Arranging her supplies upon a dusty table, she returned yet again to her chamber. There she stuffed pillows and spare blankets beneath the coverlet to resemble a sleeping form. Locking the chamber door from the outside, she pocketed the key, then crept back upstairs, praying Wickham and Mrs. Younge would believe her ruse.
Within the attic, she shifted an old settee, lifting it inch by inch, careful not to let it scrape and rouse Jenny, until it stood barring the door. She moved a couch in like manner, little by little, until the doorway was well secured. Though the butler might have a key, she reasoned there could be no cause for them to look within the attic if once persuaded, she had fled.
The windows were already shuttered, yet for safety, she hung an old drape across the three small panes that faced the street, then struck a light. The single candle showed a chamber thick with dust and cobwebs, though, to her relief, she perceived no sign of vermin. Her breath came easier, though the air was close.
She found an old gown amongst the discarded furnishings and used it to sweep the thick dust from a table, where she set her pitcher and food. With the cloth, she wiped the frame of one cot, then lifted its thin mattress and turned it so that the cleaner side lay uppermost. Taking the second cot’s mattress, she laid it atopthe first, contriving a bed less wretchedly thin. She spread one blanket beneath her as a sheet and drew another across the top.
Exhaustion overtook her after such labor. She pulled out her pocket watch and found it was only half past nine. Yet her limbs trembled with weariness, and her eyes would scarcely remain open. She washed her hands with a little of her precious water, dried them upon her petticoat, then changed into her nightdress. Hanging her gown upon the wooden peg that had held the old dress she used for cleaning, she at last crept beneath the thin covering. The straw rustled, and the mattress yielded little comfort, yet it was better than lying crouched in a doorway or exposed in the street.
Before extinguishing her candle, she folded her hands together in prayer, that Mrs. Younge would discover the false letter, that Wickham might be persuaded of her flight, that both would depart the house in search of her. She thought of her brother and how she might contrive to send word to him before it was too late.
At last, she blew out the flame. The darkness pressed close about her, and the sea wind moaned against the eaves. Still, within the frail shelter of her barricade, she felt a measure of safety. Her last waking thought was of Fitzwilliam and whether he would come in time.
Sleep at length stole over her, light and troubled, yet sleep nonetheless.
The following day dawned bright and clear, the sea air brisk upon the shore, while gulls wheeled above the rooftops, their sharp cries echoing overhead. “Mind the step, George,” said Mrs. Younge as she opened the front door. “You look the picture of misery this fine bright morning.”
“My eyes and head are burning with this cursed light,” Wickham muttered, putting a hand to his temple. “What did you give me last night?”
“Nothing but excellent brandy,” she answered coolly. “You are paying for the gin you swallowed at the tavern. Come in. Go and take something solid. Breakfast is served, and Smithers will bring coffee; drink plenty of it. I shall see to Georgiana. The girl loves a late morning. With dispatch, we may still catch the eleven o’clock stage.”
Mrs. Younge rang the bell, and when the servant appeared, she said, “Send Jenny down. I have need of her.” She then served a plate and took her seat at the table. After a few minutes, Jenny appeared and curtsied in the doorway.
“Yes, Mrs. Younge?”
“Wake Miss Darcy at once and tell her we depart by eleven. Did you pack her portmanteau yesterday?
“Did I pack Miss Darcy’s things?” Jenny echoed and then blinked. “No, ma’am. You did not ask me to pack, but I will do so now. How many days should I prepare for?”
“Pack light. Three days only,” Mrs. Younge said. “And Jenny, you will not accompany us. Remain here until I send for you.”
“Yes, ma’am. I will dress Miss Darcy immediately.”
“Mr. Wickham,” Smithers said from the door of the parlor, “your coffee, sir.”
“Set it down,” Wickham grumbled, lowering himself into a chair. “The light is an assault.”
“Miss Darcy’s chocolate shall follow,” Smithers added.
“Forget Miss Darcy’s chocolate.” Mrs. Younge said crisply. “After we eat, we will be leaving for a few days.”
“Very good, ma’am,” Smithers replied.
The butler had just entered his pantry when Jenny descended the stairs and stood at the small doorway panting. Dropping a curtsy, she said, “Mr. Smithers, Miss Darcy’s door is locked, and no matter how hard I knock, she won’t answer.”
“Indeed?” Smithers replied gravely. “Very well, I will go up and unlock the door.”
The stately butler mounted the stairs with his usual dignity, and Jenny, anxious to complete her task for Mrs. Younge, followed close behind. He rapped the door, waited, then, hearing no reply, unlocked the door and stepped back to allow Jenny to enter.
She crossed the threshold, then, seeing that Miss Darcy was still in her bed, she looked to the butler and whispered. “My mistress is still asleep. Thank you for letting me in.” As Jenny began to open cabinets and drawers, she saw that the brushes and comb were missing, and her mistress's tooth powder and toothbrush were also gone. Stockings, nightdress, and underclothing were not in their usual places, and the portmanteau was nowhere to be found.
She went to the bed and drew down the coverlet. Several pillows and blankets had been heaped together to mimic a sleeping form.
“Glory me,” she whispered, her hand clapped to her mouth. “What will Mrs. Younge say when she learns Miss Georgie is gone?” The maid hurried down the stairs and knocked on the butler’s pantry door.
“Mr. Smithers,” Jenny whispered as she paused upon the threshold, “Miss Darcy is not here. There is but a mound of pillows beneath the coverlet.” The young maid then recited each personal item that was missing and concluded in a tremulous voice, “She is gone.”
“Mrs. Younge must be informed at once,” Smithers answered.
