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Especially because you <span class="mu-i">did</span> take advantage of them.
You actually have to stifle a sigh at the thought. With no end of things that you have done - and <span class="mu-i">not</span> done - weighing on you, you are almost surprised just how much of cur taking that bit of undeserved charity from them makes you feel. Obviously, you have a lot more important things to think about at the moment, but before you turn your attention to them, you reaffirm the promise that you made to yourself - somehow, you are going to pay Hortingea and Bertrada back. You don't know how, especially considering that once you leave tonight or tomorrow, you very well may never set foot in the Mount ever again. But out of all of the things you have done wrong in the past few days, this is the one thing that you might actually be able to fix.
Feeling a little fortified by your retreaded resolution, you direct your attention to much more pressing matters. The cart, and where, not to mention when, you are going to stash the damned thing. You have already decided that getting it secreted away before going to either of the dressmakers would be for the best ... but that only works if you can find somewhere before you get there. This is Cleanport, not the Upper Boardwalk or the Lower Terraces - there simply are not abandoned buildings and quiet side streets and alleys anywhere near here. Would it be worth it to go all the way back there? Honestly, it might, if it got you out of asking awkward questions. Still, doing so would burn a lot of daylight. Already, you must be closer to the fifteenth hour than the fourteenth. How long would it take to find a suitable spot? And accounting for the walk back to Cleanport and then on to Spinster's Street, and however much time the final adjustments would take at Cassandra's ... and you still need to swing back to the cobbler to pick up your boots. Obviously, you cannot go stamping through the Midden in these Oilers, even if the damned things finally stop their squeaking.
Suddenly, it occurs to you that you could just find a public house and rent a room for the night. Certainly, a domestic servant with a pushcart renting a room for herself might raise some eyebrows - but if you were able to convince the cobbler to sell you men's clothing, then you should be able to wheedle a room for the night. And of course, money is not an issue - unless you have either grossly underestimated the amount of talents you have with you, or grossly underestimated the cost of a wagon or carriage and a team of horses to pull it, you still have way more talents that you should ever need to secure a way out of the Mount. Smiling broadly at your stroke of genius, you crane your neck, looking for a public house, one that advertises locks and keys on its shingles.
