Read Online The Original Miss Honeyford by M.C. Beaton - Free Book Online Page A

head and ungloved hands.
    “Only around the mews, Beecham,” said Honey. “I must say good-bye to my servants.”
    “Then I will send the second footman to fetch them here.”
    Honey ran past him to the door. “No, no, that will not be necessary,” she said breathlessly. She opened the door and darted out into the street.
    Beecham wondered whether to send a footman after her.
    Then he decided to wait about fifteen minutes, and, if she had not returned by then, he would send John, the second footman, to fetch her back.
    Honey whistled like a boy as she strolled around to the mews, the whistle dying on her lips as the full flavorsome smell of a London mews caught at her throat.
    She found Jem, Abraham, and Peter just setting out to enjoy their last day.
    “Where are you bound?” asked Honey wistfully.
    “Over to the City,” said Jem. “We wants to see the beasts at the Tower.”
    “Oh, take me with you,” pleaded Honey, “and then I will leave you to enjoy the rest of the day.”
    “’Twouldn’t be fitting,” said Peter. “T’other servants say as how you’re to be a fine lady now.”
    “And I am so weary, so
bored,”
cried Honey. “Just let me come with you, just a little way. I have forgot what freedom is like.”
    “Can’t see it would do any harm,” said Abraham, shuffling his feet. He had a soft spot for Honey, and he hated to see his young mistress look so miserable.
    “Yus,” echoed Jem. “S’pose it won’t do no harm. You run back, Miss Honoria, and ask her ladyship.”
    “She won’t even know,” said Honey triumphantly. “She’s gone for the whole day.”
    The three brightened. “Then off we go,” said Abraham.
    “And we will pretend we are friends,” said Honey. “Equals!”
    “That’s going too far,” said Jem severely. “Them that doesn’t know their place is flying in the face o’ Providence.”
    “Jem, you are just as bad as Lady Canon.”
    “I know what’s right,” said Jem stubbornly, “so if you wants to come, you walk two paces ahead and we’ll follow you up as we should.”
    As they were about to leave, one of Lady Canon’s grooms strolled up. “Off again, are you?” he said jealously.
    “Going to see the beasts at the Tower. Do you know of a good place we could get a bite to eat on the road?”
    “The Cock at the head o’ Fleet Street, opposite St. Dunstan’s, is as good as any,” said the groom. “Maybe I should get a place in the country, then I could go jaunterin’ around for weeks like you lot.”
    “Come along,” called Honey from the entrance to the mews.
    They set out walking in the direction of the City, that great mercantile hub of London: the
real
London it had been before the Fashionables moved west. Along Oxford Street they went, peering into the shops, stopping to stare at the acrobats and tumblers performing at the side of the road.
    They turned down the Haymarket and then through the Strand, stopping to see the wild animals at Exeter Change, which they all voted a poor shabby lot and hoped the ones at the Tower would be better. They darted across the busy road to look at the prints in Ackermann’s Repository of the Fine Arts.
    They stopped at The Cock in Fleet Street and had roast beef and salad and several bottles of canary wine, Honey paying out of the pin money her father had given her, and comforting her conscience with the thought that he would have behaved the same way in her shoes. Sir Edmund was more father than master to his servants.
    Honey had had nothing stronger than tea to drink since her arrival at Lady Canon’s, that lady having been so shocked over the description of the brandy drinking and, fearing Honey might be cursed with a Fatal Tendency, she had given her no alcoholic drink at all.
    The wine went straight to Honey’s head, engendering a light-headed, floating sensation.
    As they went over Fleet Bridge, leading to Ludgate Hill, Honey quickly pulled out her scented handkerchief to block out the smell