Page 9 of Expectations (Obstinate, Headstrong Girl #7)

CHAPTER EIGHT

A WEARY PILGRIMAGE BEGUN

“ T ommy!” Cassandra whispered urgently, shaking her brother’s shoulder. Tommy always slept soundly, and she could not yell at him—her usual tactic—without waking Bess. “Tommy! Wake up! It’s time!”

“Wha-what?” He spoke in his usual tones, too loudly, sitting up sleepily.

“Shh! It’s time , dummy.”

“Don’t call me a dummy.” He still did not whisper. Boys were so bad at plans .

“You will be a dummy if you wake up Bess and ruin everything. Do you want to go away forever with Mr Darcy in the morning?”

“No.” He still sounded sulky, but at least he had whispered his reply.

It was not easy, getting dressed in the dark.

She knew enough to wear extra layers, for the mid-November chill meant frost on the ground and ice in the lungs, but finding the right clothing for Tommy was almost impossible until she took the risk of lighting a candle from the hearth coals.

Deciding what to take and what to leave behind was the worst part.

She had to take Paulina, the golden-haired dolly her mama had given her, even though Maribel was her actual favourite, because Paulina cried too easily and was always chattering about everything in an annoyingly false voice.

But Mama was an angel in heaven now and might be watching, and she wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings.

Food was another matter. Mrs Sergeant was not unkind, but she was nothing like Mrs Nicholls.

That had been one of the hardest parts of leaving Netherfield—leaving Mrs Nicholls, Mrs Perry, Mrs Tilson, Judith, Ida, and Susannah.

The head nurse, Mrs Tilson, so good and so grand, had displayed reddened eyes on the terrible morning they had said their farewells.

In this cottage, there was no pantry stocked with biscuits and jams and tarts and pies in every good flavour one could imagine.

Mrs Sergeant baked bread one day a week, Mondays, and by Friday it was only good for toast; there would just be crumbs, now. But Cassandra had a plan.

There was a moon, although it was not so bright as to light every pit and dip on the rutted path, and when trees shadowed it, they had to practically feel their way along.

Tommy was the first to stumble; three or four falls later, she heard him sniffle, obviously trying not to cry.

She wished he would, so she could too; she was sure her knees were bleeding, ruining her stockings, and her hand was smarting from an encounter with a sharp rock.

Her fury, however, strengthened her resolution.

Nobody, not mean old Mr Darcy, not the king himself, would take Tommy away from her. Nobody .

“This basket is heavy,” Tommy complained, shifting it from one hand to the other. “What did you put in here?”

“We need it all,” she insisted. “I can take a turn.”

“A gentleman does not make a lady carry heavy things,” he said, and she knew by his tone that he would lug it until his arm fell off before allowing her to share the burden. Tommy already is a gentleman , she thought indignantly. He doesn’t need stupid old Mr Darcy to teach him anything.

And on and on they walked, farther and farther from safety and Auntie Lizzy and everyone they loved.

“How much longer, do you think, Cassie?”

She was beginning to wonder. It seemed like they had been walking for a million miles and she was beyond tired; Tommy, hefting the basket, must be even more so.

Cassandra was good with directions, and she was certain they could not miss her planned refuge, but it was worrisome that she had not seen the turn yet.

“Not much farther now,” she replied, hoping she was right.

Noises surrounded them in the night, branches and bushes hissing in the wind, woodland creatures skittering.

“Do you think there are wolves?” Her brother’s voice was indifferent, as if he were only making a bit of conversation. She could just feel how hard he was trying not to panic.

“No. It’s just forest mice, going about their business.” She made herself match his tone of disinterest.

“Remember, Auntie Lizzy says they are more afraid of us than we are of them,” Tommy said reassuringly, and she knew he understood how scared she was, too.

That was the thing about being a twin; sometimes they finished each other’s sentences, and they always, always watched out for each other. One foot in front of another, one step at a time, they would find shelter, and she and Tommy would be together, safe, for always . Cassandra was sure of it.

“Miss! Oh, Miss!”

Elizabeth, whose sleep had been restless and troubled after a late evening, sat up with a start.

Bess stood in the doorway, wringing her hands.

The grey morning light shining through the parted drapes told her it was still early; she had not overslept.

A chill, having nothing to do with the unlit hearth, crawled up her spine.

“What is it, Bess?”

“They’re gone! Both children. I’ve looked everywhere, outside and in!”

Elizabeth leapt from her bed and ran to the nursery, needing to see for herself.

The room seemed peculiarly empty. They have gone for a walk together , she told herself.

There is no reason for alarm. Then, she noticed the doll that had vanished from its place of honour on the nursery shelf—the last present Jane had ever given to her daughter.

Cassandra seldom played with it, but now it was gone. Panic suffused her.

“They might be playing a trick, as children will,” Bess offered.

Frantically Elizabeth whirled round, even pulling back the covers of the beds, as if such a futile action would help. A scrap of paper floated from Cassandra’s pillow onto the floor. She scooped it up and read the words printed with Cassandra’s uneven child’s script.

Auntie Lizzy,

Tommy does not want to leave, so we are going to find a new home. Do not worry. I can take care of him. Tell Mr Darcy he can go away.

With Love,

Miss Cassandra Elizabeth Bingley

“What’s it say?” Bess asked.

“They are gone,” Elizabeth whispered. “Gone, and I do not have any idea where.”