The Journey (37 page)

“Where have they gone?” Caroline whined. “I want to leave this place.”

“It must have been terrible for you,” I said. “Bound and gagged and hidden in the woods. However did you manage?”

“It was insufferable! I cannot begin to describe it. We were shoved and crammed into that coach with menservants! I doubt that I shall ever recover from such mistreatment. I still suffer from nightmares, and Louisa does, as well.”

She sighed and tossed her head. “You have no idea how fortunate you were to be taken, Eliza. At least Mr. Darcy remained by your side to protect you, and you were never abandoned or left to defend yourself against those criminals. Oh yes, you are fortunate, indeed.”

“That I am, Caroline,” I said quietly, although images flashed through my memory of the times I was forced to fend for myself against Sneyd as well as Morgan.

How would it benefit either of us to tell her of my experience? Because of her jealousy, she had closed her mind against me, and the most I could hope for was civility between us. For Jane’s sake, I would do what I could to promote such grace.

“I suggest we do all that we can to put the memory behind us,” I offered. “We have both suffered in our own ways. We have shared and survived a common peril. Perchance, in some unforeseen manner, the experience will bind us for all time. I know I shall never think of the beginning of that journey without remembrance of you.”

She turned to meet my gaze. “You may be correct. We are survivors, are we not? Our degree of suffering does not have to equal, I suppose, for us to extend a common understanding toward each other.”

“Nor a common sympathy,” I added, smiling. I was rewarded with the faintest hint of a similar expression crossing her face.

Mrs. Hurst returned about that time, emerging from the wood alone. Somewhat out of breath from her walk, she struggled to speak without panting. Eventually I understood that Mr. Darcy wished for me to join him, as she waved her handkerchief in that direction. I stepped quickly and hurried to find him, eager to depart Caroline’s renewed whine to complete the journey.

It was not difficult to locate Mr. Darcy within the grove of trees and shrubs, for he knelt within a portion that had been flattened by Mr. Bingley’s carriage months before.

“Elizabeth,” he said, looking up, an air of excitement in his manner, “I have found it!”

“Found what, sir?” I replied.

“My father’s money clip! I discovered it here, along with a woman’s necklace. It must belong to Miss Bingley or Mrs. Hurst.” He stood up and held out his hand, wherein I saw a thick gold money clip in the shape of the letter D.

“I thought Colonel Fitzwilliam said all that was stolen by the robbers had been sold, but for my cross. How did you know to search in this place?”

“When I met with Morgan, he confessed that he had dropped part of the loot sometime either during the robbery or on the ride to the cabin. I took a chance that the loss might have occurred before we left this site to embark upon that long ride through the woods.”

“When you met with Morgan?” I echoed. “I do not understand. When did such a meeting occur?”

He took my arm as we began to exit the woods. “After he was sentenced and before I spoke to the judge about commuting his decision to transportation, I visited with Morgan at Newgate Prison. I offered him the opportunity to go to America in return for certain promises.”

“What kind of promises?”

“The assurance that he would do all in his power to make a decent life for Gert in Virginia, meaning that he would forsake his old ways and dedicate himself to becoming a law-abiding citizen instead of a lawbreaker.”

“Is that all?”

He took a deep breath and swallowed. “No. I also told him that if he ever did anything to harm you in any way, and I learned of it — I would kill him.”

I swallowed as well. “Did you tell Morgan you planned to send me to Virginia?”

He shook his head. “When I met with him, I had not even thought of purchasing your passage. Yet, I still feared you and he might someday be united, and I wanted to put him on guard. I wished him to know that someone else cared what happened to you and would take every means to protect you.”

“Oh, Fitzwilliam.” I stopped and turned to him. Once again that tormented expression played about his eyes. “I cannot bear that I caused you such worry and fear.”

He took both my hands in his and then looked around where we were standing. “This spot — this very spot is where Morgan sat on his horse, and Sneyd thrust you into his arms. I can still see the way his hands encircled your waist and how he pulled you close against his chest, his rough cheek brushing against yours. I wanted to kill him, Elizabeth! God help me, if I had possessed opportunity, I would have!”

I reached up and touched his cheek, turning his face to meet mine. “It is over, dearest. From this day forward, only your hands shall touch me, and I shall lean upon no one but you. I shall nestle safely in your arms. Let us leave the past here. It is dead and finished. We are alive and well and, God willing, have a lifetime in which to create memories that will fill our hearts and cancel out those that torment us.”

He leaned toward me, and although he could not take me in his arms then and there, I rejoiced to see the light return to his beautiful dark eyes, the anguish vanish, replaced by love and joy and eager anticipation of days to come.

Chapter Sixteen

The day we returned to Hertfordshire, rain set in, and it continued for nigh onto three weeks but for the briefest of respites. The cold, raw temperatures of late January and early February only added to the general unpleasantness of the climate. Consequently, I was forced to stay indoors, and my longing for a good tramp through the woods remained unsatisfied.

The inclement weather, however, did not halt Mamá’s frantic wedding preparations. My father’s carriage was called for daily so that she might frequent the dressmaker’s establishment in Meryton and meet more often than needed with the vicar of Longbourn church.

She raided her friends’ stillrooms, begging gifts of their finest dried blooms with which to decorate the sanctuary. Urging the advice of Mrs. Philips and Mrs. Long and seeking their opinions of her proposed arrangements, she then promptly disregarded them. Thus, the muddy ruts along the road from Longbourn to Meryton grew ever deeper with each passing day.

Still, I was happy to be at home, away from the clamour of London and its noisy, crowded atmosphere. One would hardly deem our house quiet, but by comparison, its country setting filled me with a peace I had not experienced since leaving it over two months earlier.

My sister Lydia’s return added to the degree of giggles and wails. If not regaling us with joyful accounts of her days spent with Mrs. Forster and her retinue of young officers, she mourned bitterly the loss of one young man in particular.

It seemed that Mr. Wickham had attached himself to Miss King, a relative newcomer to the area, but one of some importance. She had recently inherited a fortune of ten thousand pounds, and Lydia was inconsolable at the news. She declared that if she had a fortune, not only Mr. Wickham but several of the young officers would ask for her hand, a vision reinforced by my mother.

“Of course, I should choose Mr. Wickham,” Lydia announced, “for if anyone could make me be true, it would be him. Is he not the handsomest man you have ever seen in his regimentals?”

Kitty agreed with her, but both Jane and I admonished her not to engage in such idle talk. Jane suggested that it was not proper to speak in that manner of a gentleman already attached to another while I lectured her on the importance of choosing a man of worth, not just looks.

“Oh, pooh!” Lydia declared. “Just because Mr. Wickham did not choose you, Lizzy, is no reason to denounce his merit.”

“She can afford to now,” Kitty said, “since a man ten times his worth has asked for her hand.”

Lydia made a face and threw the bonnet she had been trimming onto the table. “Mr. Darcy may be rich enough, but I think him a bore. Can you imagine spending your life with such a strict, proper man? I much prefer a man of excitement. One could never grow restless married to Mr. Wickham. There is such an air of daring about him!”

Neither Mary’s moral platitudes, nor anything Jane or I said could dissuade Lydia from her foolish ideas.

My elder sister and I had privately decided not to share with our family the information about Mr. Wickham’s indiscretion with Georgiana because of the embarrassment it might cause Mr. Darcy and his sister. Thus, when warning Lydia, we were forced to speak in general terms of Mr. Wickham’s lack of character. Since it had little visible effect on her inexperienced outlook, I took relief in the fact that Mr. Wickham had now removed himself from the marriage market in Hertfordshire.

“Besides,” Jane later said in my bedchamber, “Mr. Wickham would never importune one of our sisters even if he were not attached to Miss King, for he must marry money.”

“Now that you and I are moving up in the world, Jane,” I said, “our sisters’ circumstances are somewhat altered. A man with Mr. Wickham’s outlook might see our connections as promising. Yes, it is a very good thing that he is safely settled on another.”

* * *

I do not know whether it was the forced indoor confinement that caused those weeks before my wedding to crawl by at such an interminable pace or not, but rarely had I wished for anything to pass as greatly as I yearned for that time to elapse.

Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley called daily, but we were rarely granted more than a moment alone. My father’s house seemed to grow smaller each week. I felt as though we were smothered in people and not only members of our household. Mrs. Long, Mrs. Philips, Lady Lucas, and other friends of my mother called regularly. Mrs. Forster, accompanied by several of the young officers of the militia, attended upon us as well. And then, the week before the wedding, Mr. and Mrs. Collins returned to Hertfordshire to stay at Lucas Lodge.

It seemed that Mr. Collins was now out of favour with Lady Catherine because he and I were cousins, and she had not yet reconciled herself that I was to marry her nephew. My father’s bizarre sense of humour caused him to advise Mr. Collins that if he had a choice, he should stand by Mr. Darcy, as he had more to give. Thus, we were treated to frequent visits from Charlotte and her husband. Although I enjoyed time with my good friend, even a little of Mr. Collins’s obsequious presence strained Mr. Darcy’s patience to the breaking point.

Jane and I were often invited to visit Netherfield, but there Mr. and Mrs. Hurst and Caroline prevailed upon our attentions, and Mr. Darcy and I found ourselves alone only upon the odd occasion and then but for a moment or two.

I sensed that he was growing increasingly frustrated and watched him resort to his unsociable behaviours frequently. He spoke less and less, entering into conversation only when forced. He spent undue amounts of time gazing out the windows of both Netherfield Hall and Longbourn, and his impatience with my mother, Mr. Collins, Caroline Bingley, and my younger sisters grew ever more obvious.

At last, I suggested he refrain from calling for a day. The rain had let up that evening, and as he bade me good night, I said, “It appears we shall have a favourable break in the weather. Why not spend the entire day tomorrow out of doors in sport with Mr. Bingley and Mr. Hurst?”

I could see the relief in his eyes, although he expressed regret at not visiting me.

“Perchance a brief absence will do us both good. On the following day, you may find yourself racing back to see me.” I gave him an arch smile as he kissed my hand. I should miss him, but I knew he needed time away from my family.

The next morning I rose early, buttoned my pelisse, and grabbed my bonnet, intent upon a long, solitary walk in the woods. If Mamá were awake, she would have warned me about soiling my petticoat on the muddy roads, but I cared not a whit. I longed for the freedom of no other company but my own.

Just as I reached the front door, however, the heavens greeted me with yet another round of raindrops. It was not a heavy storm, but a persistent drizzle, and cancelled any opportunity for a hike. With a great sigh, I picked up a book I had left in the parlour, grabbed an apple from the dining room table, and slipped out the door.

Making a hurried dash, I ran around the house, crossed the courtyard, and entered into the back part of the stable used primarily for storage. Bridles, saddles, blankets, and various grooming tools hung neatly from pegs on the walls, against which the winter’s supply of hay bales was stacked.

None of the servants was about, and so I selected a blanket, threw it over my shoulder, and climbed the ladder to the hayloft where a mountain of loose hay awaited me. A favourite retreat since childhood, I thought it a perfect refuge in which to hide. I spread out the horse blanket and mounded up enough hay for a pillow before reclining with only an apple and a novel for company. It was not a walk, but at least I could be alone for a while.

Some time later, I heard the arrival of a carriage and peered through the space between the rough boards of the stable wall. My Aunt Philips had arrived, along with Mrs. Long. Once they entered the house, the servants drove the carriage into the main stable.

I knew I should go in and greet them, but the thought of giving up my solitude convinced me to remain exactly where I lay. Besides that, I had unpinned my hair so that the plump knot did not rub against my scalp as I reclined. I had little desire to redo my coiffure just to see my mother’s visitors. I returned to the adventure I had been reading, content to conceal myself as long as possible.