Still he did not stop. If I’d had a rock of the right size to hand, I’d have lobbed it at his silly receding head. Nobody made my sister cry like that! But simultaneously, another part of me wanted to hug him fiercely. He was willing to risk his own life to free my sister from a marriage she feared and despised. I couldn’t help respecting anybody who was ready to do that, even if I did want to throw rocks at his head.
‘Please, Edmund,’ Ella tried once more. ‘By your love for me, I beg you, stop! Don’t go! Don’t die!’
When this final attempt failed, she slumped to the ground and knelt there, weeping, her face hidden in her hands.
‘All right!’ she whimpered. ‘I accept! I will… I will do it.’
Edmund, just about to reach the back door of his parents’ house, froze in place.
‘What?’ he asked, without turning. His voice was barely audible. ‘What did you say?’
‘I… I said, I’ll do it,’ repeated Ella, taking deep breaths as though she had run miles and miles. ‘I accept your offer, Edmund Conway. For you, to save your life and give you happiness, I shall forsake my family. I will run away with you. May God forgive me.’
*~*~**~*~*
I sat behind the bush for quite some time. I suppose it had to be quite some time, because when I wandered back into the house, everybody was already asleep. Even Ella, up in our room, had stopped crying by now, though I could still see the moisture on her cheeks twinkle in the moonlight which streamed in through the window.
Only when I lay in my bed, the warm blankets over me, did I realize that if I didn’t do something really quickly, I would lose my little sister.
Suddenly, in spite of all the blankets, I felt cold inside.
The Great Hunt of Green Park
When I woke the next morning, I fervently hoped that last night had been a nightmare. But when I saw Ella’s red-rimmed eyes, I knew that was wishful thinking.
Last night had been true. My sister was going to elope - and not even with a romantic rake of a Scottish laird or something similarly adventurous, but with the tradesman’s son next door. I wasn’t sure what trade his father actually practised. I thought I had heard somewhere that he was a piano tuner.
Sadly, I shook my head. Constantly going around making sure that everywhere you went things sounded the same had to be about the dullest occupation there was. His son didn’t seem a lot more exciting to me, generally speaking. All right, he was a nice enough fellow, for a man, but still, nothing to write home about. And he was the man for whom my sister would lose her honour.
Now don't get the wrong impression - I wasn’t all too keen on honour and virtue myself. If you’re willing to walk around in men’s clothes to work for a living, you have to be able to bend a few social norms and customs. I myself wouldn’t mind getting a few stains on my non-existent good reputation. But I knew that Ella would mind. Very much so, in fact.
Maybe she loved this man enough to run away with him and be happy. But she also would be sad on a deeper level, a level she wouldn’t let anybody see. It would break her heart to disappoint her aunt, silly, compassionate soul that my little sister was. This solution would make Edmund happy - but it would save Ella from one misery only to plunge her into another.
Unless, that is, I could prevent it.
Full of purpose I jumped out of bed. This was no time to dawdle! My sister’s happiness was at stake, and I only had one day to take action before I had to go back to slave for Mr Ambrose. Quickly, I dressed - or as quickly as I could, considering the multitude of petticoats I had to put on - and slipped out of the house without anybody noticing. It was Sunday, and after the tiring dance the other night, the household was sure to sleep long and not notice my absence.
As I ran down the street, the beginnings of various plans were already forming in my mind. Somehow I had to get rid of Wilkins. That was the heart of the matter. No Wilkins meant no threat of marriage, no threat of marriage meant no elopement, no elopement meant no unhappy Ella.
For a moment I considered carrying out Edmund’s plan - getting hold of a pistol and just shooting the blasted Wilkins. Yet I discounted that for various reasons. Firstly, wanting to marry my sister was, according to the laws of England, not yet a crime that deserved the death penalty; secondly, I didn’t have money for a gun; and thirdly, even if I did, I would most likely miss.
Hmm… That last bit will have to be rectified in the not-too-distant future. Now that you are regularly running around in men’s clothes you might as well claim male privileges, such as shooting anybody whose face you didn’t like.
Back to planning… how to get rid of Wilkins without shooting him?