Should she try it now? Or wait until her uncle had decided she was being docile and would accept her fate?
It was now two o’clock. Still pondering, she sat down against the door to the corridor and laid her head against it to catch any sound she could.
After a few minutes of sitting, dwelling on what would happen to Mr. Langdon if she did not warn him, she was overcome with nervous energy and jumped up. There had to be another way. There must be something she wasn’t thinking of.
She wandered over to her old trunk, which she had brought with her after her parents had died and which had contained all her possessions at that time. She had not looked inside it in years.
She opened it and rummaged around inside, finding a Bible, a Book of Common Prayer, and several other items, including baby clothes and a black iron cross.
She picked up the cross, having never paid much attention to it before, and turned it over in her hand. The cross was heavy and seemed very old. It was a little larger than her hand and would make a good weapon if she had to defend herself. And now that she thought of it, she could probably use it to break the lock on one of the doors.
Walking over to the window, she sat down and stared out at the street below, cradling the cross in her hands.
So now she had a fifth option—break through the locked door herself. The thought gave her a feeling of power.
But it would be best to wait until closer to eight o’clock before trying to escape. If she escaped too soon, her uncle might discover it in time to find another way to kill Mr. Langdon.
Footsteps approached on the other side of her door. She hid the heavy cross in the folds of her dress, against her outer leg, and covered it with her hand.
A key scraped in the lock. The door swung open and her uncle entered.
“Julia. I am glad you are taking this so well. You always were a very sensible girl.”
“What do you want?” She turned her face away from him, unwilling for him to see her feelings in her expression.
“I came to tell you not to try to ring for a servant. I have disconnected your bell. Also, I have sent Phoebe away. She thinks you went riding with Leorah Langdon without her. She is furious with you and so has gone on an outing with her mother. They will spend the night at her cousin Dorothea’s tonight. I just wanted to let you know, so you wouldn’t hope for Phoebe’s intervention.”
His voice was hard and cold, his face expressionless.
“If you cooperate, I shall encourage Mr. Edgerton to treat you well once you are married. If you do not cooperate . . . Mr. Edgerton listens to everything I tell him. He is quite swayed by me. If I tell him you are an obstinate, stubborn sort of girl, it will be easy for me to persuade him that treating you with kindness is a mistake, that he should be harsh in order to secure your love and obedience. Do I make myself clear?”
Julia refused to even look at him and made him no answer.
After a long pause, he said, “Everything will turn out all right for you. Edgerton will have a fortune, and you and Phoebe will be settled near enough for frequent visits. What more could a girl of no fortune and no parents hope for?”
Heat rose into her face. What more could a girl like me hope for? Marriage to a man I could never respect and friendship with a spoiled, selfish girl like Phoebe?
Was that truly what she thought of Phoebe? Had Julia’s feelings for her cousin changed so drastically?
Soon—very soon—Julia would be free of Phoebe, for good or ill, but she could never hate the one person she had grown up loving.
As soon as she escaped and was able to warn Mr. Langdon of the attempt on his life, Julia would take the post chaise to her new position. She had been accepted as a governess by the Athertons in Suffolk. They had younger children who had been without a governess for some weeks. Mrs. Atherton was quite eager for Julia to come to them as soon as might be.
The terrible fate of becoming a governess, which Sarah Peck had so dreaded for Julia, seemed infinitely better than staying and marrying Mr. Edgerton, even though he would have a fortune after helping to arrange the assassination of England’s best general.
Her uncle finally interrupted her thoughts.
“I shall leave you now, Julia. You never should have interfered in my business. But it shall all turn out well in the end.”
He closed the door behind him.
Julia had been in her room for hours. No one had come to her rescue. She had run out of water and had not eaten anything since breakfast. But she felt strength—nervous energy, more like—running through her limbs and emboldening her. She was ready to escape, however she might be able to.
It was now nearly six thirty. She wanted to give herself enough time to reach Mr. Langdon before he left his home to make his way to the East Side and Bishopsgate Street.