She put her mouth near my ear to whisper, “We must guard our privacy. We can perform introductions at the next stop. For the moment, let us make certain we get back on the coach. Whoever was chasing you may not be far behind.”
I nodded, wondering at the propriety, let alone safety, of two ladies travelling alone. My brother would have an apoplexy if he knew I was travelling by post with only a single companion—but then again, since he had engaged Mrs Younge, I was not convinced I wanted to trust his judgement as implicitly as I had a few hours earlier. He did not appear quite so infallible.
Four times during that first dozen minutes, while fighting our way to the privy, we tried to at least exchange names, and each time we were jostled by another passenger, a boy, or an urchin looking to pick up a wallet or reticule. One of the little vermin nearly knocked my companion to the ground and we finally gave up in disgust.
We eventually separated ourselves from the echo sisters, the urchins, the grooms, and assorted riffraff, to an island of quiet, a dozen yards from the coach, that we might at least manage introductions.
Just as I started to curtsey and give my name, a Darcy coach pulled to a stop two dozen yards in front of me.I could not believe my eyes!I hoped my happiness and relief showed on my face, but more likely my agitation and torment from the hours of distress made a more marked appearance with the relief of finally being in my brother’s protection.
Once again, my tongue failed as my brother, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, stepped down. He did not see me at first, but a footman pointed out my presence, and he turned toward me with a terribly startled expression. I do not know what look I had on my countenance, but my brother’s was unmistakably thunderous. I should point out that most people think my brother looks frightening when he is at his leisure. He has been the target of every matchmaking mercenary in thetonfor a decade, and a fierce scowl was a useful tool. I occasionally wondered if I would scowl similarly after I entered society.
When he saw me standing, presumably alone, among a sea of people he would not ordinarily deign to even acknowledge; his face grew downright thunderous, and he marched over at nearly a run.
My companion noticed the commotion, her eyes followed me to my brother, and her face turned white, presumably at his fierce expression. At least, I presumed so because his thunderous countenance made even me want to cry, when he was my own beloved brother. She likely thought he was one of the scoundrels chasing me, as she took my arm and started pulling me hard towards the coach with alacrity.
I began to to correct her, but Fitzwilliam beat me to it.
“YOU!” he bellowed. “RELEASE HER! Who are you and what are you doing with my sister twenty miles from where she belongs? ANSWER ME!”
My rescuer looked back and forth between myself and Fitzwilliam a couple of times, but he either frightened her orshe was not particularly willing to say her name before a crowd staring at us like an exhibit in the menagerie.
I squeaked, “Brother—”
He snarled even more menacingly. “Answer me! Now! Or perhaps, you prefer to speak with the magistrate.”
Alarmed, I yelled, “BROTHER! You have it all wrong! She is—”
The lady startled, then relaxed when I called him ‘brother.’ Brothers can be good or bad, so I do not know what she made of mine—aside from her frown, which could have cracked stone.
She said, “I amhelpingyour sister, and you would be well advised to lower your voice, sir!”
That was probably the wrong move since my brother occasionally has a bad temper, he hates to be told what to do, and he suffers from overbearing pride and implacable resentment. He has been known to say his good opinion, once lost, is lost forever—almost as if he was boasting about it like his friend boasts of his bad penmanship. (I will never understand men).
With a growl of frustration, I pulled my arm from her hand, walked over to him, shook his arm to try to get the lunkhead’s attention, and snapped, “BROTHER… you must listen to me!”
Fitzwilliam had his blood up, because he swept me to the side, and continued on my companion. “I can imagine no proper way to understand your presence accompanied by a stranger. Account for yourself, or so help me—”
I have no idea what other nonsense he was likely to spout in the few seconds remaining before I smacked him in the head with my reticule, but the rest of our passengers had already boarded while he was being disagreeable.
An agent spoke to my companion loud enough to be heard a dozen yards away.“Time to go, miss!”
Her eyes darted around like a frightened horse, which was understandable enough since she had just helped me escape a half-dozen ruffians, only to encounter my brother, who only made things worse. They briefly landed on our coach’s crest, which could serve as a sign proclaiming we were rich and connected (presuming she could not intuit it from the equipage, clothing, and quantity of grooms).
She met my gaze, and to be honest, I was preparing to berate my brother, but in a manner she probably interpreted to mean I was safe enough among family.
She glared at Fitzwilliam, grimaced again, and turned back to the agent.
He obviously was not a man to be messed about. He yelled, “IN or OUT, miss!”
With a sigh, she snapped, “IN,” and ran the dozen yards like a wood nymph to jump into the coach without assistance or a backward glance. The agent slammed the door churlishly, the whip sounded, and the coach was in motion before my brother even finished his now-empty threat.
I waited until we had some privacy before ringing a peal over his head—but ring it, I did… long and loud!
4.Contingency- Jane
The first two hours of the trip seemed so familiar, as if listening to Mama and Lydia gossiping about officers.
I will admit to some consternation as we walked out of the coaching station at Ramsgate. I had traded a sensible maid of middling years, substantial girth, and fearsome countenance for a child of perhaps fifteen who was afraid of her own shadow, being chased by ruffians. It was not much of a trade, but I did not regret the change—not really. Had we a few more minutes to think about it, my aunt and I would have worked out something more appropriate, but given the look of the men, I was not sorry for my actions. My uncle would be, but I was not. Of course, my father would think it a great joke and ignore it—in the unlikely event I even told him.
