Chapter 3 Interception - Georgiana
It took an hour or two for the panic to truly set in!
When I left my leased abode in Ramsgate, it was with trepidation that gradually changed to agitated confusion.
I spent what was probably an hour, but seemed like days, wandering around and trying to work out how to protect myself when I did not know a single trustworthy person in the county.
Wandering alone without a companion would not attract the slightest attention if I were a servant; but I was so obviously not only gentry, but first circles, that I enticed stares wherever I went.
In my imagination, most of those stares were jealous or malicious, and I could not quite bring myself to speak with anyone.
It was so easy to become the target of malicious gossip, and that could do material harm to our family.
It eventually occurred to me that I led a frightfully sheltered existence, which had not in the least small way prepared me for adversity.
For the first fifteen years of my life, the biggest dangers I ever faced were needles, stairs, or horses.
I suppose you could count the jealous tongues of my superiors in school as a danger, but I doubt any servant would agree.
I attacked the problem from every angle, and it kept coming back to reputation.
Despite significant regression under Mrs Younge’s tutelage, I had learnt the rules of propriety at school, and I knew my actions could affect my future marital prospects, and even my brother’s.
Of course, since my brother was eight and twenty without a single sniff of matrimonial intent, I was not convinced it truly mattered.
My reputation, on the other hand, was considered so fragile as to dissolve with the slightest whiff of scandal.
I had always enjoyed someone I could trust to take care of me and expected such to be true throughout my life.
Without any real protection, I was lost for a time.
My faith in both my judgement and my brother’s was at its lowest ebb just when I needed clear thinking.
I quickly concluded I could not trust a single person in my lodgings.
It was a small establishment without the usual butler and housekeeper you would expect for someone of my station.
Since it was only two ladies on a short holiday, it seemed adequate—but with at least some servants and my companion being untrustworthy, I knew I needed something else.
I thought about approaching a shopkeeper, or a gentleman in the street, but was held back by paralysing fear.
It was frightfully easy to start rumours.
With more experience, I suspect it should have taken all of five minutes to work out that all I need do was walk into any shop and ask them to fetch the magistrate—but in my embarrassment, I was unwilling to expose myself.
I na?vely thought I might find a better solution on my own, given time.
Those thoughts came to an abrupt halt when my former beau appeared in front of my lodgings, and I belatedly worked out that my wandering had brought me in a circle back to the worst possible place.
He looked up and down the street, and a few minutes of careful observation from a doorway revealed that he had gathered a gang of rough-looking armed men.
They were spreading out, seemingly searching for me.
This frightened me to death and led to a couple of conclusions.
Firstly, the man had decided the time for subtlety was over.
Secondly, he either had a miniature to show the men, or he had engaged them sometime in the past in case of need.
One of them spied me watching, sent up a shout, and the chase was on. I was still some distance from the blackguard who spotted me, and I could run reasonably fast for a girl; but it was only a matter of time before they caught me.
As I ran, I discarded one idea after another. I could no longer just throw myself on the mercy of a gentleman in the street or shopkeeper with armed men in pursuit. Who would risk himself for me?
I was growing truly desperate when I spied my salvation.
The station looked like an anthill with coaches and people teeming together in an enormous discordant mass.
I knew there was a stationmaster and any number of coachmen and guards.
Once it became clear I must trade my reputation for safety, the choice did not seem so very difficult.
A kidnapping in broad daylight in a crowded yard seemed farfetched, though not impossible.
I could even imagine Mr Wickham posing as a guardian retrieving a recalcitrant sister back to the bosom of her family, and he was just smooth enough that he might get away with it.
At the very least, the altercation would destroy my reputation, but I had no other options.
I dived into the mass of people, looking for anyone with sufficient authority to protect me, and abruptly found myself diverted into a group of women by a lady who knew exactly what to do and how to do it. I was impressed beyond measure!
At first, the woman appeared to be a governess, since she seemed to know exactly how to divert me, calm me, and identify the problem with a dozen words. Ten minutes later I was in a coach leaning down to tie an imaginary shoelace as we left to return to my brother in London.
Once my safety was secure, I started worrying about my reputation, as well as that of the lady who assisted me.
Her style of travel clothes spoke to her being a gentlewoman, though not an overly prosperous one.
I knew most governesses and companions began their lives as impoverished daughters of a gentleman, so I still knew no more than I had when I ran into the station.
She seemed nearly a decade my senior, but I suspected if she removed her bonnet, I would see the most hauntingly beautiful woman I ever met.
Once or twice, I started to speak but she subtly shushed me. The way she managed me led me to believe she was more sensible than average. I also suspected she might have some young and silly sisters and was accustomed to dealing with them but had no idea why I supposed so.
The coach was packed with four adults shoved into a space my brother would consider crowded with two; and there were another three on top. My new companion and I sat in the last two available spaces, facing each other, so even if we wanted to speak it would be to the entire company.
To make matters worse, there was a matron beside us who could compete with my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, for volubility.
She spoke with another woman who served as either travelling companion or hapless victim.
The pair reminded me of the sisters of one of my brother’s friends.
I called them the echo sisters, because Miss Bingley put out an endless stream of chatter about people and places I neither knew nor cared about, while Mrs Hurst simply agreed or echoed everything.
It was as if each morsel of gossip was so vital, she needed to hammer it into my skull.
Worse yet, they considered themselves my brother’s particular friends, so they rarely kept calls to the polite fifteen minutes.
I was too timid, and my brother too polite to throw them out—but I often wished he would.
The end result was two hours without any chance to talk.
I had taken the place of a maid, making me the worst chaperone in the world.
The trip would be ten to fifteen hours long, so both the lady and I were due a long and exhausting day.
She might stay at an inn to break her trip, but she seemed more likely to just get it over with.
Two hours after setting out, I relaxed slightly. We pulled into another busy coaching station, and everyone exited.
The groom yelled loud enough to wake the dead, “TWENTY MINUTES! We depart in twenty minutes with or without you. Do not wander!”
The stage stop was the Tower of Babel. While there were many places with some room to breathe, the immediate area around our coach was packed worse than Ramsgate.
There were two more coaches within twenty yards, with horses and grooms moving around, yelling at each other, and chastising anyone with the poor sense to get in their way.
My companion and I needed refreshment, so we joined a long queue for the privy. Our echo sister from the coach and her victim were right behind us, speaking so much I could barely hear myself think, let alone anything my companion might say.
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 the ton for 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 or she 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 am helping your 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!