I took her hands and looked to the rest of my party. They seemed to understand what was happening but felt no compulsion to stick their noses in someone else’s business. It was an attitude with much to recommend it, so long as ‘someone else’ was not me. That said, I knew when I hooked the girl into our circle, I was making her problem into my own, but that was what big sisters were for. I could no more look away than I could fly.
I whispered, “Those men appear to search for you. Can you tell me why?”
She sputtered as I did my best to surreptitiously watch the men and rearrange our little group to keep her facing away. One big advantage of bonnets was that, unless someone knew exactly which one you were wearing, they would need to be in front and fairly close to recognise a lady—presuming said lady kept her nerve and did not give herself away with fidgeting. I considered myself a world-renowned authority on fidgeting and thought I could probably keep the girl in check for a few minutes. Her bonnet was nondescript enough to not stand out.
She sputtered a half-incoherent answer. “The man is my father’s godson, but he seems to have turned evil. He hasbeen courting me for weeks with my companion’s permission, and what Ithoughtwas my guardian’s acquiescence. Just three hours ago, I worked out that he is in league with my companion to obtain my dowry. They forged letters from my brother, so I doubt he knows anything.”
The blood drained from my face, and the same look appeared on my aunt’s. She had obviously been around long enough to understand better than I, but such an egregious violation was bad enough in my world.
“Just to be clear… you somehow discovered the plot this morning and took to the streets on foot?”
She squeezed once, and it seemed likely I would have to stick with short and simple questions and answers.
“Is there anyone in Ramsgate you trust to protect you? If so, we can see you safely delivered to them… somehow,” I asked, though I was sceptical since the poor girl, who was presently shaking like a leaf, would have gone to her protector straightaway if she knew of one.
She shook her head, and, catching sight of one of the ruffians out of the corner of her eye, ducked her head away from him.
I hissed, “Miss! Did you ever listen to men talking about hunting? The eye seeks movement, especially quick ones. I applaud your stealth but move slowly. Subtlety is the key to survival.”
She nodded, though whether in acknowledgment or nervousness was unclear.
I thought furiously. We were in the unfortunate position of being a gaggle of females in a sea of humanity. Reputations were made and broken with a few words overheard, so a long discussion about the whys and wherefores was ill-advised. In truth, I did not even want any names spoken in such company—mine or hers. I wanted to strictly limit how much of herproblems I took upon myself. While I had taken her under my wing, I still had four sisters I was responsible for.
“Why is there nobody you can trust here?”
A violent shudder went through her, but she managed to regain her composure. “My companion replaced much of the staff at our lodgings and it is a short lease anyway.”
I saw the conundrum. A corrupt companion need not even replace most of the servants. Just one or two burly but compromised footmen may as well be an invading army.
I looked to my aunt to see if she had anything to suggest and noticed people boarding the coach while the coachman looked on impatiently. It seemed we were running out of time. Neither my aunt nor my father would be enthusiastic about my missing the coach and having to buy another ticket; and I certainly could not make my impetuous rescue become my aunt’s problem, even if she would accept it, which seemed unlikely.
Aunt Blackmore apparently paid attention because she asked, “Where is your guardian?”
“London.”
My aunt smiled slyly. “You are in luck. This coach leaves for London in two minutes. My maid planned to chaperone my niece to her uncle’s house, but you can perform the office just as well.”
Aunt and maid smiled at the neatness of the solution, while the young lady stared in wonder and confusion. The maid took hold of the girl while my aunt pushed me toward the coach. I admit I was impressed by their decisiveness. In my mother’s house, decisions take days and action weeks.
As my aunt led me to the coach, she leaned down to whisper, “Fear not. Nothing on the road is as fast as a post coach. Even if those ruffians recognise the lady, they have little chance of catching up. Stick close to the coach at the transfer stations and you should be safe to London. Your uncle’s man will be waiting,so take her to your uncle’s home and allow him to return the lady to her guardian.”
I nodded and would have given her a hug, but she was not that type of aunt. “Thank you for all you have done for me, Aunt.”
“I was happy to have you. Come back next year if the men in your village are still as stupid as they appear. I cannot promise a husband, but some amusement should be within my reach.”
That sounded so much like what Lizzy would say that I started feeling homesick. I gave proper goodbyes to my aunt’s companion and maid while the young lady climbed into the coach and sat in the rear-facing seat closest to the door. We were the last to board, so a minute or two later the coach was walking from the station, and in no time at all, we were making good time down the road to London.
What my aunt said was partially true. Nobody really beat post coaches over the long haul because they changed horses very quickly every ten to twenty miles. However, a man who left immediately and pushed his horse hard could get to the first changing station ahead of or only slightly behind us. I thought we were probably safe but planned to follow my aunt’s advice and stay close to the coachman and the armed guard.
As we left the station with the unknown girl sitting across from me looking forlorn, I wondered if I could convince the other passengers to move around so I could sit beside her. In our present positions, we could not speak with even a modicum of privacy. If we were close together, we could whisper—not that it would be much of an improvement in a coach built for speed over comfort.
I was reminded of something my sister Mary said. By that, I mean one phrase in the middle of an onslaught of drivel from Reverend Fordyce, which might actually be true, but itset my teeth on edge when she lectured us. She said, ‘A lady’s reputation is no less brittle than it is beautiful.’
While most of what she said in her tirade was unhelpful, that bit of wisdom stuck with me. As gently born women, we were expected to marry well, or at least adequately. My mother often complained we would starve in the hedgerows if one of her daughters (namely me) did not marry a wealthy man. A tarnished reputation of any of her daughters could cast shame on all the sisters. Yes, yes, I know—it is a stupid system, but it is the society we live in.
These thoughts burned in my mind as we left Ramsgate behind. The young lady across from me could be seriously harmed if knowledge of her flight, her proposed elopement, (or even being alone with that man) became known. In our society, being a female victim was worse for your reputation than being a male criminal. Worse yet,myreputation, or even my sisters’, could be harmed byhersupposed indiscretions.
The result of these societal rules was that I did not want anything about the morning’s exertions to become known to anyone. I imagined the girl’s guardian needed to know, but as far as I was concerned, I did not want him to even know my name, let alone where I lived. We would deliver her to her guardian, and my Uncle Gardiner would give him an earful or not as he chose.
