The young lady was obviously in serious trouble!
As I looked around in consternation, I knew only that I had to help her. My mind idly wondered if I would ever tell the story to anybody but Lizzy (unlikely). If I ever did such a stupid thing, they would gush about my kindness, my virtue, my care for a fellow human being, how it was just like me—BAH, BAH, BAH, and Double-BAH! Sometimes I want to cast up my accounts over some people, or maybe cut my hair very badly, wear too much rouge, get tap hackled at an assembly like my younger sisters, or otherwise mar my so-called 'beauty' just to see who my real friends were. I occasionally got tired of being 'the good one' in all its myriad forms.
Of course, I would never actually do such a thing. If my sister Lizzy got such a wild idea, she would be off like a shot—but never me. What I was amounted to ordinary. For certain, I was considered a 'great beauty' and the 'kindest lady' in the neighbourhood I lived in, but I sometimes thought that was akin to being the second slowest woman running from a bear. It was better than being the slowest, but nothing much to boast of (unless there were only two in the race).
My mind snapped back to the serious business of being a dashing heroine, (which could be done without great looks I am told, but it does not make for much of a story, does it).
I know… I know… babbling… Perhaps I should start nearer the beginning.
My name is Miss Jane Bennet. When the young lady entered my life abruptly, I was 22 years old. I was not quite on the shelf, but much closer to that than a debutant.
I was visiting my great aunt in Ramsgate. I stayed a month, mostly because my admittedly mercenary mother sent me in hopes the husband-hunting might be more productive in another household in another town. It turned out, it was not. The town was filled with military men who would happily flirt for a good meal or ruin me for an evening's entertainment. Most could not (or would not) support a wife, even if I was interested in the dreary life of following the drum—which I most decidedly was not.
The remaining marriage age men were mostly idle and modestly wealthy men who could afford to holiday there, but not in the more fashionable resorts. My distant aunt, who had lived there for decades, said half of those men had pockets to let, and the rest were so rich they would never consider a penniless nobody for a bride, though their morals were on average no better or worse than the military men. There was the occasional wealthy tradesman, but I had no idea how to enter their circles. The not-so-wealthy tradesmen might be easier, but my parents would never approve one unless we got a touch more desperate, and I would never do anything that might harm my plethora of sisters.
In better words, the hunting was not the least bit productive, especially since my aunt only occasionally went into society. My mother would be most disappointed, but since no man had ever set my heart fluttering in seven years of society, I imagined my disappointment would be survivable. The only thing to truly give me pause on that hot July morning was the anticipation of a few months of my mother's ceaseless complaining; but I had less ability to change her than the tides.
All that aside, I had enjoyed a nice holiday in an interesting place. I knew my next-youngest sister, Elizabeth, would have found many more interesting things to see and do, but I was satisfied. I suspected my mother thought my distant aunt might leave me a bequest for attending her, and perhaps she would, but I would not count on it.
That morning, I was in a busy coaching station with my aunt and an upstairs maid. The maid was to accompany me on the post back to London, returning to my maternal uncle's home on Gracechurch Street. Traveling post was the compromise that allowed me to visit in the first place, since Longbourn's carriage could not possibly make the trip and my uncle Gardiner could not take the time away from his business, which was particularly busy that time of year.
I had no fears about the journey. The maid travelling with us was the sort of matronly woman who everyone loved and feared equally. She never married, and when she said she did not mind, I believed her rather than suspecting sour grapes. She looked at most men as if she were cataloguing their faults, and the list was getting difficult to keep in her head. I suspected any untoward behaviour on the parts of our fellow passengers would be dealt with accordingly, and I felt as safe with her as I would with a burly footman. Of course, it was a moot point since the coach seated four passengers inside and another three on top. With five other passengers, there was unlikely to be anything more untoward than being packed together like cattle.
Good, lord! I am procrastinating, so perhaps I should get to it.
As I said, I was in the crowded coaching station, which felt like the assemblies in Meryton… if you stuffed in forty more dancers. My eye was drawn to a young lady running into the inn yard as if being chased by the Hounds of Hell (I always wanted to say something so hyperbolic). She looked around desperately, then moved through the crowd awkwardly.
The girl seemed very young to be wandering in such a dangerous place alone. In fact, I surmised she was a year or two from even being out, both from the style of her dress and from her being so awkward in a crowd. Anyone who spent a year dodging the big feet of lunkheads at an assembly became nimble quickly, but it was a difficult skill to learn in advance. I had never seen a lady who managed it without at least two sets of ruined dancing slippers.
When the young lady walked beside us, I deftly moved aside, stuck my arm out and herded her into the middle of our little group.
The child looked panicked, and since I had several sisters her age who were not the least bit sensible, I knew you needed to talk to them mostly the same as a spooked dog or horse. Soft voices… simple commands… yes or no questions… those are the keys to success.
I whispered loud enough for her to hear but not to be overheard. "Miss… quickly and quietly… are you in distress? Is someone chasing you?"
She looked ready to panic and bolt, but I grabbed her hand reassuringly. "You can trust me. We will allow you no harm."
The words barely left my mouth before I suspected I might need to retract them, since I spied a half dozen rough looking men enter the yard at a run. They stopped running and started looking through the crowd—obviously searching for someone. I am not as quick to the mark as Elizabeth, or even my middle sister, Mary—but even I, who tried to see the good in everyone, was reminded of a pack of wolves on the prowl for a wounded deer.
These were bad-bad men, probably looking for my companion.
I have no idea why I was so certain, but I was as sure as can be. I immediately pulled the young girl to my side and dragged her around until she was facing away from the men, hidden behind the maid, then I looked for her response.
She still had not answered coherently, so I made doubly certain nobody was looking directly at the men, and asked, "Miss… are you being chased by a group of five or six rough looking men, apparently led by someone who dresses like a gentleman. He is tall and thin with light brown hair and would probably be handsome if someone wiped the snarl off his face."
She gasped, but still could not speak. So much for my interrogation techniques. "Squeeze my hand once if I am correct… twice for no."
The single squeeze communicated her assent, and nearly broke my fingers.
I noticed the men fanning out to search as I heard the stationmaster yell, "Five minutes!" a few yards from my ear.
The young lady startled as well. I supposed she understood we would not be there to offer her protection in a couple of minutes.
I took her hands and looked to the rest of my party. They seemed to understand what was happening but felt no compulsion to stick their noses in someone else's business. It was an attitude with much to recommend it—so long as someone else was not me. That said, I knew when I hooked the girl into our circle, I was making her problem into my problem, but that is what big sisters are for. I could no more look away than I could fly.
I whispered, "Those men appear to search for you. Can you tell me why?"
She sputtered as I did my best to surreptitiously watch the men and rearrange our little group to keep her facing away. One big advantage of bonnets was that, unless someone knew exactly which one you were wearing, they would need to be in front and fairly close to recognise a lady… presuming the lady kept her nerve and did not give herself away with fidgeting. I considered myself a world-renowned authority on fidgeting and thought I could probably keep the girl in check for a few minutes.
She sputtered a half-incoherent answer. "The man is my father's godson, but he seems to have turned evil. He has been courting me for weeks with my companion's permission, and what I thought was my guardian's acquiescence. Just three hours ago, I worked out that he is in league with my companion to obtain my dowry. They forged letters from my brother, so I doubt he knows anything."
The blood drained from my face, and I could see the same look on my aunt's. She had obviously been around long enough to understand better than I, but such an egregious violation was bad enough in my world.
"Just to be clear… you somehow discovered the plot this morning and took to the streets on foot?"
She squeezed once, and it seemed likely I would have to stick with short and simple questions and answers.
Thinking fast, I asked, "Is there anyone in Ramsgate you trust to protect you? If so, we can see you safely delivered to them… somehow," though I was sceptical since the poor girl, who was presently shaking like a leaf, would have gone to her protector straightaway if she knew of one.
She shook her head, and apparently saw one of the ruffians out of the corner of her eye and ducked her head away from him.
I hissed, "Miss… did you ever listen to men talking about hunting? The eye seeks movement, especially quick ones. I applaud your stealth but move slowly. Subtlety is the key to survival."
She nodded, though whether in acknowledgment or nervousness was unclear.
I thought furiously. We were in the unfortunate position of being a gaggle of females in a sea of humanity. Reputations were made and broken with a few words overheard, so a long discussion about the whys and wherefores was ill advised. In truth, I did not even want any names spoken in such company—mine or hers. I wanted to strictly limit how much of her problems I took upon myself. While I had taken her under my wing, I still had four sisters I was responsible for.
"Why is there nobody you can trust here?"
She shook violently but managed to regain her composure. "My companion has replaced much of the staff at our lodgings, and it is leased anyway."
I began to see the conundrum. A corrupt companion would not even need to replace all the servants, or even most. Just one or two burly but compromised footmen may as well be an invading army.
I looked to my aunt to see if she had anything to suggest and noticed people were starting to board the coach while the coachman looked on impatiently. It seemed we were running out of time. Neither my aunt nor my father would be enthusiastic about me missing the coach and having to buy another ticket; and I certainly could not make my impetuous rescue become my aunt's problem, even if she would accept it, which seemed unlikely.
Aunt Blackmore was apparently paying attention because she asked, "Where is your guardian?"
"London."
My aunt smiled slyly. "You are in luck. This coach leaves for London in two minutes. My maid was going to chaperone my niece to her uncle's house, but you can perform the office just as well."
Aunt and maid smiled at the neatness of the solution, while the young lady stared in wonder and confusion.
The maid took hold of the girl while my aunt pushed me toward the coach. I admit to being impressed by their decisiveness. In my mother's house, decisions took days and action weeks.
As my aunt led me to the coach, she leaned down to whisper, "Fear not. Nothing on the road is as fast as a post coach. Even if those ruffians recognise the lady, they have little chance of catching her. Stick close to the coach at the transfer stations and you should be safe to London. Your uncle's man will be waiting, so take her to your uncle's home and allow him to return the lady to her guardian."
I nodded and would have given her a hug, but she was not that type of aunt. "Thank you for all you have done for me, aunt."
"I was happy to have you. Come back next year if the men in your village are still as stupid as they appear to be. I cannot promise a husband, but some amusement should be within my reach."
That sounded so much like what Lizzy would say that I started feeling just a touch homesick. I gave proper goodbyes to my aunt's companion and maid while the young lady climbed into the coach and sat down in the rear-facing seat closest to the door. We were the last to board, so a minute or two later the coach was walking from the station, and in no time at all, we were making very good time down the road to London.
What my aunt said was partially true. Nobody really beat post coaches over the long haul because they changed horses very quickly every ten to twenty miles. However, a man who left immediately and pushed his horse hard could get to the first changing station ahead of or only slightly behind us. I thought we were probably safe but planned to follow my aunt's advice and stay close to the coachman and the armed guard.
As we left the station with the unknown girl sitting across from me looking forlorn, I wondered if I could manage to convince the other passengers to move around so I could sit beside her. In our present positions, we could not speak with even a modicum of privacy. If we were close together, we could whisper—not that it would be much of an improvement in a coach built for speed over comfort.
I was reminded of something my sister Mary says. By that, I mean it is one phrase in the middle of an onslaught of drivel from Reverend Fordyce, which might actually be true, but it set my teeth on edge when she lectured us. She said, 'a lady's reputation is no less brittle than it is beautiful.'
While most of what she said in her tirade was unhelpful, that bit of wisdom stuck with me. As gently born women, we were expected to marry well, or at least adequately. My mother ofttimes complained we would starve in the hedgerows if one of her daughters (namely me) did not marry a wealthy man. A tarnished reputation of any of her daughters could cast shame on all the sisters. Yes, yes, I know—it is a stupid system, but it is the society we live in.
This thinking was burning up my mind as we left Ramsgate behind. The young lady across from me could be seriously harmed if knowledge of her flight, her proposed elopement, (or even being alone with that man) became known. In our society, being a female victim was worse for your reputation than being a male criminal. Worse yet, my reputation could be harmed by her supposed indiscretions.
The result of these societal rules was that I did not want anything about the morning's exertions to become known to anyone. I imagined the girl's guardian needed to know, but as far as I was concerned, I did not want him to even know my name, let alone where I lived. We would deliver her to her brother (apparently), and my Uncle Gardiner would give him an earful or not as he chose.
My reasoning for why I wanted to remain anonymous seems obvious to me, but perhaps not to everyone. The girl was clearly first circles, so her guardian was probably very wealthy. That might seem to argue for trying to obtain a reward, since he likely had money in abundance.
That said, my understanding of the first circles made it seem like a snake pit of vice. Dissipation, dishonour, and gambling were rampant and getting on the bad side of such a man seemed ill-advised. Whoever he was, these great men may be a little whimsical in their civilities. The potential rewards did not justify the risks. The man was careless enough to hire a companion who would conspire to compromise his sister and did not think to send a few trusted servants to monitor the pair. That did not speak well to his management of his affairs.
Also, his father's godson was a bad enough man to try to hunt down the daughter of his probably benevolent godfather like a fox in a henhouse and either elope with her or compromise her for the same result just to get her dowry. The young lady was not even out, and she certainly was not ready for marriage, but since she was about my sister Lydia's age, she could not be expected to demonstrate any real sense. The guardian, however, was certainly old enough to know better. What in the world was he thinking?
These reflections led me to believe I needed to return this girl to her guardian without expanding the acquaintance. While my aunt recommended that I take her to my uncle's home, and there was much to be said for the idea; I thought I might prefer to drop her at her door, let her deal with her own guardian, and return to Gracechurch Street alone with my uncle's servant.
With what I thought was a better understanding in place, I told the girl, "We will speak at the coaching station."
She nodded, apparently having discerned her reputation was at considerable risk and silence was the best policy.
The next two hours passed slowly with both of us chewing our lips but not speaking. To protect our reputations, I did not want our names known, so we could not even introduce ourselves.
Thus began the two most tedious hours of my life, and considering the nature of my mother and younger sisters, that is truly saying something.