Panic rising, I threw a bonnet on my head and boots on my feet, then burst out a servants' door with no objective save escape.
Thus began the worst six hours of my life.
2.Confrontation- Jane
The young lady was obviously in serious trouble!
Looking around in consternation, I had to help her. My mind idly wondered if I would ever tell the story to anybody but Lizzy (unlikely). If I ever did such a stupid thing, they would gush about my kindness, my virtue, my care for fellow human beings, how it was just like me—bah, bah, BAH, and double-BAH!Sometimes I want to cast up my accounts over some people, maybe cut my hair very badly, wear too much rouge, get tap hackled at an assembly like my younger sisters, or otherwise mar my so-called ‘beauty’ just to see who my real friends were. I occasionally grew tired of being ‘the good one’ in all its myriad forms.
Of course, I would never actually do such a thing. If my sister Lizzy got such a wild idea, she would be off like a shot, but never me. What I was amounted toordinary. For certain, I was considered a ‘great beauty’ and the ‘kindest lady’ in the neighbourhood, but that was akin to being the second slowest woman running from a bear. It was better than being the slowest, but nothing much to boast of unless there were only two in the race.
My mind snapped back to the serious business of being a dashing heroine, which could be done without great looks, but it does not make for much of a story, does it.
I know… I know… babbling… Perhaps I should start closer to the beginning.
My name is Miss Jane Bennet. When the young lady in question entered my life abruptly, I was twenty-two years old. I was not quite on the proverbial shelf, but much closer to that than a debutante.
I was visiting my great aunt in Ramsgate. I stayed a month, mostly because my admittedly mercenary mother sentme in hopes the husband-hunting might be more productive in another household in another town. It was not. The town was filled with military men who would happily flirt for a good meal or ruin me for an evening’s entertainment. Most could not, or would not, support a wife, even if I was interested in a dreary life living on a pittance and following the drum, which I most decidedly was not.
The remaining marriageable men were mostly idle, modestly wealthy men who could afford to holiday there, but not in the more fashionable resorts. My distant aunt, who had lived there for decades, said half of those men had pockets to let, and the rest were so rich they would never consider a penniless nobody for a bride, though their morals were on average no better or worse than the military men. They had the occasional wealthy tradesman, but I had no idea how to enter their circles. The not-so-wealthy tradesmen might be easier, but my parents would never approve one unless we got a touch more desperate, and I would never do anything that might harm my plethora of sisters.
In better words, the hunting was not the least bit productive, especially since my aunt only went into society occasionally, so bumping into a man on the street or the beach was the only hope. My mother would be most disappointed, but since no man had ever set my heart fluttering in seven years of society, our disappointment would be survivable. The only thing to truly give me pause on that hot July morning was the anticipation of a few months of my mother’s ceaseless complaining; I had less ability to change her than the tides.
All that aside, I had enjoyed a nice holiday in an interesting place. My sister Elizabeth would have found many more interesting things to see and do, but I was satisfied. My mother likely thought my distant aunt might leave me a bequest for attending her; perhaps she would, but I would not count on it.
That morning, I was in a busy coaching station with my aunt and an upstairs maid. The maid was to accompany me on the post back to London, returning to my maternal uncle’s home on Gracechurch Street. Travelling post was the compromise that allowed me to visit in the first place, since Longbourn’s carriage could not possibly make the trip; and my uncle Gardiner could not take the time away from his business, which was particularly busy at that time of year.
I had no fears about the journey. The maid was the sort of matronly woman everyone loved and feared equally. She never married, and when she said she did not mind, I believed her rather than suspecting sour grapes. She looked at most men as if she were cataloguing faults and the list was getting difficult to keep in her head. Any untoward behaviour on the parts of our fellow passengers would be dealt with accordingly, and I was as safe with her as I would be with a burly footman. Of course, it was a moot point since the coach seated four passengers inside and another three on top. With five other passengers, there was unlikely to be anything more untoward than being packed together like cattle.
Good Lord! I am procrastinating, so perhaps I should get to it.
As I said, I was in the crowded coaching station, which felt like the assemblies in Meryton if you stuffed in forty more dancers. My eye was drawn to a young ladyrunninginto the yard as if being chased by the Hounds of Hell. (I always wanted to say something so hyperbolic). She looked around desperately, then moved through the crowd awkwardly.
The girl seemed full young to be wandering in such a dangerous place alone. In fact, I surmised she was a year or two from even being out, both from the style of her dress and from her being so awkward in a crowd. Anyone who spent a year dodging the big feet of lunkheads at an assembly became nimblequickly, but it was a difficult skill to learn in advance. I have yet to meet a lady who managed it without at least two pairs of ruined dancing slippers.
When the young lady walked beside us, I deftly stuck my arm out and herded her into the middle of our little group.
The child looked panicked, and since I had several sisters her age who were not the least bit sensible, I knew you needed to talk to them the same as a spooked dog or horse. Soft voices… simple commands… yes or no questions. Those were the keys to success.
I whispered loud enough for her to hear but not to be overheard. “Miss…quickly and quietly… are you in distress? Is someone chasing you?”
She looked ready to panic and bolt, but I grabbed her hand reassuringly. “You can trust me. We will allow you no harm.”
The words barely left my mouth before I suspected I might need to retract them, for a half dozen rough-looking men entered the yard at a run. They stopped abruptly and started looking through the crowd—obviously searching for someone. I was not as quick to the mark as Elizabeth, or even my middle sister, Mary—but even I, who tried to see the good in everyone, was reminded of a pack of wolves on the prowl for a wounded deer.
These were bad-bad men, probably looking for my companion.
I have no idea why I was so certain, but I was as sure as could be. I immediately pulled the young girl to my side and dragged her around until she was facing away from the men, hidden behind the maid, then looked for her response.
She still had not answered coherently, so I made doubly certain nobody was looking directly at the men, and quietly asked, “Miss… are you being chased by a group of five or six rough-looking men, apparently led by someone who dresses likea gentleman? He is tall and thin with light brown hair and would probably be handsome if someone wiped the snarl off his face.”
She gasped but still could not speak. So much for my interrogation techniques. “Squeeze my hand once if I am correct… twice for no.”
The single squeeze communicated her assent and nearly broke my fingers.
I noticed the men fanning out to search as the stationmaster yelled, “Five minutes!” a few yards from my ear.
The young lady startled as well. I supposed she understood we would not be there to offer her protection in a couple of minutes.
