Jennifer had never imagined the sight of her home could be so depressing. Her uncle handed her out of the carriage with an affected gallantry that sickened her, and Soames, the butler, who opened the door, gave her a look in which sympathy and curiosity were disconcertingly blended. Was she, from henceforth, to find herself the target of such looks? Intolerable thought. She almost persuaded herself that she had best marry Edmund and be done with it. Doubtless he would prove a complaisant enough husband, and marriage would give them both control of their fortunes. But the idea was sickening. She did not want a complaisant husband. She wanted a man who would stand no nonsense, someone older than herself, settled in the world, fit to be her master. In short, a man…

Her uncle led her into his study. ‘I will send Edmund to you,’ he said. ‘You will have much to say to each other. But remember, miss, tomorrow is the day.’

Leaving the room, he locked the door behind him. It was a foretaste of what she could expect. She paced up and down the room, thinking, contriving, planning… All depended, now, upon Edmund. Would she be able to manage him?

Her uncle opened the door to let him in. ‘I will leave you two love-birds alone together.’ His coyness was odious. ‘But I’ll not be far away.’

It was at once a warning and a threat. Jennifer, who had had wild ideas of rushing out into the house and throwing herself upon the loyalty of her father’s old and trusted servants, thought again. It would merely lead to a painful scene and achieve nothing.

She faced the blushing Edmund. ‘Well?’ she said.

‘Well Jenny?’ His attempt at nonchalance was pitiful. ‘What do you think of this scheme of our uncle’s?’

‘I abominate it,’ she answered him fiercely. ‘Surely, Edmund, you cannot be willing to submit?’

He looked uncomfortable. ‘To deal plainly with you, Jenny, I did not take to it too kindly at first, but you will find it grows upon you. We are old friends, are we not? And, only think, Jenny, we will be free, able to control our own fortunes. We’ll have a house in London, and our own stables in the country, and go to all the races—and you shall have your own box at the opera. I promise you, I’ll not meddle with you more than you wish. You go your way—I go mine—and the freedom, Jenny, only think of the freedom.’

‘Freedom? You call it freedom to be tied for life to someone you do not love?’

‘Oh, as for love, Jenny, I have had my dream of that too, but who marries for it these days? You and I will deal well enough together, I promise you. And, remember your smirched name; in truth, our uncle is right, you should be grateful to me for granting you the protection of mine.’

She turned on him in a fury. ‘I’d not take it, were you the last man on earth. I know you think to do well enough supporting your racehorses out of my fortune, but I’ll not be a party to it. I’ll make such a scene tomorrow that the parson shall refuse to marry us.’

He smiled at her knowingly. ‘I collect you are not aware who the parson is to be. It is Dean Gurning.’

She had forgotten her uncle’s brother the Dean, whose plural livings caused less scandal than his many mistresses. Dependent, she suspected, for many of his luxuries on his brother’s help and financial advice, he would be a willing tool. No hope of help from him. Almost, she began to be frightened. Surely this could not really be going to happen?

She made another effort. ‘I promise you, Edmund, I’d lead you such a life you’d wish you had never seen me.’

‘No use to fly out at me, Jenny. If you mean to act the termagant it will have to be separate establishments, that’s all. Your fortune, I apprehend, will be enough for both. No need to call on mine.’

‘You dispose mighty freely of my fortune.’ She was becoming really angry now.

‘I shall be able to. My uncle’s lawyers are drawing up the settlements today.’

‘I’ll never sign them.’

‘I warrant you will, if Uncle Gurning intends you should.’

It gave her coldly to pause. How far would her uncle go? She changed her tone. ‘Edmund, we are old friends. Only help me in this and I’ll do anything for you. The half of my fortune—anything.’

‘How should I help you? Believe me, you are beyond help. But compose yourself and make the best of it. I promise I’ll not be a demanding husband. Indeed,’ he reddened, ‘separate chambers will suit me vastly well.’

Absurdly, the fact that he did not even want her was the last straw. She broke into furious tears and might even have flown at him if her uncle had not appeared. He must, she realised, have been listening outside the door.

‘Well, well,’ he rubbed his hands. ‘Enough of your billing and cooing. Time for that tomorrow.’ His voice hardened. ‘To your room, miss, and do not think to leave it again tonight.’

Hope dwindled. ‘But shall I not see Elizabeth?’ She had always been fond of her cousin.

‘Time enough for that tomorrow. Promise you’ll do nothing to shock her and she shall act as your bride’s maid.’

It was defeat. In numb despair, she heard the key of her room turn in the lock, then started, ceaselessly, to pace up and down. Below, she heard the sound of carriages driving up. So her uncle was entertaining tonight. No doubt he felt he had cause for celebration. The settlements she and Edmund were to sign tomorrow would conceal for ever his depredations upon both their fortunes.

To and fro she paced, to and fro. What did she care for her fortune if she could only save herself? She went to the window and looked out. The front drive lay far below her, clear in the moonlight. A cord of knotted sheets? But if she could make one long enough, where would she go? Lucy Faversham’s house was five miles away; the stables were securely locked at night. No matter for that. She would walk. Systematically, she removed the sheets from her bed, rejoicing that they were the finest of strong cambric, and set to work. But the rope, she soon saw, would not be nearly long enough.

Again, she was facing despair, when she heard a tiny scratching at her door. She hurried to it.

‘Who’s there?’ she whispered.

‘It’s I, Elizabeth. Oh, Jenny, what are they doing to you?’ Hope sprang, unreasoning. Here, perhaps, was an ally. ‘Lizzy, my love, I am in despair. Your father means that I shall marry Edmund tomorrow.’

‘Marry Edmund?’ There was a catch in the whispered breath, and suddenly Jennifer saw it all. Edmund’s detachment, the despair in Elizabeth’s voice… Here, indeed, was an ally.

‘Lizzy,’ she whispered urgently. ‘We cannot talk like this. Run quick to the servants’ quarters. The key of the housekeeper’s room fits mine. The boys discovered it years ago. Then we can talk in safety. But be sure my uncle does not see you.’

‘Never fear for Father,’ came the whisper, ‘he is entertaining the Whig Committee. They are safe for hours. And Mother is retired with one of her megrims. Wait, Jenny, I’ll fetch the key.’

Pacing, more hopefully now, up and down the room as she waited, Jennifer considered what was best to do next. When Elizabeth returned and, breathlessly, unlocked the door and slid inside, she was ready with her plan. There was no time to be lost. At any moment her uncle might come to make sure his captive was safe. Urgently, she whispered her instructions to Elizabeth. The stable door must be left unlocked. Then, when the house was quiet, she would let herself out of her room with the housekeeper’s key (which would never be missed) leaving the knotted sheets hanging from the window to make her uncle think she had escaped that way, without help from the house.

‘But, Jenny,’ asked Elizabeth, ‘where will you go then?’

‘Where but to the Favershams? I am confident the General will stand my friend against such a piece of tyranny as this. Why, what’s the matter?’

‘Matter enough I fear. The Favershams left for their London house last Friday sennight.’

This was a blow indeed. For a moment, Jennifer was silent, then she brightened. ‘Nothing for it but to follow them then. And, indeed, I shall be safer in London than five miles away. Faversham Hall is the first place my uncle will look for me.’

‘But how will you go to London?’

‘By the stage coach, you goose. Do you think I’m too fine a lady to ride in it?’

‘I think you’d do anything, Jenny,’ said Elizabeth with fervent admiration. ‘But take the stage coach tomorrow you cannot. It is three weeks past that they discontinued all but the Tuesday and Friday coaches for the winter.’

Jennifer’s face fell. ‘That is indeed a facer. But no doubt I could hire a chaise in Petworth. How much money can you lend me, Lizzy? You see I do not ask whether you are willing to lend it me.’

‘Nor need you, my love, but alas, I fear I am in low water. My father sent me to Chichester only the other day with a host of commissions and my pockets are sadly to let. Will three guineas be of any use to you?’

Wondering if this unusual shopping expedition was an unhappy chance, or yet another instance of her uncle’s providence for evil, Jennifer counted her own money, which amounted to still less. ‘No use,’ she said at last. ‘Even with your three guineas, for which I thank you with all my heart, I shall not have enough. No help for it. I shall have to ride all the way. No, never look so cast down, Lizzy, you well know it is something I have always longed to do.’

Elizabeth did indeed look horrified at the idea. ‘But, Jenny, you, a young lady, to ride all that way unattended? Only think of the scandal.’

‘Too late for me to be troubling myself about scandal, I fear, but you are right for all that. I shall not ride as a lady. Do you recollect last Christmas when we acted Mr Garrick’s Irish Widow and I took the part of Mrs Brady and had to masquerade as a lieutenant? Everyone said I made an admirable boy. Well, I shall do it again. I still have the old green coat of poor Richard’s that I wore, and the breeches I made to wear with it. With a greatcoat over all and,’ she looked wistfully at her reflection in the glass, ‘something of an execution upon my hair, I shall pass for an excellent young sprig on exeat from Eton.’

‘But what will the General say when you reach Great Peter Street so habited?’

Jennifer pulled a face. ‘My love, I dare not even consider it. No time for terrors now; run, quick and fetch me the money. Even uncle’s hard drinking politicos will go home at last. And you must help me crop my hair before you go. What an excellent thing it is that it is become modish to wear it short. I will be quite the thing, I promise you.’

Which did not prevent kind-hearted Elizabeth from bursting into tears as the auburn curls floated to the floor. ‘Oh, Jenny, I cannot bear to have you go away. I love you so dearly. Far better than Papa.’

Jennifer smiled at her fondly. ‘And are proving it, my love. But, remember, if I stay, I must marry Edmund and I do not believe that would suit either of our books.’

Elizabeth went so fiery red that Jennifer kindly said no more but urged her to get safely back to her room before the party downstairs broke up. With a last, tearful kiss Elizabeth left her. Alone, Jennifer found the time pass slowly. She did not dare lie down on her bed for fear of falling asleep. She must make her escape as soon as the house was quiet, so as to be as far forward as possible on the road to London when her escape was discovered, and pursuit began.

To give herself a little more time, she sat down and composed a note to her uncle. The inkwell in her little writing desk had nearly dried in her absence, so it had, perforce, to be brief:

‘Uncle: I shall risk my life climbing from my window rather than submit to your odious plan. Do not seek for me again. I am not gone back to Laverstoke. Believe this and spare yourself the embarrassment of making enquiries there. Believe, too, that I do not intend to be found.’

Here the ink ran out and she did not even sign the note. It should, she hoped, protect Elizabeth. She hoped, too, that her uncle would believe her pockets well enough lined to permit her hiring a chaise, which would take her to London before he had any chance of catching her. He would, of course, be informed that Starlight was missing, but must, she hoped, assume that she had ridden him only as far as one of the neighbouring towns where she might hire a chaise. If her luck held, he would lose some time enquiring whether she had indeed done so. Most of all, she found herself passionately hoping that he would believe her statement and not seek her at Laverstoke Hall. The idea of his confronting Lord Mainwaring and demanding her as his errant ward was somehow intolerable. Then she caught herself up: why should she assume that Lord Mainwaring would interest himself in her disappearance? When he heard of it, he would merely shrug it off, convinced of the justice of his original doubts of her.

A tear trickled down her cheek. But this was no time for despairing. She pulled herself together and went briskly to the big closet where she had sadly packed away such of her brothers’ clothes as she could not bear to part with. When she had dressed, she considered herself carefully in her looking-glass. Yes, with the greatcoat’s shower of capes which added much-needed width to her shoulders, she would do well enough. If possible, she must not take it off. Just as well it was winter.

A sudden burst of merriment from below told her that her uncle’s party was breaking up at last. A sudden thought struck her. What if he should pay her a late visit? Quick as a flash, she hid the knotted sheets, coat and greatcoat in her closet and climbed into bed, pulling the clothes well up around her chin. Surely, he would not intrude upon her bedroom, but it was best to play safe.

A few minutes later, as the carriages rolled away from the sweep below, there came a knock on her door.

‘Who’s there?’ she called sleepily, blowing out her candle.

‘It is I, your aunt. I came to see if you want for anything, Jenny?’

Not for the first time, Jennifer acknowledged in her uncle a worthy adversary, as she heard the key turn in the lock of her door. Her aunt entered in her violet negligée, her candle throwing odd shadows about the room as she looked round, clearly under orders to make sure that all was as usual. Then she approached the bed and put a cold hand on Jennifer’s forehead. ‘Do not attempt to fight your uncle any more, Jenny my dear. You only waste your time. He always wins. Act a complaisant part tomorrow and it shall be the better for you.’

Terrified lest her aunt should notice that she had on one of her brothers’ shirts, Jennifer buried herself still deeper in the bedclothes, pretending a sleepy obstinacy.

‘Oh, very well.’ Her aunt’s tired figure drooped still more as she turned away. ‘I just hoped to make things easier for you, Jenny.’

‘Thank you, Aunt, I know you mean it kindly.’

At last she was gone, but still Jennifer forced herself to lie quiet, her eyes fiercely open, staring into the darkness, until the last sound of movement died away in the old house. She knew all its noises by heart and could tell when Soames came up the back stairs, creaking heavily on the third step from the top, and then, last of all the servants, went on up to his room above. Then she heard her uncle climb the front stairs, whistling Jenny Sutton to himself. How like him, she thought angrily, to take no thought for others who might already be asleep. He paused for a moment outside her door and gently tried its lock. Then she heard him slam the door of what she still remembered as her father’s room, next to hers. She waited until she heard his familiar, detested snore before she slipped out of bed. She had no means of relighting her candle, but fortunately the moon shone brilliantly in at her window. By its light she finished her few remaining preparations. She made a sad botch of tying her brother’s cravat, remembering, as she struggled furiously with it, the jokes and laughter that had accompanied similar struggles last time she did so. No time, now, for such memories. She pulled the greatcoat close round her, slipped the few guineas she and Elizabeth had been able to muster into her purse, then felt her way along the dark side of her room to the secret drawer of her desk. Fumbling with the well-known catch, she got it open and took out her pearls, the one piece of her jewellery that her uncle had not discovered and impounded while she was away. If the worst came to the worst, they would provide her with the means to supplement her scanty resources. Then, breathlessly, she crossed to the door, turned the housekeeper’s key in the lock and pulled it gently open.