In front of her, the portmanteau was almost full. She looked round the shabby room to make sure she had not forgotten anything, running her eyes over the iron bed, the chest of drawers and the washstand, but the surfaces were all bare. Once she had packed her last dress she would have finished. Her thoughts returned to her coming journey and her spirits lifted. As long as she could avoid Mr Montmerency for a few more hours then she would be able to escape him. She would be out of his power, and sailing on the Titanic for her godmother’s home in Ireland. She finished her packing and was just about to close her bag when her heart skipped a beat, for she heard the sound of footsteps hurrying up the stairs. No, he can’t have found me, she thought in fright. A moment later she breathed a sigh of relief as Mrs Wichwood hurried into the room, but the feeling was short lived. The kindly landlady’s face was worried, and Emilia guessed that something dreadful had happened. ‘He’s here,’ said Mrs Wichwood, puffing and panting.
