Chapter Eighteen #3
They waited until two men carrying a crate had passed, then George led her quickly across the first open stretch of floor and behind a stack of barrels.
From there they moved in short bursts, waiting for the shifting activity of the warehouse to give them some cover before slipping from one hiding place to the next.
Once they crouched behind a stack of tea chests for so long that Bella's legs began to ache, and another time a man stopped on the other side of a pile of barrels to discuss the unloading of a wagon while she sat with one hand pressed over her own mouth, terrified that the rustle of her skirts or the sound of her breathing would betray them.
George seemed able to read the movement of the room in a way she could not, watching where men were looking and anticipating where they would go next before risking another dash.
At last they reached a row of taller crates near the far side of the warehouse and Bella saw a narrow door perhaps twenty yards away.
Their freedom was in touching distance. Bella felt George shift beside her and immediately tightened her grip on his hand.
She felt his body tense as if he were readying to run when a voice sounded from somewhere behind them, asking where Harry had got to.
Another man replied that he was still with the prisoners, only for the first to complain that he should have returned ten minutes ago and that Sly wanted everyone out front.
Bella felt George go still beside her. A muttered reply followed, then footsteps began moving towards the passage they had just left.
George caught her by the waist and pulled her into the narrow gap between the crates and the wall, pressing them both into darkness just as two men passed the end of the row.
Bella scarcely dared breathe. George was half in front of her, one arm braced against the wall to keep his weight from crushing her, while through a slim gap between the crates she could see the men crossing towards the cell passage.
If they reached the locked room and discovered the guards inside, every person in the warehouse would know their prisoners had escaped.
One of the men stopped and turned his head. "Thought I heard something."
His companion barely glanced around. "Rats."
"Big bloody rat."
"Come on. Sly's already in a mood."
They moved away again and Bella remained pressed against the wall until George finally lowered his head and murmured that they had perhaps a minute before the guards were found. That was not as reassuring as he seemed to think it was.
They slipped from hiding and crossed the next stretch quickly, but before they could reach the side door a burst of shouting erupted behind them.
Bella could not make out the words, although she had no need to.
Several heads turned towards the rear passage and one man threw down the crate he had been carrying with an almighty clatter.
Then Trevethan's clipped tones carried above the commotion. "Find them!"
George's hand closed more tightly around hers and he hurried her the last few yards.
The door was barred with a heavy length of wood, wedged tightly into iron brackets.
George seized one end and Bella the other, and together they lifted.
For several terrifying seconds it refused to move, then came free so suddenly that George nearly lost his grip.
Bella caught her end against her hip before it could strike the floor, pain shooting through her side, but held on long enough for him to steady it.
Behind them someone shouted that the prisoners were gone.
George wrenched the door open and cold evening air rushed over Bella's face.
They stumbled out into a yard cluttered with carts, empty barrels and stacks of timber and had barely taken three steps when the warehouse door behind them crashed open.
George pulled her between two carts and down behind a pile of old sacking, where they crouched together while several men ran past no more than a few feet away.
Bella could hear one of them telling the others to check the road, followed by another voice swearing that they could not have gone far.
They waited until the voices had moved away, then George lifted his head carefully and surveyed the yard.
A narrow gap ran between the warehouse and the building beside it, barely wide enough for one person at a time, and they slipped into it as quickly as they could.
Bella had to turn sideways where the walls drew closest and gather her skirts in both hands to stop them catching on broken nails or rough stone.
Somewhere behind them another shout went up, followed by the slam of a door, and she hurried faster.
The passage opened into a second yard, darker and apparently empty, but they had scarcely crossed half of it when a man stepped from behind a stack of barrels and stared directly at them. He blinked at them as if trying to understand what he was seeing. Then George caught Bella's hand and ran.
The man shouted after them as they tore across the yard and through an open gate.
Bella's skirts wrapped around her legs, her shoes slipped on the uneven ground, but she kept running.
They plunged into a narrow lane between two buildings, took one turning and then another, Bella no longer having the faintest idea where they were.
Footsteps sounded behind them and George pulled her onwards, faster now, until they burst from the lane onto a broader road and crossed it at once.
A low stone wall ran along the other side and George drew her down behind it, both of them crouching in the dirt as two men ran past on the road beyond.
One stopped almost directly opposite them and asked which way they had gone.
His companion swore and told him to split up.
Bella pressed both hands over her mouth and tried desperately to quiet her breathing until the footsteps separated and faded.
They stayed where they were for several more moments before George looked carefully over the top of the wall.
When he finally nodded, they climbed over and crossed a scrubby stretch of ground, keeping low until the road disappeared behind them.
Beyond it lay another narrow track bordered by hedges and rough stone, and they followed it until the warehouse was no longer visible and the shouts had faded into the distance.
They were on a quiet street lined by small houses and it suddenly felt as if they were the only people in the world.
Only then did George stop. Bella bent forward, fighting to catch her breath.
She still wore George’s coat but her dress was filthy beneath it, one sleeve torn near the shoulder and the whole streaked with mud.
Her hair was a hopeless tangle and she could feel dirt on her cheek, while George looked little better, with bruises in vivid shades of purple and green across his face and his shirt ripped and filthy.
They stared at one another, both still breathing hard, and then Bella began to laugh. "We escaped," she said, her body shaking and breath escaping in wheezing pants. "We actually escaped."
George laughed too then, shaking his head as though he could scarcely believe it himself. "You have a knack for violence, Princess."
"I am not sure that is a character trait most accomplished young ladies aspire to..."
"You are decidedly not most accomplished young ladies."
Bella smiled at him and he smiled back, his dimple winking. They stood there grinning at one another like idiots for what felt like several minutes before George's features softened. His eyes darkened and he licked his lips nervously.
"I do not quite know how to put it into words, Princess. These have been the most unusual and terrifying few days of my life, but also some of the most glorious."
Bella stepped towards him, reaching out almost without thinking, and he took her hands in his and drew her closer.
This time, when he kissed her it was achingly sweet and slow.
He ran his thumbs over her cheeks as he tenderly took possession of her mouth, his stubble rasping against her skin most pleasantly, and when he finally pulled back she felt as though she had woken from some wonderful dream, blurry and satisfied and still a little lost in the magic of it.
George kissed her gently on the forehead. "We should get you home, Miss Darcy of the Pemberley Darcys."
Bella laughed, but she was not ready to leave the dream quite yet. She caught hold of the tattered front of his shirt and pulled him back to her, pressing her lips to his and pouring all the feelings she could not quite name into the kiss.
"Oh, Bella," he murmured when they parted, his hands still holding her close. "You have my heart. You are my heart. Do I have yours?"
Before she could answer, there was a loud cough behind them and they jumped apart.
"MISS ARABELLA JANE DARCY." The voice boomed across the road and Bella knew who would be standing there before she even turned.
She slowly spun on her heel, noticing George take several prudent steps away from her as she did so. She found her mother and father standing behind them with a group of men she did not recognise, all of whom appeared to have developed a sudden and intense interest in their shoes.