not chosen a side. They had heard almost nothing about it in Southwark. Though the town sat beside a port and the Henshawes often had foreign visitors staying at their inn, the world outside of London seemed very far away.

The war wasn’t his reason for leaving. The punters in the bar whispered that he’d lost his family overnight. He stopped coming to the inn for supper, and when Alice did see him, his face had changed. He’d aged.

All night she waited on the roof to watch him go. It began to drizzle and still she clung to her perch, knowing it might be the last time she ever saw him. Her sister Judith had taken pity on her and passed up a blanket and she huddled beneath it, only noticing the cold when the chattering of her teeth interrupted the mad spinning of her thoughts.

It was the darkest hour of the night when he emerged from the house. His master and family followed him into the street to say their goodbyes. Jack hugged Harry and Will before he kissed Jane’s cheeks and the baby’s head. Mark had always been more of a brother than a master, and Alice imagined this goodbye was the hardest. They loved him dearly, but love wasn’t enough for this wound. Jack needed distance.

He walked toward the docks, the clip of his boot heels the only sound in the night. Even as he began to disappear from view, Alice told herself to go after him. If she caught him, what would she say? Would she beg him not to go? She understood why he felt he had to. She wanted to go with him, though she knew it was impossible. It would only ever be goodbye.

Alice could never say goodbye to Jack.

She could never say anything to Jack, to be fair. She had greeted him three times in five years. She had asked him once what he wanted to drink. It would be a peculiar time to start talking to him now.

Her decision was made for her. He turned the corner and he was gone.

Chapter 1

1677

Alice! Where are you?

Alice could hear Meg shouting for her from the kitchen as she juggled four plates and two bowls, all destined for opposite corners of the inn. It was a Saturday afternoon, and each one of their too-many tables was filled with hungry punters. She squeezed through the gaps between the chairs and sidestepped a careening child to deliver the first two plates to a couple in the back corner. The remaining two plates and two bowls were going to the table of apprentices beside the front door.

There were ten tables crammed between the corners, and Alice noted who had run out of what as she passed. Maggie was nearly out of beer and would need a new one soon. Kitty was with her but her children were at home, so she would be wanting sherry. Beyond them, Joe Ledford was back again and he was only drinking gin these days. Jeffrey Blackstock sat with his brother under the front window, shooting glances Alice’s way that she imagined he thought were seductive but really just made him look like he was about to be ill. She broke eye contact as quickly as she had made it and delivered the rest of the plates to the apprentices by the door just in time for Meg to shout, Alice!

One of the apprentices tugged her skirt as she headed for the kitchen. Expecting a new order, Alice turned and raised her eyebrows in question.

He was one of the stonemason’s new boys. Alice didn’t yet know his name. You’re a Henshawe, aren’t you?

Alice nodded.

Is your sister in?

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Alice counted silently to three.

ALICE!

Alice pointed toward the kitchen.

He smiled. Not that one. The other one?

Alice shook her head and returned to the kitchen. All four of her sisters were extremely popular with the local men. She had no idea which one he meant.

It was never Alice they asked for, in any case. In a family of golden-haired, angelic beauties, Alice was the ugly little brownish one who never really fit in. She was shorter than the others, but tall for a woman, straight enough to be a boy with long, gawky limbs, freakishly tiny hands, and eyes far too big for her head. Bug eyes, Meg called them, but Alice could no more change the size of her eyes than Meg could change the size of her tits.

Meg sighed dramatically as Alice reentered the kitchen. Where have you been? They’re thirsty out there and Jeffrey Blackstock is asking after you. It wouldn’t kill you to show him a little kindness, you know. Learn from your poor old sister’s mistakes.

Well, it’s too late to marry Mark Virtue, Alice thought.

She might have said as much, if not for her little problem.

She couldn’t talk.

It wasn’t that she could not physically speak. Alice had a voice, a husky little thing about an octave lower than one would expect, she just couldn’t use it. She was almost afraid to. Growing up with four overbearing sisters in an inn full of weary people demanding help at all hours of the day, talking had rarely done her any favors. So she kept her mouth shut, and she learned to disappear.

Into cupboards, around corners, under tables, inside empty trunks. That day, when the crowd had cleared except for Jeffrey Blackstock lurking outside, Alice hid under the counter behind a barrel. The dark space smelled of stale hops and rotting wood. A spider web connected it to the underside of the counter. The spider it belonged to crept daintily up Alice’s arm. She didn’t move so much as a hair. If she didn’t show her face for long enough, Jeffrey would get bored and leave.

Alice heard the door creak open and hit the side of someone’s boot as they held it open for someone else. Light footsteps, leather shoes. A woman. Alice heard a small gurgle and recognized the pitch of the baby’s voice.

Jeffrey Blackstock forgotten, Alice almost gave away her hiding place in her haste to see them. Pulling herself out of the hatch, she stood and smiled at the Virtues.

Afternoon, Alice. Mark grinned. How’ve you been keeping?

Mark was Meg’s age, and he ran the carpenter’s down the street. Jack had been his apprentice, before he joined up. Now that Jack was gone, and the other boys besides, Mark’s primary job seemed to be keeping his wife pregnant.

Not that she minded. Jane Virtue was the happiest woman Alice had ever met.

She bounced the youngest, Mags, on her hip, her arm stretched over her swollen belly. She was several months into her pregnancy and already looked like she was going to burst. Twins, probably.

Meg appeared in the kitchen doorway with her hand on her hip. She saw Mark and Jane on the other side of the bar, turned on her heel and walked away. She and Mark had been together once, and she had precious little patience for his current state of domestic bliss.

Mags’ chubby little hand tugged Jane’s braid. Jane didn’t seem to notice. She glowed, a sweet smile on her porcelain face. Jane burned a little brighter with every new baby, as if she could light the whole of Southwark with the joy in her face. Alice didn’t blame Mark for choosing Jane over Meg. If she could have, Alice would have traded Jane for her sister, too.

Alice poured their drinks the way they liked them, dark beer for Mark and a little watered wine for Jane. She liked sherry in the few minutes she had between babies, but never drank it while she was pregnant because she said it made her stomach turn. Alice set their glasses in front of them with a shy smile, looking around the bar for the rest of their children.

Nick and Sally took them for the day, Jane explained. They’ve gone to the India House to see the monkeys for Mary’s birthday. We thought we might go sometime. Would you like to come with?

Alice nodded. She had taken to helping Jane with the children in the hours she could get away from the inn. Their house was a noisy, rambling thing, but when she was there, she felt tremendous peace. This may have been because it was the one place Alice was certain Meg would never follow her.

I nearly forgot, Jane blurted. I brought something for you. Darling, would you fetch it from my pocket?

Mark flashed a cheeky smile. He was a legendary flirt, and far more handsome than he had any right to be. Time was every woman in town fancied herself in love with him. Many still bemoaned his marriage but were unable to bring themselves to dislike his wife. He pulled a small book out of her pocket and handed it to Alice.

Les États et Empires du Soleil, Alice read to herself. Written by someone called Cyrano de Bergerac.

They visit the sun, Jane enthused. It’s sort of a comic novel.

Alice turned the book over in her hands reverently, drawing her thumb along the edge of the even pages. "Merci beaucoup."

De rien, ma petite. Jane grinned. She had been a lady once, and spoke French as easily as she drew breath. The first time Alice heard her speaking it with Sally, Jane’s sister-in-law, she was transfixed. Alice begged Jane to teach her, and over the years, as they washed swaddling linen, she did. As far away from court as they were, it may as well have been a secret language. It was something the three of them shared, something that set Alice apart that she could be proud of.

Alice, Meg shouted from the kitchen.

Alice gave a heavy sigh.

Jane gave her a look of sympathy, and Alice knew she understood. Jane was no great fan of Meg. Jane had even broken Meg’s nose in a fight years before, and sometimes that memory was the only thing that sustained Alice. We’ll see you at the party later? Jane asked.

Alice nodded. She had been looking forward to it for weeks.

Take care, kid, Mark winked at her as he gathered their drinks.

♥

You’re eighteen bloody years old!

Alice was nineteen, but she wasn’t going to correct her.

There are plenty of men out there, decent men, who’d be happy to have you and pay for the privilege. One may even keep you, like Bel’s chap.

It was a speech Alice had heard before. She focused her irritation on the pot in her hands, scouring it mercilessly.

Meg took up the broom. Listen to me, girl. Your tits won’t point skyward forever. Best use what looks you’ve got to buy yourself a future. It doesn’t matter who the first one is, just pick somebody and get it out of the way. It gets easier after that.

She had been trying to talk Alice into selling herself since she turned fifteen. Alice was stubborn enough to keep resisting, and small enough to hide when Meg had found a man she wanted to show her to. There was a reason Alice had found every hiding place in the inn.

Alice didn’t want Meg’s life. She had seen what it had done to all three of her older sisters, and many other local girls besides. Their lives were short and desperate, filled with doomed love affairs and babies they couldn’t afford to keep. Meg herself had to pay for hers to be raised by someone else. Besides, Alice could barely speak to people she liked; was it so very unbelievable that she didn’t want strangers to touch her?

Alice’s unwavering refusal was matched by Meg’s persistence. Four years and she hadn’t given up. In the meantime, their youngest sister, Judith, had entered the family trade. She’d already been at it for more than a year, and she was only seventeen.

Thinking of that made Alice so angry, her hands shook. She dropped the pot.

Clumsy girl! Are you even listening to me?

Alice took a deep breath, feeling her face redden with suppressed rage. She attacked the pot with the scourer, imagining the black spots were Meg’s face.

"Are you waiting for someone to marry you? You, the penniless fourth daughter in a family of tarts? Why would someone marry you when they could have any one of the rest of us for a crown? You’re too old to believe in nonsense. Too bloody old, and I’m getting bloody tired of trying to get through to you. You’re dirt poor, you’re plain, and you haven’t got a lick of sense. You, my girl, will take what you can get. You can’t be a maiden forever."

Alice clenched her teeth so hard that her jaw hurt. Yes, I can.

Meg hurled the broom against the wall. This is about that boy, isn’t it? When are you going to get it? Jack Sharpe is never coming back!

Alice held the side of the basin to steady herself. It was her single greatest fear that Meg was right.

Apparently sensing she’d finally hit a nerve, Meg lowered her voice. Alice—

Alice turned on her heel and ran up the stairs. The inn was filling up with people again, but she didn’t care who saw her. There were enough of them milling about that Meg would be too busy to try to follow her. Doubtless every one of them heard Meg shouting at her. Alice ran through the corridor and up the second flight until the din of the bar was no more than a distant hum.

She reached the room she shared with Judith, seldom as it was that she was in it, and closed the door. She threw open the window and scrambled onto the roof like a monkey and sat on the flat of it, facing the street.

It was a gloomy afternoon in July. The clouds threatened rain, but for now, the roof was dry. The spot offered a perfect view of the streets below, the even houses that lined them and the families who walked them every day. Everything looked so much smaller from the roof that Alice liked to go up there for perspective, to remind herself that her troubles weren’t as bad as they sometimes felt.

She was hardly the first girl to ever have a sister.

Alice took a deep breath of the balmy river air, willing herself to calm down, reminding herself she was safe there. No one but Judith even knew she went up there, and she had always been good about leaving the window open so Alice could get back in. She had never been seen by anyone else.

She hadn’t been spotted the morning Jack left, sitting up on the roof in the cold winter rain. The memory played over in her head in merciless detail for the thousandth time. She wanted to call out to him, tell him not to go. Tell him she knew why he was going, that she loved him anyway. She wanted to tell him she understood his pain.

She had even opened her mouth to shout, and not a sound came out. Not even a squeak. Alice had never been able to talk to Jack, not even when he was leaving, probably forever.

And now she never would.

Alice pulled her knees to her chest and silently wept. It had been four years, one-hundred and fifty-four days. She was four years older, nearly a foot taller, and she had learned to read in two languages. She was a woman grown, and an old one, to hear Meg tell it, but she still loved his memory with the simple certainty of a child.

She wondered what he was like now, what he was doing.

If he still lived.

Alice wiped the tears from her cheeks. Pathetic.

Last Mark had heard, four months past, he was somewhere near Flanders. Five years after it had started, and their war with France raged on. England had not taken a side, and Alice had never understood why Jack had had to go.

Mark and Jane thought they knew the way she felt about Jack. They took pity on her by keeping her updated on any word of the war, and any letters that found their way home. After all, they cared for Jack, too, and they knew the mad, irrational pain of being in love.

That was the reason Alice didn’t want to be somebody’s mistress. Well, one reason. She wanted what Jane and Mark had. Perhaps not half a dozen children, but that kind of love. If she couldn’t have that, she didn’t want anything else.

That was not something she could tell Meg.

Remembering Jane’s gift, Alice pulled the book from her pocket. She opened the cover and a piece of folded paper fell out into her lap, fluttering in the breeze. She snatched it out of the air before it blew away. Her heart hammered as she recognized the handwriting.

Holding her breath, she opened it.

Dear Mark,

Another one! I suppose you had better take my room back, if you haven’t already. The way things are here, I’d like to see my bed again, I can tell you that. Some days I wonder if I’ll ever escape all this blasted mud. The only thing the camp has to recommend it is that the coffee is somehow better than it is at yours, difficult as that must be to imagine. I’m still trying to figure out how this miracle is possible. I suspect it tastes better because this is the only place it was meant to be drunk; here, in the middle of the largest mud puddle in all of Flanders.

Forgive my lament; I do have some good news, though not so good as yours. I’ve been promoted! My scouting was suitably impressive and now I’ve been given other duties, which I cannot go into here. Suffice to say, I’m doing well, and I am typically far from the worst of it. I cannot say when I am likely to return, but know that I am as safe as one can reasonably hope to be in times of war. I hope to be back before you’re up to seven.

Give my love to Jane and the children, and to Will if you hear from him. Regards, of course, to Alice.

J.S.

Alice re-read the letter seven times. It had been burned into her memory after the first reading like everything always was, but she had to examine it in painstaking detail in case there was any small piece she had missed.

Regards, of course, to Alice?

What did that mean?

She was not surprised to hear that he had been promoted. He would only be twenty-three now, but young as he was, Jack had always been frighteningly capable. Mark had had him working as a highwayman when he was as young as fourteen, though they thought it was some great secret. No doubt the skills he had learned in the heath had served him well as a scout. Alice wondered what they had him doing now, and hoped it was true that he was far from harm.

Her heart sank as she re-read the letter an eighth time. If he hoped to make it back to Southwark by the time Mark and Jane were up to seven, he didn’t expect to be back for perhaps another two years.

She would have to wait another two years to ascertain what he meant by regards. Two more years to work up the courage to ask.

Alice folded the letter carefully and pressed it back into the book.

Perhaps by then she could.

♥

Judith was sitting at the dressing table when Alice slid through the window with the book in her pocket. The letter she had folded into her stays. It was too dear to risk dropping.

Her younger sister twisted a long golden lock into her coif, a messy bun at the top of her head, so much like Meg’s. You’ve been up there ages. Her reflection smiled at Alice from the mirror. Meg’s looking for you.

Alice sighed and began to change for the party. The party was at Nick and Sally’s house in St. James Square and she wanted to look nice. Nick was an earl now, and she did not want to turn up at Somerton House in a work dress reeking of beer. Stripped to her shift and stays, she pulled her new dress from the wardrobe, reverently running her hand over the dusky heather silk. It was embroidered all over in a floral pattern, and was a delight to touch. Far nicer than anything else she owned, Jane had given it to her for Christmas and she had been saving it for a special occasion.

That dress is so beautiful, Judith said on a sigh. Do you think Jane would make me one?

Alice nodded. Although Jane hadn’t worked as a seamstress in years, she still loved designing dresses and kept herself busy making dozens of darling pieces for her children. She may have never learned to cook, but her family was very well-dressed.

Jane had made Alice a couple of dresses over the years, but this one was by far the nicest. Alice arranged the skirt over her hips and laced it up. It fit perfectly, and was practical as it was gorgeous. The skirt was surprisingly lightweight so she could run if she needed to, and it laced up the front so she could dress and undress without any help.

You look lovely, Alice. You really do, Judith assured her, finishing her hair. There’s someone here to see you. A bloke. He’ll like the dress, too.

A man to see her? Alice’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. It was clearly some mistake.

Meg says you might want to hear what he has to say. Judith set down the comb and picked up a little box of face powder. Do you think I’m pretty?

Judith was perfection. She had a lovely complexion, even teeth, and a pair of rather arresting violet eyes. She was still a child, in spite of everything. Alice wanted so badly to protect her. She nodded, taking the powder out of Judith’s hand and setting it out of reach.

Prettier than Bel? Judith frowned at her reflection.

Alice pointed toward the floor and nodded sharply.

Judith scoffed. No one’s prettier than Meg.

Alice gave her a small smile and turned toward the door.

Alice? Judith frowned, appearing to puzzle over the words she wanted to use. At last, she said, I don’t think you’re mad.

Alice sighed and nodded in thanks. Judith may have been the only one.

Downstairs, Meg was nowhere to be found. The bar was empty except for Joe Ledford in the corner with his gin, and Jeffrey Blackstock beside the bar.

Jeffrey Blackstock beside the bar with a daisy.

Alice cringed. He had already seen her, so it was too late to pretend she was out. She prayed for strength and walked toward him with reluctant, halting steps, as though great weights were chained to her ankles. God help me.

He stood up as she approached, straightening his dirty gray shirt.

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to summon her courage. Understanding some kind of contact was inevitable, she perched on the edge of the stool across from him, ready to run.

He tucked his lank hair behind his ear, a self-satisfied smile on his face. Afternoon, Alice. I like your frock. Good of you to go to the trouble for me.

Fighting the urge to gag, Alice didn’t respond. She had never said a word to him and she wasn’t about to start.

He pushed the daisy toward her, the petals dragging across the splintered table.

Alice didn’t so much as look at it. She wasn’t one of her sisters, to fawn over men she had no interest in, in case it would someday be worth her while. She didn’t need to be flattered, and false hope was only going to hurt the man, assuming he had feelings.

Nothing Alice had seen had led her to believe this was likely. Not when he chased her into the river when she was six, and not when he had kicked her dog when she was ten. She narrowed her eyes at him, remembering.

Doubt flickered across his sallow face. I’ve come to make you an offer.

An offer?

He must have seen her confusion. My family owns the boarding house, as you know, and the jeweler’s as well...

Pete Blackstock was a fence, and a bad one, at that. Calling his place of business a jeweler’s was generous, if not an outright lie.

...and it’ll all be mine someday. Well, mine and my brother, Joe’s. You can work at the boarding house with mum, and it’ll be just like working here.

The Blackstocks’ boarding house was nothing like The Rose. Filthy, dangerous, and overrun with pests and cutpurses, it wasn’t a place Alice wanted to walk past, let alone work in. As for his mother, the less said about her, the better.

Alice shook her head.

Alice, I’m offering to marry you.

She shuddered and shook her head again.

He balked at her answer. No?

She clenched her jaw and stared at him.

He emitted a short, uncomfortable laugh. Why not?

There were a hundred reasons Alice didn’t want to marry Jeffrey Blackstock. Few of them even had anything to do with Jack. She just despised the man. She might have told him any number of these reasons, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She didn’t share her thoughts with her own family, so sharing such an intimacy with him was unthinkable. She shrugged.

You stuck up little chit. he snarled. You think you can do better? You? You’re scrawny and you’re plain, and there’s something not quite right about you, isn’t there?

Alice shrugged. He was the one who’d asked.

I’ve got a future in this town, he insisted. You’re nothing. You should be grateful I’m willing to have you.

Alice crossed her arms and glared at him.

He threw up his hands in exasperation. Have it your way. You want to end up like your whore sisters? They’ve got some sense, at least. Sense and better tits. Perhaps I’ll buy me the little one tonight.

He didn’t notice Alice had taken his bottle until it connected with his face. It didn’t shatter on impact, but it would leave one hell of a mark. He writhed on the floor in pain, clutching the side of his head. You b-b-bitch!

Alice dropped the daisy on him and left the bar to the sound of Joe Ledford’s laughter.

Meg met her in the stairwell. How’d it go?

Alice shook her head.

Meg sighed dramatically. I thought you wanted to marry.

Alice shot her a look.

Meg continued down the stairs with a groan.

Chapter 2

When Alice went back down an hour later, Jeffrey was gone. She gave a long sigh of relief. The sun had begun to sink in the sky, and the party would have already started. The inn was packed again for the supper rush, and Judith had offered to cover Alice’s shift so she could go, on the condition she brought back some of Sally’s chocolate cake.

Alice peeked out the door to check that Jeffrey was not lurking somewhere nearby. She had begun to regret hitting him, not because she felt bad for him, but because she wondered if she had put herself in danger. Not only had she rejected Jeffrey, but she had possibly done him real harm, and he was not one to let things lie.

The streets were unusually empty. There was a big fight on at Bear Gardens, and most everyone would be there. With any luck, Jeffrey would be there, too.

The night was sweltering, and the air hung so thick and heavy she could almost chew it. Alice wore a cloak though it made the heat almost unbearable, keeping to the shadows as she hurried down the street. The Blackstocks’ boarding house was in the opposite direction. If she could make it to the river, she would likely be fine the rest of the way, and Mark could walk her home after the party.

Halfway to the bridge, Alice heard several sets of footsteps behind her. She carried on with her head down, hoping she wasn’t being followed.

Behind her, she heard a boy hiss. Jeffrey!

Alice didn’t hesitate. She took off running. They were between her and the Rose, so she would have to evade them if she wanted to go back. It would be easier to hide at Mark’s. The dodgier boys in town were terrified of him, and with good reason. He’d straighten them out if they came for her, of that she had no doubt.

She passed the front door of the house and headed for the back, hoping someone might still be inside. There was a gate beside the warehouse that led into their garden and she went for it to find it locked. Steps pounded through the street behind her, growing louder by the second. Alice scrambled up the gate and threw herself over, landing hard on her shoulder on the other side.

She went over!

The back door was locked. Not a single candle burned inside the whole house. The family had long since left.

Shit.

Help me up!

Alice searched the garden for a weapon. There were plenty of tools lying about, but as much damage as she could do with a hammer or a spade, she didn’t know how many she would have to try to fight on her own, and it would only take one to hurt her. Seeing the door to the new warehouse slightly ajar, she ducked inside and closed it behind her.

Outside, a curse. One had made it over, and the gate rattled under the weight of another. Alice searched for a lock in the dark. There was none. She couldn’t lock herself inside, so she would have to hide.

She searched for a place to hide among the ornate furniture that filled every bit of space of the warehouse. Under the bed would be too obvious. Inside the trunks, too. If she just crouched behind something, they would definitely find her.

Another landed heavily in the garden. One of them was banging on the back door of the house. It was only a matter of time before they tried the warehouse.

Alice spotted her favorite wardrobe. It was far too expensive to be something she could ever afford, but had been Jack’s last and finest piece, and she loved it. It was an unusual shape, with a large decorative panel over the bottom and a space for storing things across the top that was perhaps two feet deep and three feet high. She ran to it and flung open the doors.

Someone shouted, She’s not in there!

The bottom shelf rattled slightly as she put her knee on it. An unusual feeling. Following a hunch, she lifted it up to find that it was a false bottom disguising a large compartment below.

It was hollow. Alice grinned in the dark. Leave it to a highwayman to find a new place to hide things.

Alice climbed over the panel and into the compartment, pulling the wardrobe doors closed behind her. She crouched down and lowered the false bottom over her head as she heard them burst through the warehouse door.

She has to be in here. I didn’t see her leave.

Alice flinched as she heard a crash. They were searching the trunks. She held her knees to her chest, praying they wouldn’t find her.

P’rhaps she’s got a key to the house.

The doors to a wardrobe slammed shut. Alice cursed herself for leading them to Mark’s. The furniture was his livelihood, and if they damaged too much of it, it could ruin him.

Alice!

She tried to will them away as she felt them drawing near. Go away, go away, go away!

She shivered though the compartment was hot. Suddenly aware that she could run out of air, she began to panic. She would have to open the false bottom, but she couldn’t while they were searching the furniture.

I’ll show you...

Alice’s heart hammered in her ears. Was it possible to die of terror? She tried to slow her breathing, but it was no use. She kept thinking of all the horrible things they might do to her if they found her. There was no real law in Southwark. She’d be lucky to get home alive.

A crack sounded outside of the wardrobe. They were inches away from her. She clutched her knees. Holding her breath didn’t help. She would need to think of another way to calm down or they would surely hear her breath, if not her heart.

She heard footsteps outside. There were four of them in all.

Think, Alice. What calms you down?

Thinking of Jack, Alice let out all of her breath in one long sigh. When someone yanked open the doors to the wardrobe above her, she was silent as the grave.

With the doors open, she could hear more of their conversation.

Take care with that! If Virtue catches wind we were in here, he’ll string us up himself.

I’m not afraid of Mark Virtue.

You bloody should be.

One of them dropped onto the bed. She’s not in here, mate. We’ve looked everywhere.

She’s got to be! I didn’t see her leave the garden.

She must’ve, or she’s in the house. Hell, she’s probably back at the inn by now.

A noisy grumble. Fine. Check the lane. You stay here and watch in case she comes out. I’ll get what’s owed to me one way or another.

Alice grimaced, deeply annoyed to hear that he thought he had some claim to her. If Jeffrey was what waited for her outside, she would never leave the wardrobe.

The doors shut above her head, and four sets of footsteps retreated from the warehouse. Alice didn’t hear the door. She lifted the false bottom an inch and took a deep breath of fresh air. If she was quiet, she might be able to evade them, but she wasn’t stupid enough to try to make it back home. One of them was watching for her, after all, and a hundred yards would feel a lot longer if she was being chased.

Alice let her head hit the wall of the compartment. Even if she could make it home, she doubted she would be safe there. Her father was dead, and she had no one to protect her

Reviews for The Long Way Home

[Julia · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Loved this one - the narrator isn’t as bad as other reviews are saying. Both characters being awkward and shy around each other was super sweet! Also liked the insight into Versailles. Looking forward to Meg’s story next…