Chapter 1 #2
“I shall hold Josephine,” Lydia announced, scooping the cat into her arms. “She dislikes the draft.”
“Go,” Elizabeth said sharply.
The descent was a slow, terrifying shuffle.
Elizabeth took one step, bracing her boots against the wood, then Jane lowered the stranger's weight onto Elizabeth's shoulders whilst Mary, from above, physically placed the stranger's slippers onto the rungs.
The wood groaned under their combined weight.
Outside, the wind hammered against the barn siding, a constant, roaring reminder of the terror they were sheltering her from.
When they finally reached the stone floor of the threshing room, Elizabeth's arms burnt with strain. They did not stop. When her legs still would not support her, they half-carried, half-dragged the stranger past the stalls toward the heavy oak door of the tack room at the rear of the barn.
The Tack Room
“Open it,” Jane gasped, shifting her grip on the stranger's waist.
Kitty threw the latch.
The tack room was small, windowless, and smelt intensely of saddle soap, oiled leather, and wood smoke. It was not warm, exactly, but the small iron stove in the corner radiated enough heat to take the bite out of the air.
“Girls, please clear the bench,” Elizabeth ordered.
Mary swept a pile of bridles and curry combs onto the floor, and together they lowered the stranger onto the wooden bench. She slumped against the wall, her eyes closing, her breathing shallow and ragged.
“She needs heat, but not too fast,” Jane said, her tone falling into the soothing cadence she used when one of them was ill. She knelt and began to unbutton the ruined, muddy pelisse. “Lydia, the carriage rug.”
Lydia, having deposited Josephine on a saddle rack, shook out the heavy wool blanket they had brought down. She wrinkled her nose. “It smells of horses.”
“Better that than the cold,” Mary replied, taking the corner of the blanket.
They stripped the wet outer garments from the stranger, revealing a gown of fine muslin that was damp with sweat and melted snow. Jane wrapped her in the carriage rug, chafing the stranger's hands between her own to restore circulation. The girl groaned, “It stings so terribly.”
“We need warm water,” Jane said, glancing up at Elizabeth. “Tea. Or broth. Something to warm her from within.”
“The kitchen is full of servants,” Kitty worried, wringing her hands. “If Hill sees us taking a tray...”
“Lydia,” Elizabeth said, turning to her youngest sister.
Lydia's eyes brightened. She loved a scheme.
“Go to the kitchen,” Elizabeth instructed. “Tell Hill that we are bored to death in the house and have decided to play cards in the tack room to escape Mamma's nerves. Tell her we require a full tea tray, the ham from luncheon, and a jug of hot water for the pot.”
“And macaroons,” Lydia added.
“If you can get them,” Elizabeth agreed. “But be quick. If anyone asks why we are shouting or moving about... tell them we are rehearsing a play.”
Lydia grinned, a flash of white teeth in the gloom. “I shall be the soul of deception.” She grabbed a shawl and darted out into the main barn.
The silence that followed her departure was heavy. Mary moved to the stove, feeding a few lumps of coal into the grate with a pair of iron tongs. The clatter of the metal echoed in the small room.
Elizabeth paced to the door. She lifted the heavy oak bar and dropped it into the iron brackets. The thud of the wood locking into place echoed.
“There,” Elizabeth said. “We are secure.”
She turned back to the room. The stranger had not moved. She sat wrapped in the grey wool, staring unseeingly at the glowing grate of the stove. Josephine had curled up beside her.
“Do you like novels?” Mary asked abruptly.
The stranger blinked at Mary as if she had spoken in Greek.
Mary reached into the deep pocket of her apron and produced a small, battered volume. “I have The Vicar of Wakefield. I find it soothing when my nerves are overtaxed. I can read aloud if you wish.”
The stranger stared at the book, then at Mary's earnest face. A fresh tear spilled over her lashes. “I... I have read it. It is very fine.” Her words were torn apart by violent shivering, her teeth chattering so fiercely that the sounds scarce formed into sense.
“The second chapter is the best,” Mary stated, sitting on an overturned crate. “It speaks of the comforts of the fireside.”
Elizabeth stood by them—Jane gently chafing the stranger's frozen feet, Mary opening her book, Kitty nervously organising the bridles on the wall to stay busy. Domesticity in the midst of crisis.
Elizabeth pulled a wooden stool close to the bench. She sat down, bringing her face level with the stranger's. “You are safe here. The bar is down. No one enters unless we lift it.”
The stranger stared at the door, her eyes tracing the thickness of the oak bar. “He is terribly strong,” she whispered. “He is angry.”
“We are five,” Elizabeth replied. “We are on our own land.”
A scratching at the door made them all jump. The stranger gave a sharp gasp, shrinking back against the wall.
“Open up!” Lydia's muffled call came through the wood. “The wind is stealing the heat from the teapot!”
Elizabeth lifted the bar. Lydia tumbled in, shaking snow from her hood, balancing a heavy wooden tray laden with a teapot, a loaf of bread, a wedge of ham, a bottle of hot water and a plate of Cook's macaroons.
“Hill was suspicious,” Lydia recounted breathlessly, setting the tray on a saddle stand. “She asked why we needed so much ham for a card game. I told her Mary gets vast hunger pangs when she loses.”
Mary glanced up from her book, offended. “I do not.”
“It worked,” Lydia shrugged, snatching a macaroon.
Jane tucked the bottle of hot water at the girl’s feet and then poured a cup of tea, the steam rising in curling ribbons. She held it to the stranger's lips. “Drink. Slowly.”
The stranger took a sip. Then another. The warmth loosened the rigid tension in her jaw. She surveyed the small, cluttered room—at the bridles hanging like garlands, the glowing stove, the five sisters.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Do not thank us yet,” Elizabeth said, her eyes on the door. The wind outside had changed pitch, howling with a new ferocity. “Eat your bread. You will need your strength.”
She did not say for the fight, but they all understood.
Elizabeth moved back to the door. She did not sit. She stood with her hand resting near the pitchfork she had leant against the wall, listening to the storm, waiting for the sound of hoofbeats she knew were coming.
Planning and Resolve
“I fear we must move her to-night. It grows colder and we cannot keep the fire lit out here,” Elizabeth said, addressing her sisters.
“Where might we take her?” Lydia asked, glancing at the stranger.
“Not to a guest room. It would not do for Mamma to know about her. She would be far too ready to talk of it,” Mary said.
“The attics?” Kitty said.
“The chimney does not provide much warmth, and the boards creak abominably,” Lydia said.
“She needs a bed and a fire,” Jane said.
“The nursery,” Elizabeth said. “On the third floor, at the far end of the schoolroom. It has not been used in years and is well away from the family rooms.”
“It will require getting her into the house and up all those stairs by stealth. How can we pass through without Mamma seeing?” Lydia asked.
“Our parents are engaged to dine with the Gouldings this evening. They will be away from the house for several hours.” Elizabeth said.
“All of us are expected to attend,” Jane added. “If two of us claim headaches and remain behind—”
“Elizabeth and Mary,” Kitty said, understanding immediately. “Mamma will not mind terribly if they are absent.”
Mary nodded. “She finds my conversation tedious and thinks Lizzy too sharp for company. She will be content if Jane is there to manage her, and you two to provide liveliness.”
“The servants will take their evening meal whilst the family is away,” Jane explained. “That is when you must carry it out. There will be perhaps half an hour when the kitchen and servants' hall are fully occupied.”
“Half an hour to move her from here to the nursery,” Lydia said slowly. “We must have every thing in place beforehand.”
“We wrap her in the carriage rug like a bundle of linens,” Elizabeth said. “Up the back stairs. If any one sees, it will appear that we are carrying household goods.”
“It will be cold up there,” Jane worried.
“We shall need to lay a fire and smuggle up coal, blankets, and candles before we move her,” Elizabeth said. “Everything must be in place before we venture to move her. All under some pretence that will not be questioned.”
“As easily as I manage to bring the remains of the cake to my chamber after tea,” Lydia said, with a quick smile.
Mary frowned. “Which you ought not to do.”
“That is why it answers,” Lydia returned. “No one looks twice at me going up and down stairs with plates and parcels. They think me frivolous, not secretive.”
“This afternoon, whilst the household is busy with preparations,” Elizabeth said. “Mary and I can carry up what we need under the pretence of looking for old playthings for a charity basket.”
“What about moving her?” Jane asked. “She can scarcely walk.”
“Between the two of us, we can manage,” Elizabeth said. “She is slight, and we need only get her up the stairs and through the schoolroom.”
“What if someone hears?” the stranger asked quietly from the bench. “What if I make some sound, or—”
“You will not,” Elizabeth said firmly. “We shall move quickly and quietly. Yet you are right to think of such things.” She turned to her sisters.
“We must ensure the house is as empty as may be this afternoon. Jane, Kitty, Lydia—you will need to keep Mamma occupied. Take her calling, perhaps, or suggest she visit the shops.”
“She has been wanting new lace for a cap,” Kitty offered.
“Excellent. And Papa?”
“Will be in his library,” Mary said certainly. “He always is in the afternoons.”