For the present, she remained where she was. Her water and food would suffice for another day, possibly two, and she might fetch more during the night when the household slept. She dusted off a wooden chair from the corner and sat down to read, hoping the time would pass quickly.
When the sun set and the attic grew dark, rather than light a candle, she crept into her cot, drawing the warm blanket about her. Fear bit at her, yet she consoled herself that she had bought another day. Whether she was doing the right thing, she could not say, but for the moment, she was safe.
Georgiana woke early. The attic lay dim and heavy with dust, and for a moment she stared at the narrow cot as if it were a stranger’s bed. Then memory returned. She had hidden herself here to escape Wickham and Mrs. Younge.
She rose, made a careful toilet, and put on a clean dress. The muslin was crushed. She regretted not hanging it when she first came up. She drew out her other gown, shook it, and hung it upon the peg. The dress she had worn the day before was streaked with dirt, cobwebs, and dust, and was likely beyond saving.
She took stock of her provisions. She consumed the last of the hard-boiled eggs, but she still had apples and oranges, bread, biscuits, and cheese. Her little food supply would last at least two days. Water was the greater need. She was very thirsty, and she resolved to fetch more water that night and to bring at least twice what she had carried before.
Georgianna remained at the front and side windows, keeping a watchful eye. Toward ten o’clock, the family emerged from the house, and she saw them walking toward the shore. The child ran ahead along the grassy path; his laughter was sweet and seemed to make the day feel so natural and safe. The two ladies were talking together, and the gentleman, whom she supposed to be the father, strode along keeping up with the little boy. They appeared to be decent, good-humored people. Georgiana believed they would offer assistance if asked.
If Wickham meant to return, it would be today or tomorrow. He and Mrs. Younge would have spent the previous day searching Margate. Another fruitless day might send them back to collect their things, or else drive them to flee at once, expecting her brother’s arrival. She felt she must act.
At noon, the neighbors returned; it was the hour for luncheon, and the child was no doubt ready to eat. Hunger stirred, and she ate bread and cheese, then peeled an orange. The juice from the orange eased her thirst, so she ate another. When Georgiana resumed her watch at the window, she saw that the younger lady was walking in the garden with a small book in her hand. She watched her cross to the little folly, sit down on a stone bench, and begin writing. The young woman wrote for several minutes with intense focus. Georgiana watched in quiet fascination until, at last, she felt the stirrings of resolve and knew that she must act. She must go down and ask for help, even though she was afraid.
Now was the moment. Fear pricked at her chest. If Smithers or Jenny saw her in the yard, they might send word to Wickham. However, if the neighbors took her in, they could also shelter Jenny. She took a deep breath, then twisted her hair into a fresh chignon, put on her stockings and slippers, dusted off her skirt, and crept to the door.
She moved the couch a few inches at a time, then the settee, lifting each piece so it made no sound upon the boards. She slipped through the narrow opening, closed the attic door behind her, and stole along the passage to Jenny’s little room. It was empty. Surprise and concern caught her. Where could Jenny be at this hour? Georgiana turned toward the back servants' stairs, went down quietly, and let herself out through the garden door. She was amazed at how easily it was done.
She crossed to the neighbor's wall and then walked to the gate she had spied from above. The latch was stubborn, but after tugging and pushing, she managed to work it open wide enough to slip through. The garden was shady and pleasing, with well-maintained hedges and a few trees that created a sense ofprivacy around the small lawn. She walked up to the folly and stopped when she reached the entrance.
The young lady looked up, startled. “Oh,” she said, rising. “Pray, forgive me. I did not see you there. Can I be of service?”
Georgiana glanced toward the upper windows of her own house, then stepped beneath the shelter of the folly. Color rose to her cheeks. “Miss, my name is Georgiana Darcy. My brother has leased the house next door for the summer. I am in need of your assistance.”
“Your hands are trembling,” the lady said gently. “Come, sit beside me and tell me what has happened. My name is Elizabeth. Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire. I am here with my uncle and aunt.”
Georgiana sat, and the words tumbled out. She told of Wickham’s plan, of Mrs. Younge’s part in it, of the search in Margate, of the letter to her brother that she had not dared to post. She ended in a whisper. “I expect Mr. Wickham will return to look for me if he cannot find me in Margate. He is desperate. He has debts and no money. He has been taking what he can from my companion, and now that she will be dismissed, he will turn all his effort to me. He needs my dowry.”
Elizabeth put an arm about her. “Do not be afraid, Miss Darcy. My uncle is a prudent, capable man. He will keep you safe. He goes to London tomorrow, but I am sure he would set out today to deliver you to your brother. I would gladly serve as your chaperone.”
Hope stirred in Georgiana, yet she shook her head. “If you would only take me in until my brother can come, that would be enough. I can remain out of sight. I will not trouble the household. I tried to find my maid, but she was not in her roomwhen I slipped out. I fear for her. No woman is safe where Mr. Wickham is concerned.”
Elizabeth considered. “My aunt’s maid is called Addie. I will send her to your back door to inquire after Jenny. She can claim acquaintance and carry a note that appears to be from Jenny’s mother. If they allow Jenny to come down, she shall meet Addie at the gate. If they refuse, the note will ask her to slip into the garden when she can. We will tell her to come to the folly.”
“Yes,” Georgiana said, her spirits lifting. “I believe that will do. Will you write the note? I fear the butler knows my hand and might take alarm.”
“Of course,” Elizabeth said with a reassuring smile. “Come in and meet my aunt and uncle. We will settle you in a bedchamber, and I will send Addie at once with a note for Jenny.” She paused. “You mentioned a letter to your brother?”
Georgiana drew it from her reticule. “I wrote it, but I dared not go down to post it.”
“We shall put it into my uncle’s hands,” Elizabeth said. “It’s best if he sends it express, do not you think?”
“Yes!” Georgiana said, relieved. “Yes! That would do very well.”
Elizabeth offered her arm. “Come, let us go in and speak with my aunt and uncle.”
Elizabeth scarcely left Georgiana’s side during the time that they waited for her brother to arrive. During the day, they remained together, reading aloud or discussing Georgiana’s fears. The family saw that the child lived in constant dread that Wickham would return to Ramsgate and continue his search for her. But at night, when the household grew still, the girl’s fears took a darker turn. Several times each night, she suffered night terrors,crying in her sleep that he had found her, that he was even then breaking into the attic chamber.
Elizabeth slept upon a small cot in Georgiana’s room, remaining near to soothe her. At the first cry, she would rise to shake her gently awake. On their final night together, it was so again.
“Georgiana, my dear, it is only a dream. You are safe. You are here with us, and you are safe.”
The girl’s eyes flew open, wild with terror. “He was there, Elizabeth! I heard him, I heard his hand at the door. He will take me away, I cannot escape him…”
Elizabeth gathered her trembling form into her arms. “Hush now. There is no Wickham. Listen, the house is locked, and my uncle and his footmen are within. He cannot come near you, for he has no power here.”
The girl clung to her, slender hands clutching at Elizabeth’s gown. “But he always finds me in my dreams.”
