Page 2 of I Thee Wed (Pride And Prejudice Variation #2)

The windows were already shuttered, yet for safety, she hung an old drape across the three small panes that faced the street, then struck a light.

The single candle showed a chamber thick with dust and cobwebs, though, to her relief, she perceived no sign of vermin.

Her breath came easier, though the air was close.

She found an old gown amongst the discarded furnishings and used it to sweep the thick dust from a table, where she set her pitcher and food.

With the cloth, she wiped the frame of one cot, then lifted its thin mattress and turned it so that the cleaner side lay uppermost. Taking the second cot’s mattress, she laid it atop the first, contriving a bed less wretchedly thin.

She spread one blanket beneath her as a sheet and drew another across the top.

Exhaustion overtook her after such labor.

She pulled out her pocket watch and found it was only half past nine.

Yet her limbs trembled with weariness, and her eyes would scarcely remain open.

She washed her hands with a little of her precious water, dried them upon her petticoat, then changed into her nightdress.

Hanging her gown upon the wooden peg that had held the old dress she used for cleaning, she at last crept beneath the thin covering.

The straw rustled, and the mattress yielded little comfort, yet it was better than lying crouched in a doorway or exposed in the street.

Before extinguishing her candle, she folded her hands together in prayer, that Mrs. Younge would discover the false letter, that Wickham might be persuaded of her flight, that both would depart the house in search of her.

She thought of her brother and how she might contrive to send word to him before it was too late.

At last, she blew out the flame. The darkness pressed close about her, and the sea wind moaned against the eaves. Still, within the frail shelter of her barricade, she felt a measure of safety. Her last waking thought was of Fitzwilliam and whether he would come in time.

Sleep at length stole over her, light and troubled, yet sleep nonetheless.

The following day dawned bright and clear, the sea air brisk upon the shore, while gulls wheeled above the rooftops, their sharp cries echoing overhead. “Mind the step, George,” said Mrs. Younge as she opened the front door. “You look the picture of misery this fine bright morning.”

“My eyes and head are burning with this cursed light,” Wickham muttered, putting a hand to his temple. “What did you give me last night?”

“Nothing but excellent brandy,” she answered coolly.

“You are paying for the gin you swallowed at the tavern. Come in. Go and take something solid. Breakfast is served, and Smithers will bring coffee; drink plenty of it. I shall see to Georgiana. The girl loves a late morning. With dispatch, we may still catch the eleven o’clock stage. ”

Mrs. Younge rang the bell, and when the servant appeared, she said, “Send Jenny down. I have need of her.” She then served a plate and took her seat at the table. After a few minutes, Jenny appeared and curtsied in the doorway.

“Yes, Mrs. Younge?”

“Wake Miss Darcy at once and tell her we depart by eleven. Did you pack her portmanteau yesterday?

“Did I pack Miss Darcy’s things?” Jenny echoed and then blinked. “No, ma’am. You did not ask me to pack, but I will do so now. How many days should I prepare for?”

“Pack light. Three days only,” Mrs. Younge said. “And Jenny, you will not accompany us. Remain here until I send for you.”

“Yes, ma’am. I will dress Miss Darcy immediately.”

“Mr. Wickham,” Smithers said from the door of the parlor, “your coffee, sir.”

“Set it down,” Wickham grumbled, lowering himself into a chair. “The light is an assault.”

“Miss Darcy’s chocolate shall follow,” Smithers added.

“Forget Miss Darcy’s chocolate.” Mrs. Younge said crisply. “After we eat, we will be leaving for a few days.”

“Very good, ma’am,” Smithers replied.

The butler had just entered his pantry when Jenny descended the stairs and stood at the small doorway panting. Dropping a curtsy, she said, “Mr. Smithers, Miss Darcy’s door is locked, and no matter how hard I knock, she won’t answer.”

“Indeed?” Smithers replied gravely. “Very well, I will go up and unlock the door.”

The stately butler mounted the stairs with his usual dignity, and Jenny, anxious to complete her task for Mrs. Younge, followed close behind. He rapped the door, waited, then, hearing no reply, unlocked the door and stepped back to allow Jenny to enter.

She crossed the threshold, then, seeing that Miss Darcy was still in her bed, she looked to the butler and whispered.

“My mistress is still asleep. Thank you for letting me in.” As Jenny began to open cabinets and drawers, she saw that the brushes and comb were missing, and her mistress's tooth powder and toothbrush were also gone.

Stockings, nightdress, and underclothing were not in their usual places, and the portmanteau was nowhere to be found.

She went to the bed and drew down the coverlet. Several pillows and blankets had been heaped together to mimic a sleeping form.

“Glory me,” she whispered, her hand clapped to her mouth. “What will Mrs. Younge say when she learns Miss Georgie is gone?” The maid hurried down the stairs and knocked on the butler’s pantry door.

“Mr. Smithers,” Jenny whispered as she paused upon the threshold, “Miss Darcy is not here. There is but a mound of pillows beneath the coverlet.” The young maid then recited each personal item that was missing and concluded in a tremulous voice, “She is gone.”

“Mrs. Younge must be informed at once,” Smithers answered.

He entered the breakfast parlor and announced, “Mrs. Younge, as requested by the maid, I opened Miss Darcy’s bedchamber. It appears that Miss Darcy has left the house. Her portmanteau is gone, along with nightwear, brushes, and several articles of clothing.”

“What nonsense is this?” cried Mrs. Younge, pushing back her chair.

“Find her,” Wickham snapped, rising despite himself. “Bring her down and be done.”

“Stay,” Mrs. Younge said over her shoulder, already at the door. “I will see to this myself. The girl is a simpleton; she cannot have gone far.”

Mrs. Younge ascended the stairs, the butler and the maid following behind.

“The windows are closed,” she observed, attempting to raise one, but it was fixed fast. Her gaze swept the chamber.

“And what is this? A crumpled letter in the basket?” She stooped, spread it flat, and gave a sharp exclamation.

“The little wench has written to her brother.” Turning to the two servants, she added, “You may go. Jenny, go to your quarters at once for the remainder of the day. If I find you below stairs, I shall dismiss you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jenny breathed, curtsying before she fled.

“As you wish, ma’am,” said Smithers, withdrawing.

Mrs. Younge examined the chamber more thoroughly. The girl had most certainly flown out of the house. Her heavy travelling boots and cloak were gone, as well as her reticule and every personal accoutrement.

Mrs. Younge returned to the breakfast parlor and shut the door with a snap.

Then, she rounded on Wickham. “She left. This is what comes of your schemes. I should have stayed in the house with the girl. She overheard us, and she is gone. She writes here that she runs to Margate to wait for Darcy. She must have taken the morning stage. She will already have arrived and could be in any one of a dozen inns.”

“Margate is a popular resort,” Wickham said, beginning to pace again. “There are a considerable number of establishments that cater to travelers. How do you propose we search them all? I thought you had taken her money and her jewels. With what will she pay for lodging?”

“She writes that she had money squirrelled away in her pelisse,” Mrs. Younge replied, tapping the letter.

“A deceitful girl. I never thought to look in her pockets. Darcy sent her with a full purse. I was certain I took it all. She may have enough with her to suffice for several days’ lodging, though nothing grand.

We shall begin with the modest houses. With that bright flaxen hair, she will not be hard to mark. Someone will have seen her.”

“There is a chance yet,” Wickham conceded. “Pack light. Go upstairs and make yourself ready. I will go to my quarters and do the same.”

Mrs. Younge mumbled an oath. “Once we find her at Margate, we must travel directly on to Gretna. We have two, perhaps three days before Darcy appears.”

“Then we use them,” Wickham answered, snatching up his hat. “The little bird will be gone with us before he sets foot in Kent.”

“Do not fail me again, George,” Mrs. Younge said, gathering the letter.

“See that you do not fail me,” he shot back, as he moved to the door.

Georgiana woke in confusion. The chamber was dark, heavy with dust, and for a moment she did not know where she was. Then memory returned. She was barricaded in the attic, hidden away from Wickham and Mrs. Younge.

She rose and lifted the corner of the heavy drape she had hung across the windows.

From the crack of a broken shutter, she caught sight of the road below.

She tried one of the small windows, and after half an hour of effort, succeeded in forcing it open by three inches.

The rush of fresh air was a blessing. Through it came the rumble of a lone carriage on the lane and the thin cries of gulls wheeling above.

The sky was beginning to lighten; she guessed the hour must be dawn.

At the cot, she took up her pocket watch, which lay on the floor where she had set it the night before.

The hands pointed to half past five. Wickham, she thought with relief, would still be abed, given the state of intoxication in which he had returned the night before. She had time to wash and dress.