13 #2
Luckily, she had a small amount of money put safely away in a drawer. There was certainly not the twenty guineas that Grace had mentioned, but it was all she had. Wrapping it carefully in a silk square, she sat on her bed for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts into some sort of semblance.
If her mother had been at home she would have gone to her and explained.
She had often heard Elizabeth Darcy discussing the plight of unmarried mothers with her Aunt Jane.
They both felt strongly that it was wrong when all the blame was placed on the shoulders of the poor girls concerned and none on the men who had obviously played their part!
Why, only this August, when an Act had been passed in Parliament, forbidding the keeping of slaves in parts of the British Empire, she had heard her mama say to her father that it was a pity that the same sense of care could not be offered to young women who fell from grace.
Yes, her mother would have gone with Jane to find Grace.
She might not have given her money, but she would have had a plan to make her life easier.
Well, she wasn’t here and tomorrow would be too late because Grace would have vanished into the depths of the country to an unknown fate and future.
No, it was up to Jane to at least pave her way with a few miserable guineas.
Hastily, she changed her embroidered velvet cloak for the plain, sensible one she wore when visiting the poor, donned a pair of sturdy boots and casting aside her blue feathered hat, she found a disgraceful, squashed, old bonnet that had been left on a shelf for many years.
There was no doubt in her mind that her parents would be horrified if they knew what she was about to do and, even more importantly, they would be distressed.
To venture out into town without anyone knowing where she was going—she could not think of another time she had ever done such a thing, could not remember a time when she was growing up when she would have even dreamt of doing anything so foolhardy.
She fastened the bonnet strings tightly under her chin. The days of her being scared and compliant had vanished when she had gone to the Green Man to rescue Tabitha without asking anyone’s permission!
For a moment or two she was tempted to ring for James and require him to accompany her, but she resisted.
Even if she made it clear to her parents that she had ordered the young footman to do her biding, she knew they would see it as a dreadful dereliction of his duty.
They would expect him to refuse, to at least tell the housekeeper what had transpired.
And if he did go with her, then he could easily lose his position as a result.
No, it was best that she and she alone took on the responsibility of her actions.
Matlock House lay peaceful and quiet as Jane crept down the stairs.
The servants were using the Darcys’ absence for several hours as a chance to rest, so the footman who was usually on duty in the hall was sitting contentedly drinking tea in the kitchen.
From the drawing room she could hear the sounds of Bennetta’s piano playing.
In seconds the latch to the front door was lifted and she was out on the street.
Archer Maitland had no idea why he had ridden back to his offices, dismounted, handed his horse over to the groom in charge of the nearby stables, then immediately taken the reins back and swung himself into the saddle once more.
He had headed back across the city in the late afternoon towards a quiet square which seemed far away from the noisy, bustling streets full of carriages, carts, hawkers crying their wares, muffin men, hot chestnut sellers, beggars, ladies of dubious intent and pickpockets lurking, waiting for opportunities to come their way.
Dusk was falling—mid October and it was already nearly dark.
He had no plan of what he intended to do once he reached Matlock House.
He would call on the Darcys, perhaps repeat the invitation to Anne and Bennetta that he had already given Jane—to inspect his new offices and suggest improvements in furnishings and fittings.
If he saw Jane—he would apologise for leaving her so abruptly in the Arcade. He was anxious that they remain friends, even if they could never be anything more.
The pale perfection of her face, her eyes the blue of the sky in early morning, the fair hair that fell like spun gilt across her shoulders, all cascaded through his mind until he realised with a jolt and an automatic tug on the reins that brought his mount to a halt that the reality was within his view.
Jane Darcy was hurrying down the steps outside Matlock House and, pulling her cape hood over her head, she walked swiftly towards the hansom cab rank that stood in one of the streets leading into the square.
Archer stared after her in consternation.
Of course there was no reason she should not be out on some perfectly acceptable errand.
It was only late afternoon—an appointment with a dressmaker, perhaps—a sudden shopping trip to buy more embroidery silks, or paints for her landscapes?
But if so, where was her maid or footman?
He knew only too well, from all Anne had told him and from what he had gathered from his own observation of the situation amongst the Darcy family, that Jane was cossetted and guarded in a way that neither of her sisters would ever have countenanced.
Inadvertently his spurs touched his mount’s side, and it bucked and circled crossly, as he realised she might well be on her way to some assignation!
He knew Frobisher was in town, had heard him mentioned in his club only the other evening.
Could Jane possibly have an appointment to meet the man who had broken her heart?
He urged his horse forward, his hooves silenced by the sand laid down on the roadway to deaden the noise of carriage wheels.
A hansom cab pulled out of the rank and Archer urged his horse into a trot to keep it in sight, a grim expression on his face.
He knew it shouldn’t matter to him where the wretched girl was going but also knew that it did and that he could no more turn round and forget about her than fly through the air like a bird.
The traffic in the streets was heavy and Jane’s hansom made slow progress down to the river but eventually as dark was falling, she was glad to see they were crossing Westminster Bridge, the dark river flowing deep and silent beneath them.
There were still plenty of small boats out on the water, lanterns beginning to show green and red, pointing their position and speed.
She peered out from under the canopy and looked back to where the bulk of the Houses of Parliament, Lords and Commons, were outlined against the dark blue of the October sky.
It was a magnificent sight and one she had never seen before from this side of the Thames.
Little wisps of cloud seemed to float across her vision and then they turned off the bridge and the view was lost.
The horse picked up speed on the other side of the bridge and it only took minutes until they turned down a street running parallel to the river bank where old boarding houses leant against each other, looking dirty and run down with several of their windows broken.
The street seemed to be empty, but it was hard to tell because the shadows around the houses were so deep.
With shouts to his horse, the cab driver pulled up in front of one. “This ‘ere is the address you showed me, Miss. But it’s no place for a lady, especially not one on her own.”
“Thank you for your concern, Sir, but I shall be quite all right. If you would kindly wait for me.” She didn’t wait for him to dismount from his box and help her down, but turned impatient to reach Grace, feeling for the step with her foot.
Then Jane felt hands grip her waist and with a shriek of fear, she was lifted clear of the hansom and, struggling and kicking, found herself clasped in Archer’s arms that were holding her so tightly she was sure she would never breath easily again.
“Miss Darcy! Jane! What in God’s name are you doing here in this place? Are you mad?”
“If you will unhand me, I might be able to reply,” Jane gasped, gazing up into the face she loved so much that was now dark with anger.
He loosened his grip, although slowly, as if reluctant to let her go.
“Oi! Are you all right, Miss? Is the gent bothering you?”
A flicker of a smile twitched Archer’s mouth. It seemed that even a hansom cab driver would protect this girl.
“Thank you, I am quite all right. I know the gentleman. I am quite safe in his care.”
Archer handed over a pocketful of silver to the man who was still gazing down at him, his expression doubtful. “I thank you for your concern. You need not stay. I will convey the young lady home on my horse.”
With muttered thanks, the driver flicked his whip and the cab took off down the street.
“Miss Jane?” A hoarse whisper sounded from the shadows at the side of the house. “Who’s that with you? Not the Peelers?”
“Grace? Yes, I have come as arranged. Don’t be alarmed. This gentleman is certainly not a policeman. I promise he will not harm you.”
The girl stepped out into the street, still wearing the scarlet cloak, gazing apprehensively at Archer.
“This is Mr Archer Maitland, a friend of our family—this, Sir, is Grace Frost who used to be in our employment at Pemberley. She came to London, having been promised a good life by a certain gentleman but, alas, was lied to, misled and treated ill. I have brought her a little money so she can travel down to Devon, to her aunt.”
She held out the parcel of guineas and with a soft thank you, Grace shot out her hand to take it.
Archer understood immediately what was happening. He could not but admire Jane for her good intentions, her lack of condemnation and her bravery in coming to this dubious part of town on her own.
“Can we help in any other way, Miss Frost.”