Page 110 of The Heir
With a shuddering effort, she loosened her fingers. The pen slipped free and clattered onto the floor.
Darkness swallowed the world.
* * *
It took two days for Jane and Liza to get to Ramsgate. Betty drove a hard bargain but agreed to go along as their maid. The sisters pooled their money, what there was of it, to hire a carriage and horses. Jane sent a letter to Mr. Saddler at the palace, and Mr. Saddler, in turn, sent Clyde Hornsby to act as their driver and manservant.
Liza had suggested that Ned could drive them and that it might keep him away from fresh trouble. Jane had countered that they did not need a driver who might drink himself into a stupor at the coaching inn or gamble away their limited store of money in some tavern once they reached the town. Liza shrugged and admitted Jane had a point.
Mother probably would have protested the entire enterprise if they’d bothered to consult her. As it was, they simply left before she was awake, instructing Meg to say that they were visiting friends (which was true, after a fashion) and that they would write when they were safely arrived.
The journey was delayed only slightly by Jane’s insisting they stop at the post office.
“I need to be sure this goes into the next post, Mrs. Carey,” she told the postmistress as she handed over her letter.
“Of course, dear.” Mrs. Carey squinted at the direction. “Your Miss Kent’s in Ramsgate, then?”
Jane nodded. “It’s to be left at the post office there until called for.”
Because Lehzen or the princess might check, and she wanted the princess to know that she had kept her promise and that she was on her way.
* * *
Someone was talking.
“Please, ma’am. Let me send for Dr. Clarke.”
Lehzen.
“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s shamming. She warned us herself that she would, and now she is.”
Mama.
“You would be of more use, Lehzen, if you exerted your influence over her and made sure she signed the letter.”
“She’s shamming? You truly believe with that fever and that cough, she’s shamming?”
“Yes!”
Don’t cry, Mama. You mustn’t cry.
“She must be shamming! She cannot be so very ill. She is a naughty child who does not want to listen to what’s best for her. Sir John has said—”
“Was his grace the duke shamming when—”
There was a short, sharp sound. Victoria winced.
Someone has been slapped.
She wanted to open her eyes, to ask for water, to see what had happened.
But she couldn’t, and after a bit, the world went away again.
* * *
It was raining when Jane and Liza reached Ramsgate. This was not the steady southern-county rain they were used to. This was solid sheets of salt-laced water lashed by a wind strong enough to set the carriage rocking. They could progress only in fits and starts because Hornsby had to maneuver around puddles that had begun to blend into lakes. The horses balked, and in the end, he had to get off the box, take hold of the harness, and lead them on at a walking pace.
Jane, Liza, and Betty all huddled together, trying to keep each other warm. They could see nothing out the windows and didn’t even know they’d reached the inn until Hornsby came round to open the door and let down the step.
