NOTE: After over 1,000 reviews and about 9,000 readers, I have removed this to publish on Kindle unlimited. A hearty Thank You to everyone who read and enjoyed it.

This will be my second published story. It follows "A Most Excellent Understanding" published last year (formerly "That Explains Everything"). My first story I did with the excellent staff of Quills and Quartos, but this one I'm flying solo so all errors are mine.

Wade

The piercing scream died after only a few seconds, but the young lady recognised it immediately. She was intimately familiar with screams, and this was the worst kind. There was an edge of panic that could not be denied. Whoever made the noise was clearly in distress.

It was early morning, with the sun just peeking above the horizon, casting a beautiful glow over the open harbour of Ramsgate. The young lady was enjoying a solitary stroll, hoping to enjoy the predawn hours before the area became busy. She regretted her habit of solitary wandering for the first time in her life. She had barely received her guardian's permission after several weeks of asking. Much to her chagrin, when the scream assaulted her ears, she fervently wished for the previously rejected footman.

Without thinking, she hitched up her skirts and ran toward the sound. The scream was only moderately loud, so whoever made it was close, but it was unlikely anybody else had heard. She had never seen a soul so early in the several weeks she had walked that path, so it seemed her lot to attempt assistance. She crossed the patch of grass that ran thirty yards from the seawall to a stand of trees, hearing the waves crashing against the rocks below the cliff and smelling the salt air. A moment later, she heard another muffled scream. The victim was being muted.

The lady bounded through a short hedgerow and was dismayed to find a violent attack in progress. A young lady of perhaps fifteen years was lying on the hard flagstones being accosted by a man of perhaps five and twenty. The girl was trying to scream while the man shoved a glove into her mouth, resulting in a strangled exclamation. The man was apparently trying to have his way with her, while the young lady fought back more vigorously than the cretin apparently expected. The attacker had lifted her skirts to her knees to access the rest of her person. She clawed ineffectually at the brute, but he was at least two stones heavier, obviously stronger, and clearly accustomed to violence. He held her with one hand as he reached for the fall of his trousers with the other.

The attack was nearly the worst thing that could happen to a woman, short of being murdered. Preventing such atrocities was the primary reason young ladies were not supposed to venture out alone. To some, whether the villain completed the assault was almost irrelevant. The eyes of society would count the lady already ruined. Should the morning's actions become known, both young ladies would become tainted, as would their sisters and families. Society was a harsh and nonsensical way to organise a populace, but two powerless young ladies were very unlikely to change it.

Of course, neither of the women were thinking in such deep terms. In fact, they were not really thinking at all—but running on instinct. Every animal understood that when danger lurked, they had to quickly engage or withdraw, stand or flee, fight or run. Running was impossible because it would leave the young lady vulnerable, so fighting was the only choice. Capitulation was unacceptable.

For perhaps the thousandth time, the lady regretted the upbringing thrust on women, who were widely and nonsensically considered the weaker sex, leaving them at a decided disadvantage. Boys learned to give or take a beating as an ordinary part of growing up. It had always seemed that no provocation was too slight to tempt a gaggle of boys into settling it with fists. A young man would know how to fight, or at least have a vague notion of what to do.

Without the dubious benefit of such experience, the lady grabbed the only weapon at hand. The pretend gentleman's walking stick lay on the ground a few steps away, so she desperately grabbed it and swung as hard as she could. The cane was stronger than it looked, so when it connected to his shoulder with a satisfying clunk, it threw the vermin from the young girl.

The lady admired her handiwork with satisfaction, but only momentarily, as the attacker jumped up and bashed his vastly more experienced fist into her head. She fell over backwards, tearing her gown on a hedge, and simultaneously felt a sharp branch tear a sizeable chunk out of her lower calf—which hurt like the devil and unleashed a scream of epic proportions.

Nothing in her life had prepared her for the agony that came from the punch and subsequent injury. Nothing could have prepared her for the way her mind split into three distinct pieces, each working independently.

The first was an intense feeling of pain that alternately wanted her to scream with all her might or curl up into a ball to cry. She had terrible injuries on her head and leg, while the rest felt as if trampled by wild horses.

The second part was feverishly examining her situation and thinking of the inevitable repercussions to herself, her family, and the unfortunate young girl. Ruined reputations and blasted marriage prospects seemed the least of the likely consequences.

Luckily, the third part of her mind was nowhere near as introspective. That part was not thoughtful in the least—it was furious! That part had endured all it planned to. It did not care about the future beyond the next five seconds. It did not care about propriety, reputations, her rescue victim, ladylike behaviour, or anything—save the continued presence of the walking stick.

Without conscious design, the aggressive part of her mind took hold with both hands and swung it in a tight arc at any part of the attacker within reach. Like most young ladies, she played cricket from time to time, so swinging such an instrument was not an entirely new experience, though she could not claim any more than the most basic proficiency. Her previous experience was with a short bat with its handle wrapped in twine for a good grip. Instead, she had to rely on holding the cane on the bottom with sweating and shaking hands.

Voicing a superbly unladylike grunt, she swung with all her might. Through skill or luck, the handle of the cane connected first with the man's raised fist, which was headed towards her face with a killing blow, and thence to the side of his head.

The attacker went down with a doubly resounding thunk, with his head pointed away, apparently unconscious and out of the fight for the moment.

Victim and rescuer stood stock still, breathing like lathered racehorses. The rescuer watched the attacker for movement as the victim stared at the sky with tears rolling down her cheeks while she scrambled ineffectually at the glove in her mouth.

The elder fell to her knees and gathered the victim into her arms, doing her best to pull the poor girl's skirts down while watching the unconscious attacker. She knew there was very little time and much to do, so while the lady would have preferred to take the young girl to bed and hold her while she cried her eyes out, such was not to be.

Actions were necessary, so she said the first of what she hoped would be very few words. "Miss, I hate to press you, but we must leave this place… NOW! It is tremendously unfair, but we cannot allow anyone to find us. Discovery would ruin both our lives beyond repair."

Unsurprisingly, only sniffles came in response, so the young lady clearly required more drastic action. She had seen plenty of crying girls in her day and knew what to do, but her head hurt abominably, and her vision was fuzzy. She was certain she sported an enormous bruise on her cheek, her leg was bleeding, and her mind was still furiously thinking along all three tracks—and even added a fourth, screaming at the top of its lungs, 'ENOUGH! HE SHALL NOT WIN!'

Hating herself for what was required, she arose reeling with dizziness, grabbed the young girl's hands, and unceremoniously hauled her to her feet.

The younger stared in confusion, but steady to her purpose, the elder tamped down all sympathy.

"MISS! I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your childhood just ended. Ready or not, you are a woman now and must act the part."

It did not surprise her when the response was pure confusion.

"But… but… but… No! He did not… he did not… you saved… the deed was unfinish…"

That thinking was singularly unhelpful.

"You mistake me! Your virtue is still intact, but we are in precarious positions. Society will consider us both ruined, or at least tainted, if today's events become known. I will not have it! I will not let that man win! I neither know nor care who you are or why you are here unprotected. We both chose to walk unaccompanied and will both suffer the consequences. I will take my fair share, but no more."

The victim reflexively made a shallow curtsey. "I am Georgiana Darcy and —"

"STOP!" the elder hissed in distress and emphasized the command by placing her hand over the child's mouth.

This set the younger back to panicked crying, which was not the least bit helpful.

The elder grasped her shoulder, shook her slightly, and replied in a calmer voice. "I am not terribly angry with you, but it is imperative we know nothing of each other. I wish I did not know your name, and I assure you it will never pass my lips."

This produced more confusion, but fortunately, it appeared to replace some of her panic and tears.

"But why? You saved my life. You should be feted, not censured. I owe you everything!"

The elder needed to take firm control. "Do you have any idea how dire our position is? Do you know how the law of the land works?"

The younger just shook her head in confusion.

"England has over eight hundred crimes punishable by death! They hang boys younger than us for picking apples or poaching a rabbit. We live in a terribly unjust society. The law would not even charge that villain, let alone convict him, even with a dozen witnesses. His worst likely outcome would involve destroying the rest of your life through marriage. He would not even get such a mild punishment if he were a peer, or you a servant. And yet, in the unlikely event that he died from my perfectly moral defence—I could HANG for it. And that is not even counting that society will consider us both ruined."

The young girl was obviously unaware of how dire things stood. "But… but… but…"

Finding the stuttering unhelpful, the elder continued relentlessly.

"One crime punishable by death or transportation is perjury. A charge is unlikely for someone from your class, but it could happen if you lie to a magistrate. However—this is important, so listen carefully! They cannot charge you for not revealing something you do not know. Ignorance is your shield. You do not know me and never will. We will leave Ramsgate, and should we ever encounter each other, we will neither recognise nor even acknowledge each other. Am I rightly understood?" she said as fiercely as she could with her pounding head.

The young lady simply nodded, looking awestruck and frightened by her rescuer.

The elder continued without mercy. She was feeling dizzy, and blood was seeping through her stocking and dripping down her leg. She needed to get this miserable chore over with.

"Listen carefully! There is little time, and we must be away. Why are you here alone? Do you have a companion? Is someone likely to search for you or notice your absence?"

It was obvious the younger lady was of the much higher circles who were targets for every fortune-hunting scoundrel in the world. Only the most lackadaisical guardian in England would let a young girl wander alone with a dress screaming 'first circles' in its very fabric. The dress cost more than most families spent on their entire wardrobe, and it was probably one of dozens she owned. The girl almost certainly sneaked away from her guardian, and she would pay the price.

"I… know him… and ah… my companion… ah… encouraged me to spend time with him."

That statement nearly sent the elder into shock, and the younger into a ball of shame, once both realised how terrible the companion was, and how hopelessly stupid the victim herself had acted. They said nothing for a moment as the full import sank in.

Finally, the elder repeated incredulously, "You know that cretin?"

The younger nodded in shame, while the elder wished she could forget. For whatever reason, the young lady had made a series of terrible decisions which very well might ruin both their lives.

The elder thought for a moment, then let the aggressive part of her mind have its way. "Here is what we will do. Pay attention! I will only say this once!"

The younger nodded in acquiescence while turning her head to make sure her nemesis was still unconscious.

The rescuer was having none of that. She grabbed the young girl's chin to turn it back before she could see.

"NO! Listen! Understand! That man was alive and well the last time you saw him, and as far as you know, he remains so. You will run from here as fast as your legs can carry you. You will never-never-ever tell what happened this morning to anyone—and I mean anyone. Not your father, mother, guardian, brother, sister, or best friend—not even your eventual husband. Do you understand?"

The young miss looked frightened, but she nodded determinedly.

Holding a finger up for emphasis, the elder stated emphatically. "If someone ever asks directly, you will state truthfully that he was not acting the gentleman, so you asked him to desist, and he was fine the last time you saw him—agreed?"

She nodded again.

"Can you sneak into your house?"

The girl nodded, mouth still hanging slightly open.

The lady circled, examining clothing and appearance while keeping a wary eye on the unconscious attacker with her weapon handy.

"Through pure luck, your dress is mostly undamaged, so get back to your lodgings with nobody the wiser. Have your companion dismissed—but do it subtly and slowly. Write your guardian ordinary post—not express. Do not do or say anything suspicious or alarming. Invite him to visit and tell some innocuous tale—enough to dismiss the companion, but not without reference, and not related to this criminal. It is imperative that nobody ever learns of her connection to this man. Can you do that?"

The younger looked shocked. "You wish me to lie to my br—" barely avoiding mentioning the relationship.

"Yes, you need to lie. It is crucial your guardian never knows what happened here. Should he carry the burden of your mistake? What would the confession accomplish? You would be just as miserable and revealing it would double the burden rather than halving it. Will he feel the success of a narrowly avoided disaster or his failure to educate and protect you properly? Will he ship you off to relatives in shame?" she said stridently.

Squeezing the young girl's arm for emphasis, she made her main point. "Worst of all—should you reveal what happened, you will add one more person who is a danger to ME! I will not have it! We need to carry our secrets to the grave."

"That is enormously unfair!" the younger said petulantly.

"It is the way of the world. Tell me something, young lady. Did your governess skip the lessons on the basic rules of propriety? Did your companion drag you out here to meet that man against your will? Did you even inform your guardian you were walking out with a man? Are you even out? Were you somehow unaware of how improper all this is?"

The look of shame was enough to answer the questions.

Trying to decide between harsh or gentle discipline, the elder continued. "You made your own bed, my dear—and you made mine while you were at it. Your actions brought us to this place. I cannot blame you for wandering alone since I am doing the same, but I am not clandestinely meeting a man."

The younger looked as if she might fall over in shock or shame. Either way, she seemed incapable of response.

"This is important, so hear me well! That man has almost all the blame for this debacle, which will affect our lives forever, but you must own your share, and I will own mine. Basic honesty demands it. We must lie by omission to everyone we know for the rest of our lives, but we at least need enough integrity to be honest with ourselves. We will be just two of the many‑many people in the world who carry a burden they do not deserve. Our trials will be worse than some and better than others. You will never heal if you do not own your share of the blame and correct whatever defect of character brought you to this place."

The young lady seemed ready to fight the stricture, but they had already lingered far too long and there was truly no more time, so the elder concluded.

"Go home. Think about what you did. Improve whatever part of your character needs correction. Learn the rules of society that you remain ignorant or wilful of. Do not let this incident define you! Become the lady you were born to be, a woman of substance and character," but then she paused thoughtfully and continued ruefully," on second thought, do let this define you as a lady who faced up to her difficulties as a grown woman, learned from it, and did the right thing."

They stared at each other until the younger finally nodded.

"Very well. Do not look at that creature, not even a glance. Walk the other way. Go home and make something of yourself. Take my blessings with you and live a good life. We shall never meet again, but always remember I am somewhere in the world thinking well of you. Our terrible day will probably save some other hapless young lady from a similar fate. Leopards do not change their spots, so that man would almost certainly have tried the same on someone else if we had not stopped him, or at least, slowed him down. Do not redress the past but move forward with a worthwhile life."

She placed a small kiss on the young girl's forehead and sent her on her way.

Once the young victim was on her way back to the rest of her life, the elder sighed and tried to make her courage rise at this attempt to intimidate her. She knew full well things would never be the same. The event irrevocably changed her life, but it did not alter the fact that she needed to protect herself—or at the very least, her family.

Leaning on her courage, she crept to the other side of the villain and carefully examined her handiwork. The man had a handsome face, one that would leave women swooning everywhere—or at least it might have without the staring-lifeless eyes. The man had obviously committed his last of probably many heinous acts. It remained only to make sure the closing chapter of his wasted life ended with the correct punctuation.

She discarded a plan to simply walk away. Any investigation of a dead body with bruised knuckles and a bloody walking stick would not require a genius. An investigation could easily find her and her young accomplice within days, especially given her injuries. The magistrate might haul both ladies up on charges that could easily result in at least one being transported or hanged. The victim might get off because she did nothing wrong, or more likely because she was from a rich and influential family, so she probably had no actual concerns. However, a lady with no standing or connexions, who delivered the killing blow personally, might not be so lucky. She certainly did not wish to bet her life on the ineffectiveness of a magistrate or the reasonableness of a judge.

With a resigned sigh, she sought to discover if a woman could move a prostrate villain like the heroine in a novel. With a shiver, she grabbed the dead meat by his coat sleeves and pulled him half upright. Standing carefully behind his back, she clasped her hands across his chest, and with a mighty heave, dragged the lifeless corpse back one step.

Step by step, inch by inch, she endured. One big breath, one big heave, one more step backwards, and another foot covered. The feeling of dragging a dead weight made her skin crawl, and every time she dragged back a step, the head of the body slipped from side to side or bounced back into her chest, making her want to scream again. She counted it fortunate the wet grass showed only two faint lines from his heels, and wished fervently the marks on her soul might disappear as quickly—though she counted it unlikely.

When she backed into the seawall, she stopped to catch her breath. Looking around cautiously, she searched the man's coat. She was undecided whether it would be better or worse for him to be identified, but at least wanted to know her choices.

She found a wallet with £137 in large bank notes and £700 of vowels: so-called debts of honour. She surmised he was probably a gamester, a criminal, or both.

She stuffed the notes into a hole and covered it with a rock to recover before she left Ramsgate. She had no intention of swinging for the vermin. £137 was entirely sufficient for a sensible woman to travel to the continent and live simply for long enough to establish a profession. If necessary, she would flee beyond the reach of English law. For a moment, she even thought to do so at once if it would not harm her family or Miss Darcy.

She hated knowing the girl's name and would endeavour to forget it forthwith.

The man had a flask engraved with GW, though she had no idea if it was the villain's initials or not. With a man like that, it was just as likely the initials of the man he stole it from. She thought it was probably best for the body to be identified if it was ever found, so she returned the flask and the wallet with the vowels. With one last mighty struggle, she heaved the body up to lay it on the seawall.

The thought of saying a prayer for such a spawn of the devil filled her with revulsion, so with a feeling of good riddance, she shoved him off for his last journey.

In a burst of vindictive indulgence, she leaned as far out as she could to watch the body bounce off a rock and into the crashing waves. She even indulged herself for another half-minute, watching the sea gradually pound what was left against the rocks. She abstractedly noticed several seagulls drop to investigate. Apparently, they found the man no more useful than Elizabeth had. She took another brief moment to smell the salt air and listen to the sound of the waves, hoping at some future date to only have those memories.

Once she satisfied her sense of justice, she looked around. The sea would wash the body away or pound it into meat, so nobody could ever determine anything about the villain's death. She tossed the walking stick in to join its owner. The money was well-hidden, and the twin drag marks from his boots already faded. A careful examination of the scene showed no evidence the morning had irrevocably ruined three lives.

She reluctantly turned her attention to the massive bruise on her face, the gash on her leg, and her stained and bloodied clothing. She could not explain those away, so she began the next part of her haphazard scheme. She picked up her skirts and ran down a steep path toward a beach, moving with abandon and looking for a specific place.

A quarter-hour placed her in the right spot. It had a grassy bank with an unstable-looking edge that nobody in their right mind would choose. She needed witnesses, so she walked until she saw two men fishing from the beach forty yards below. The spot was perfect. The footing was weak, and there were a few yards of steep sand followed by a dozen yards of shale. This was going to hurt!

Making sure nobody was looking, she went to the ragged edge and stomped enough to cave the earth away and let out a blood-curdling scream.

True to plan, she fell into the steep sand and started rolling. Unfortunately, she stopped a few feet short of the shale, which forced her to do the last roll herself. Once in the shale, sliding became much less of a problem. In fact, the scheme worked too well, as she cascaded the last few yards to the beach accompanied by dozens of stones. She came within a foot of giving herself the same fate as the vermin she had dispatched the hour before. The fall easily carried out her goal of hiding the damage. She ended up with cuts and bruises on her face, legs, and arms, and a thoroughly ruined morning dress.

The two fishermen were in every way the opposite of the villain she had dispatched. They were rough labourers, a dockworker, and a carter—both kind-hearted and concerned. The day's catch had already been profitable, and both were nearly ready to depart the beach in favour of a flagon when they heard the noise.

The two men reached the lady in less than a minute, assessed her injuries in another, and laid her out for transport in two more. They were discussing which wife they should deliver the hapless young lady to when she awoke briefly. The quicker one asked where she was staying and received a direction before she succumbed once again to darkness.

The men could easily carry a donkey, let alone a little slip of a girl, so they decided to quietly deliver her to her lodgings, and all would be well. Carrying a lady would raise questions best not asked, so they wrapped her in a blanket and took turns carrying the limp body through mostly empty back lanes.

Everything became easy once they reached the house. The carter knocked on the servant's entrance and explained himself to the housekeeper. That worthy called for the mistress, then sent her best footman to fetch the young lady to her bedroom. The housekeeper paid the men handsomely for their diligence, with a bit extra to ensure poor memories and quiet tongues.

The mistress and a trusted maid tended her wounds. They had to cut parts of her clothing off with scissors, but it was all ruined anyway, so it made little difference. They saw a great number of cuts and bruises on both legs, both arms, and her head. Neither thought the injuries were likely to kill her but called for assistance just to be certain.

A surgeon's examination showed that, aside from a plethora of cuts, scrapes, and bruises, she appeared healthy enough. He suggested several remedies to avoid fever or infection, but otherwise suggested sleep was the sovereign remedy.

Her guardian forbade her from leaving her bedroom for a week, and she barely escaped her footman long enough to recover her survival money a fortnight later.

Within a month of the unfortunate incident, both ladies took their separate leaves of Ramsgate, devoutly hoping to never see the accursed place again. One returned to her father's house, and the other to her brother's—without her companion, whom he had dismissed, though not for the actual crime committed, of which he was to remain blissfully unaware.

Both young ladies knew their lives were forever altered, and both independently sought to make the best of it.

Time would tell what 'the best' might entail.