Unforgiving Temper by Gail Head Page A

thoughts of Jane and
Mr. Bingley were not enough; and at length, she lost the
battle. Her misery spilled over in waves of hot tears that coursed
down her cheeks unchecked. Wickham's ruthless behavior made her all
the more desperate to save her family from his evil plans and she
prayed that her efforts would not be in vain.
     

Chapter 6
    Shifting her position yet again on the
uncomfortable, well-worn cushions of the aging post coach,
Elizabeth tried to find a way to shield her already bruised limbs
from its brutally jarring motions. She was grateful there were no
other occupants at present, but that fact was little compensation
for the seemingly endless days of travel filled with hot, dusty
roads, more than one leering gentleman, and Mrs. Younge's
insufferable company. A sudden jolt of the carriage, which nearly
threw her from her seat, drained Elizabeth's last ounce of
patience.
    “Shall we reach our next stop before
nightfall, Mrs. Younge?”
    “I did not know you were so anxious to begin
your servitude,” the woman scoffed in response, igniting
Elizabeth's temper.
    “I am merely wanting to know how long we
shall have to endure the abuse of this particular road. The
highways of the north are highly overrated.”
    “It is of no consequence. You will take what
comes to you. Did you not learn that when we started this journey?”
Mrs. Younge replied tauntingly.
    “I learned that I am in the company of a
heartless woman,” Elizabeth shot back. “And, if you believe that
despicable attack in Hertfordshire injured my spirits, you are
greatly mistaken. You may have robbed me of my money, madam; but
not my courage!”
    “Oh, I see! Those must have been tears of courage you cried as we left Hertfordshire.”
    Elizabeth's cheeks flushed at
Mrs. Younge's sneering comment, and she turned back to her own
window, more anxious than ever to free herself from the woman's
petty cruelties. Just as she was beginning to think they would
travel all the way to Scotland, the coach lurched to a stop in a
small village and Ann Younge ordered their trunks to be
removed.
    Relieved to be off the road at last,
Elizabeth examined her surroundings and discovered they were in the
village of Hensingham. She had spent the greater part of the
journey tracking their progress northward and, from her Aunt and
Uncle Gardiner's description of the Lake District, she believed
herself to be in Cumberland, the very region she had thought to
tour with them. The certainty of her situation sunk a little deeper
as she realized that she would not be seeing them or any of her
family any time soon.
    After directing the care of their luggage,
Mrs. Younge surveyed the streets and then smiled in success.
She pushed Elizabeth toward a fine carriage that stood waiting at
the next street corner. Two footmen dressed in dark blue livery
came to attention at the sight of the two women.
    Detecting Mrs. Younge's eagerness to
reach the comfort of the handsomely appointed coach, Elizabeth
slowed her pace and then stopped altogether, calmly smoothing her
dress and adjusting her gloves.
    “Hurry up! The coach is waiting,” Ann Younge
commanded, nearly quivering with impatience.
    “Why, Mrs. Younge, it seems I have a
stone in my boot. I think I shall have to remove it,” Elizabeth
observed lightly and sat down on a nearby bench.
    “I don't care if you have ten stones
in your-” Mrs. Younge hissed furiously before realizing that
one of the footmen had approached close enough to overhear them.
She snapped her mouth closed, her face coloring with suppressed
fury, and several seconds passed before she could finally manage to
choke out the words that courtesy demanded. “By all means,
Miss Bennet. I am happy to wait for you.”
    Elizabeth turned a brilliant smile on the
footman. “Please excuse my traveling companion. We have come a very
long way, and her nerves are somewhat frayed.”
    “I understand, Miss. There is no hurry. We
shall depart at your convenience,”