Pride and Pursuit: A Pride and Prejudice Variation, page 7
Her hopes for a long and comfortable sleep, however, were dashed when there came a desperate knock at her door very early the next morning. The sun was still caressing the horizon, casting that golden light that comes just after dawn, gilding the furniture in her room as it slipped through the partly open draperies.
Mrs Abbot slipped into the room with apologies on her lips and concern in her eyes.
“Hurry, Miss Bennet, there is little time to lose. Put this clothing on, and I will explain as you dress.” She held out some unfamiliar garments that turned out to be a simple skirt and blouse, as a farmer’s daughter might wear.
“What are these? What of my own clothing? What has happened?” She rubbed her eyes and stumbled out of the bed. Cold water from the basin woke her completely, and she pulled on the borrowed garments whilst Mrs Abbot explained.
“He is here, Wickham, the man from whom your good Mr Darcy is fleeing. I could hardly account for it in the telling, but I see it all now. I knew this fellow as a child and distrusted him then, and I cannot like him any more at present.”
“He is here? Now?” Elizabeth’s fingers fumbled from a shudder of fear as she buttoned the front of the blouse.
The housekeeper nodded. “He is, and I am not pleased to see him. He has come asking after Mr Darcy and yourself, and we are insisting we have seen nothing of you at all. I am sorry to see you leave, but it is the safest choice. We will delay him as much as we can, of course, keep him here so he cannot follow. Here, allow me to help you with the ties at the back of the skirt. I had the idea from the clothing we lent to your young man last night. With a large bonnet to hide your pretty face, you will look like nothing other than a young country lad and his girl. Are you ready?”
Elizabeth nodded.
“Very good! We must go down the servants’ stairs. Mr Wickham is inside the house, by the front door. We thought it best to keep an eye on him, but he will see you if you take the main staircase.” She pulled Elizabeth along the hallway to a panel that opened into a narrow set of stairs, and then down into the servants’ areas by the kitchen. Will was already there, helping Cook load a basket with fresh buns and some fruit. He looked up at her with serious eyes.
“I am sorry, Elizabeth. I never imagined he would trace us here. Mrs Abbot, I would not have come had I thought to bring danger to you.”
“Never you fear,” that lady replied. “All will be well. It is only he and one other, and I have twelve strong men in the house should I need them. But I do not think he means ill to this household, only to find you. I can think of no other reason why he should come at so early an hour, other than to catch you asleep.”
“As he did,” Elizabeth observed.
“He shall find nothing. Mr Abbot is delaying him now with excessive kindness, and in a few minutes, once you have departed, we shall conduct him on a tour of the house to assure him that you are not here. A very,” she stressed the word, “thorough tour of the house. It will take an hour, perhaps more.”
“But our belongings?”
“Your trunk is already stored away in milady’s suite, and your rooms are, even now, being turned over. There will be no trace of you.”
Will’s brow screwed up. “And the carriage? The horses?”
Here, Mrs Abbot sighed. “There is nothing on the carriage to associate it with you, either of you, but you cannot use it, for it is in the carriage house immediate to the house, and he will see you leave. Likewise, your two horses. But here, help me fold this blanket. Jim from the village has just now come with the order of flour for the house, and he will see you back to the village, if you do not mind riding under some heavy sacks for a few minutes. I have sent a note to our stable master. Our primary stables are at the far end of the park, a mile yonder, and he will have a wagon or something ready for you, and a good strong horse as well. You can reclaim your own when you return. Hurry now. Is everything ready?”
Elizabeth turned to Will, who gave a curt nod.
“Then off you go. Here is Jim. He will see you safe.”
They thanked the housekeeper with every ounce of gratitude they had and left with promises to return as soon as they could.
Mrs Abbot was true to her word. After a rather uncomfortable ride lying down under a pile of sacks in the back of Jim’s cart, they were greeted by a serious stable master, who showed them what he had arranged for their use.
“‘Tis not what you are likely accustomed to, I’m afraid,” he frowned, “but it’s solid and will get you wherever you’re going. Dobbin is a good, strong creature, he is, and goes a long way without tiring. Not the fastest horse, but neither the slowest. He’ll see you well. Here is the cart we have. I believe it the best for your needs.”
He took them to the lane behind the main stables, where a wooden cart stood ready, the horse already in harness. It was long enough for a man to lie down in, and had a frame that supported an oiled canvas as a tarpaulin. The covering had flaps that could be opened or closed at the front by the bench, and reminded Elizabeth of drawings of the covered wagons used in the American colonies.
“It will keep your belongings and the food basket dry,” the man said, “and yourselves as well, if you need it.”
The implication was clear: It might be the only shelter they would have on some days, and now Elizabeth understood the housekeeper’s insistence on them taking the blankets she had prepared. If the weather turned, they would have to wrap themselves up in whatever they had, perhaps even huddle together for warmth.
There was no time to act missish or blush artfully at this. They must be long gone by the time Wickham finished his tour of the house. Will went to befriend Dobbin, the horse, with soft words and an apple, and in a moment, they were set.
With more words of thanks and directions to the best road, they departed Milden Hall for parts unknown.
CHAPTER 7
Whither Shall We Wander?
By the time the sky was fully bright, Darcy and Elizabeth had put five miles or more between them and Milden Hall, and—hopefully—George Wickham. They spoke little, but when Elizabeth reached into the basket and pulled out a soft roll to offer him, Darcy took it with gratitude. Gratitude for Mrs Abbot’s thoughtfulness and care, gratitude for another day out of Wickham’s clutches, and, oddly, gratitude for this young lady seated beside him, delicately chewing on her own breakfast.
An added responsibility she might be, and he would certainly make better time without her, but her presence lightened his load, even though it added to hers. He glanced at her now, as if for the first time. He had distractedly considered her somewhat pretty the previous day, but the benefit of a reasonable sleep and a calmer mind now allowed him to refine his thoughts. A few errant chestnut ringlets escaped the confines of the large bonnet she wore atop her head, framing expressive brows over fine, thickly lashed eyes. Were they brown or dark green? Suddenly he longed to know, to see them smiling at him in the glory of full sunlight.
But his eyes lingered on her lips, plump and rosy pink, with a cupid’s bow and a curve at the bottom that seemed shaped to smile. Even in repose, her expression was one of concealed satisfaction, and his own mouth began to twitch into a shy grin in response, despite the desperate circumstances under which they now found themselves. It would be too easy to fall into an easy friendship with his unsought companion. But he recalled then those same lips spewing invectives upon him only the previous morning, and he schooled his thoughts.
Still, she was a balm at this moment with her calm presence and soft smile, and when Darcy turned to her and uttered a simple “Thank you,” they both knew it was not only for the food.
“Where are we going now?” Elizabeth asked after another mile or so. “You were watching the sun yesterday to head north, but now, from what I see, we are travelling west, and perhaps a bit south.”
Pleasant company, and observant. He was pleased once more that she was here. What would he have made of her, he wondered, had they met in more conventional circumstances? Perhaps over tea, or at a ball. But no! He scoffed at the very notion. She had said her father was a gentleman; therefore, they might be equals in official rank. But in the eyes of society, he was as far above her as a bishop to a church mouse. She, from what he had seen and heard, associated with minor gentry and wealthy tradesmen in a small market town near nowhere. He, on the other hand, dined with dukes and bishops, and called an earl his grandfather.
He doubted he would ever have found himself in company with her, let alone lower himself to form an acquaintance. The loss, he realised with a shudder, would have been entirely his.
Perhaps there was something to crawling out of inn windows and hiding in a muck cart that put new perspectives on one’s place in the world. Considering how he appeared yesterday, it was a miracle that Elizabeth had deigned to speak to him at all!
But speak to him she did, and she was now awaiting his answer to her question about the direction of their path.
“You are correct; we are heading southwest. I have been considering what I know of George Wickham, and what he expects me to do. He remembered Julian Strand as well as I did and judged that his home might be my first attempt at refuge. He will likewise guess that I deem heading northward to Pemberley in Derbyshire too predictable, and therefore will consider other places I might go. Of course, that makes Pemberley an option after all, but it is still too risky, for he may have his minions lying in wait along the route.”
Wickham had his fingers in many pies, most of them rotten. He knew the sort who would set upon a stranger for the pure pleasure of it. Darcy shook off that thought with a mental shudder.
“My other chosen destination, he will consider, and the one which is my ultimate goal, is my uncle’s hunting lodge in the north of Wales. It is there that we are going.”
Elizabeth gave him a look that, had she been his governess, would have sent him back to his desk to repeat his work. “As you mentioned yesterday. Then why, sir, are we travelling south?”
“You are too clever for me, Miss Bennet. Wickham will assume we will take the most direct route there, and will wait for me along the way, I am certain. But as a young man I spent some summers tramping through Wales with my cousin before he took his commission, and this, Wickham does not know. I learned to love the countryside and I found my paths through the hills and the vales. If we go south now and come up through the valleys, he will not find us. Therefore, instead of passing by Birmingham, I propose heading towards Gloucester and then towards the Brecons before turning northward again, perhaps at Abergavenny.”
Elizabeth blinked. “That will take us a great deal of time.”
“I can think of no alternative. There are lesser-travelled paths and diversions that we will take, and he cannot watch them all; therefore, knowing him, he will watch none. I would not have you come to harm.” He spoke more warmly than he should—indeed, he was often said to be cold and aloof—but something about her warmed his soul. It must, he reckoned, be their joint peril. “You are no wilting daisy. You are made of tougher stuff than that. I will do what I can to keep you comfortable.”
“And I will not complain as some do when my creature comforts are less than I would like to expect. I suspect I may surprise you, Will. Very well. We have no choice, so let us ride.”
They travelled with grim determination that day. The borrowed conveyance was surprisingly agile on the rough country lanes. The wagon was lighter than the carriage and held almost no cargo other than Darcy and Elizabeth and the few belongings they could carry out of Milden Hall. Dobbin seemed to have no problems pulling it along, one tireless mile after the next.
They found small inns in smaller villages to take refreshments and allow the horse his rest, and avoided the busier roads. It was not the fastest Darcy had ever travelled, but he was willing to sacrifice speed for security, and Elizabeth was of the same mind. More than once, he offered to send another missive to her family, but she declined.
“If we send a letter, they might be able to trace our route, and if Mr Wickham finds out about it, we will none of us be safe. I must leave them ignorant for a while longer, as much as their certain worry pains me.”
Once more, her clear thinking and sensible nature impressed him where, had they met on the floor of a ballroom, he would have deemed her of too little consequence to offer more than the coldest of nods.
Their conversation, still very much that of strangers, was sporadic and essentially limited to the practicalities of their situation, but Elizabeth proved not unpleasant company, and the day passed without incident.
The first real difficulty along their journey came that evening.
They had been sitting under a tree near a stream, allowing Dobbin to rest and have some water. It was starting to grow dark, and the discussion concerned where to sleep that night. They had seen no villages for a while, nor was there any suggestion that one might be near. The lane they travelled was all but deserted, and Darcy began to fear he had chosen a road that somehow avoided all places where they might find accommodation for the night.
“If we turn northward, we are sure to come across a more important road.” He scanned the horizon, willing the rumble of distant carriages into existence, but to his disappointment.
“Is that wise?” Elizabeth asked. “If you wish to travel southward to avoid Mr Wickham’s notice, should we not go that direction instead?”
Darcy consulted a map he had in his mind, wishing he had paid more attention to his schoolmasters so long ago. “If we go too far south, we will end up in Cornwall rather than Wales. Our direction had best remain westward, until we come to Cheltenham or Gloucester.” He took a deep breath, but it failed to provide the answers he sought.
“Shall we continue onward, then, and hope to find a village?” Elizabeth asked. “Oh! Here comes somebody down the lane. He might help us.”
Indeed, a farmer was approaching, one of the few people they had seen since turning onto this country road. At their call, he pulled his pony to a stop, and dismounted from the cart it pulled.
“‘Evenin’,” he greeted them. “Help you? Fine night ‘twill be, at that. No rain.”
He walked over and leaned against one of the trees, clearly expecting some conversation.
Reserved by nature, Darcy was ready to say a coolly polite word to the man and send him on his way, but Elizabeth was a different sort of person, fashioned for society, and she met the farmer’s greeting with a wide grin and introduced herself.
“I’m Lizzy,” she said with a winning smile. “This is Will. We are travelling to…” she paused for a moment, “We are off to visit Will’s uncle over in Wales.”
Darcy allowed himself to smile. Every word was true, no matter how the man would understand them. Clever lass, she was. He sat back and allowed Elizabeth to conduct the conversation, praising the beautiful countryside, lamenting the long journey ahead of them, and wondering if the farmer had an idea of where they might spend the night.
He was as friendly as men get, and before long was chatting with them as if they had been friends these last twenty years.
“Follow me, then,” he said after a while. “You’re nice folks, and we don’t get much new company. My wife will like to meet you, and we can find you a place to sleep. ‘Tis not too far, only around those trees.”
Such words were music to Darcy’s ears, until the farmer—who had introduced himself as John Neeler—added, “The barn is nice and warm this time of year, and there’s a couple of cots in the loft if you don’t like sleeping on the hay.”
Darcy stared at the man as if he had grown three heads. What was this? Fitzwilliam Darcy, invited to sleep on the hay? He, the master of Pemberley, grandson to an earl, and one of the wealthiest men in Derbyshire, offered a cot in a barn? Did this man not know who he was? He was about to open his mouth to utter something that would certainly cause the greatest offence, when once more Elizabeth laid a gentle hand upon his to still his words, as she gratefully accepted the kind invitation.
“Our clothing, Will,” she whispered to him while his mouth still hung open in shock.
At that, Darcy did glance down to see himself as he looked now, not as he imagined himself. Clad as he was in rough trousers, an old linen shirt, a long loose neckcloth more akin to a scarf than a cravat, a shapeless waistcoat and equally shapeless loose coat, and wide-brimmed straw hat, he looked much like Farmer John, a man of the fields rather than of the town. Elizabeth, likewise, wore the simpler garb of a country lass: a yellow blouse, a dark petticoat, a short apron-like garment over a billowing skirt, a colourful kerchief, and a straw bonnet, with a scarlet cloak tossed onto the bench of the cart. How different this was from the elegant pale gowns of society. It quite completed the picture of a field hand and his lass out for a drive. What John Neeler made of their upper-class accents, Darcy could not guess, but the man likely thought them to come from nearer London, where all manner of strange things could be imagined.
Elizabeth still held Darcy’s hand in hers, and she gave it a squeeze before releasing it, a gesture that Farmer John noticed by his grin. “Well, follow me, then, folks. Just a half-mile that way, and we turn.”
They were met at the entrance to the small stone farmhouse by the farmer’s wife, as friendly as her husband.
“Company!” she exclaimed with a broad smile. “There’s always good food in exchange for good conversation. I’ve pie ready to bake, and I can make another as easy as it comes. Welcome.”
Darcy followed John around to the barn to tend to the horses for the night, and when they returned to the house, it was to find Elizabeth chatting happily with their hostess as she rolled out pastry and chopped vegetables.
Hmmm… he had thought her rather lacking in practical skills, but she seemed to know what she was about. Perhaps she had one or two more accomplishments than painting tables.
