The girl bent over to fuss with her shoelaces as we walked out of the yard, which indicated she at least had more sense than my own fifteen-year-old sister—though it should be noted that the average donkey does as well. I was relatively certain we had not been seen exiting the station, so I remained half-confident we were safe enough. Naturally, a hundred things could happen to a coach in a twelve-hour drive, so there was still some danger, whether the men gave chase or not.
I sat across from the young girl, so we could not speak; not that I would have given my name in such a closed space anyway. I took the forward-facing seat with my companion directly across. A pair of women faced each other on my left who reminded me of my mother and some of her compatriots. The first lady spent the entire time gossiping about people and places I doubted anybody cared about, while her companion (or victim—I could not determine) sat across from her, either agreeing with or echoing the more voluble one. Ignoring their chatterwas easy enough, since it so closely resembled what passed for conversation in Longbourn’s parlour.
When we came to the first stop, I remembered my aunt’s warning clearly. It was at least possible our antagonists could catch up, but it would become increasingly unlikely if we kept moving at the usual pace. That supposition, combined with the warning from the coachman that they would leave in twenty minutes with or without us, caused me to keep my companion close and my eyes nervously looking for the ruffians. We tried several times to at least introduce each other after we used the necessary, but were rudely, and occasionally criminally, jostled before we could manage it. Never in my life had doing such a simple thing as an introduction been so difficult.
We were being chivvied back to the coach by one of the station grooms when the shiniest, most beautiful, most clearly expensive coach I had ever seen rolled into the yard about thirty paces from me. The well-dressed, liveried footman perched on the back step startled at the view of my companion, but I was distracted by the station’s groom pushing the passengers back into the coach. They were serious about their schedule, and it had been impressed upon me several times that they left on time.
When I returned my attention to the new coach, quite the handsomest man I had ever seen marched over toward us. He was just the sort of man my sister Elizabeth favoured: tall, black hair, and embarrassingly handsome; but the expression on his face could split wood or curdle milk. He seemed furious at finding my companion there. I had no idea who the man was, but the theory that he was the ringleader of the rough men did not seem impossible. I had heard vague rumours of wealthy men who preyed on women by the dozen, though I had no idea if they were true or just sensationalism.
The handsome brute immediately set my teeth on edge by assuming I was kidnapping my companion, who appeared to be his sister, or perhaps she was being naughty and I was assisting.
He started in on me with a voice that would have frightened me to death if it did not sound so much like my mother’s. If he followed her example, the threatening tone would show more bark than bite. On the other hand, one glance at his carriage showed him to be a man whose valet carried more in his coin purse than my father made in a year. He was clearly a man who expected answers, and obviously had no compunctions about throwing his weight around.
I glanced between the man and my rescued waif in consternation.Her attemptsto get his attention with every move short of the smack on the head he deserved finally revealed him to be her brother. Of course, having no experience with brothers (alas—four sisters), I vaguely knew there were both good and bad ones. I had less than a minute to determine if this was the sort I could release my charge to.
In the end, it was easy. The angry brother kept accosting me while my waif tried to talk sense to him. He was having none of it, but she was obviously not afraid. She wasfrustrated, but unafraid.
When the groom lost patience and yelled it was time, I became anxious, since I did not have enough money to buy another ticket, nor did I want to cool my heals there. I was a friendless, penniless, powerless female, far from home, facing off against a rich as Croesus swell with a bad temper.
It took but a second to consider my duty to the silly child complete, since nothing but my good heart made me help her in the first place. It took mere seconds to turn thought to action by running like the wind to jump in the coach.
As I left the station, I stared straight forward, not willing to let the man get a better look at me. There is somethingvery frightening about being threatened with the magistrate. Common sense suggests any magistrate worth his salt would side with me and reprimand him, but my limited experience in life had never convinced me there was a surfeit of common sense or fairness among men.
As I moved farther and farther away from the altercation, I wondered how the young girl would handle the situation. Would she ring a peal over her brother’s head, or meekly accept his censure? Would she tell the whole story or omit selective bits? Would she laud me or blame me? The latter question seemed like it could only have one possible answer, until I considered my own sister who was about the same age. If Lydia were placed in the same situation, she would have three scapegoats identified before leaving the first station, and I might well be at the top of the list.
In the end, I decided there was little point in worrying about it. The chances of meeting either of them again was vanishingly small; they were easily recognisable, so avoiding them if we ever did happen to be in the same room should be child’s play.
I spent the next half hour daydreaming about the young girl giving the brute a scold. The dream was pleasing, though admittedly unlikely.
It was eighty miles from Ramsgate to Gracechurch Street. A mail coach makes about nine miles per hour, so the journey takes nine to ten hours. They do not tarry, changing horses frequently and quickly; they do not allow time for passengers to eat. I carried a small basket the maid had prepared for the journey. We left just after eleven, so I expected to arrive around eight. It was late for travelling, but not absurdly so. A private ball, which I had yet to experience, would not even start until nine and frequently went ‘til dawn. Young ladies of thetonmightdo those three or four times a week during their season, so I was not pushing things too far—if I was accompanied.
Doing sounaccompaniedwas far less acceptable, but the die was cast so there was nothing to do about it. With seven passengers, it was not as if I werealone!I imagined the lackadaisical brother would not be the only person receiving some chastisement that day, though nobody would give a second thought to sending a maid alone by coach. The guard was armed, and even though his only responsibility was protecting the mail, it was enough to dissuade most mischief.
The rest of the trip was rather tedious. It consisted of endless hours of being bounced here and there, listening to the endless droning of our fellow passengers. The two noisy women were exchanged for two men who looked like merchants about four hours from London. This might have made me exceedingly nervous, except I had invited a woman sitting outside in the half-price seats to take advantage of the wasted ticket, so she served as my chaperone. I never did get her name nor really speak with her, but the arrangement was to both of our advantages. We shared food we both carried, and we both spent some of the hours working to pass the time, but mostly it was just something to endure.
Mr Cyrus, my uncle’s coachman, met me at the door when I arrived and we made to Gracechurch Street in another half-hour.
The children had already gone to bed, which was convenient as I felt compelled to explain why I arrived without a maid. My uncle did not particularly care for the turn of events, but he told me he had learnt a lesson early on from his father that he could never teach his sister (my mother), despite considerable effort. He hoped to have better luck with me, so I listened with rapt attention.
“There is no profit in whingeing about things you cannot change, but there is also no improvement if you do not squeeze any difficult situation for all it can teach you. Learn from the past then let it go.”
I took that to mean he was not about to make me listen to the harangue the child’s brother was receiving in my dreams, though probably not in reality.
Uncle Gardiner asked if I could draw a picture of the crest, which I could not. With that, we decided we had no way to make any further inquiries, and no compelling reason to involve ourselves in another family’s personal business, so we considered the matter closed.
I returned to Longbourn a fortnight later and told the story to my sister Elizabeth under a vow of secrecy. Ladies' reputations are astonishingly fragile, and I had not the slightest desire to tempt fate, so Lizzy and I decided not to tell either of our parents, and we most certainly did not tell any of our sisters.
Lizzy finally went to sleep with the matter firmly in the past, never to be discussed again.
I went to sleep with rather uncharacteristically dark thoughts.
"If I ever meet this bad-tempered, lackadaisical brother, I will certainly tell him my thoughts, and he will not enjoy the experience"
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5.Coincidence- Elizabeth
. . . The girls grieved over such a number of ladies, but were comforted the day before the ball by hearing, that instead of twelve he brought only six with him from London—his five sisters and a cousin. And when the party entered the assembly room it consisted of only five altogether Bingley, his two sisters, the husband of the eldest, and another young man.
