Pride and Pursuit: A Pride and Prejudice Variation, page 8
They were soon joined by four young men, all wide and tall like their father, just now coming in from the fields. Each was pleasant and polite, but the house was full. This, then, explained the invitation to sleep in the barn. This was no fine inn at a busy crossroads, nor a wealthy man’s sprawling house in the midst of his parkland. There, in another time and place, Darcy would have expected some youngsters of the family to give up their rooms for the guests in favour of smaller quarters; perhaps the poor cousin could sleep in the nursery for a night or two. But this was no such establishment. These were hard-working people who lived off the sweat of their brows, with no luxuries to offer to the strangers they had generously offered to house for a night, and they likely considered the barn to be perfectly acceptable accommodations for two others of their class.
The barn would do, and he would be grateful.
And, he decided, he was. When one has everything, one expects so much. When one has nothing, the slightest gift is a luxury. How quickly his attitudes had changed.
Soon enough, it was time to retire. Farmer John showed them the ladder up to the loft, said his goodnights, and departed.
Darcy had never felt so awkward in his life, despite a childhood of never quite finding his place in society. The magnitude of this situation was staggering, and he did not quite know what to do. He and Elizabeth had been alone, for two whole days, as they drove along silent country lanes. But that was different. They had been in an open carriage—or cart, to be precise, although the distinction was immaterial—and that breached no boundaries of propriety.
Now, for the first time, they were truly alone, in a quiet and private place, away from the eyes of the world. No matter that there was no one around to observe and chastise them. He knew. Everything he had been taught shouted at him from the depths of his conscience.
There was no chaperone, no beneficent guardian ensuring that decorum was preserved along with everybody’s reputation and virtue. Now, for the first time, they felt alone together, or—rather—he did. A glance at Elizabeth showed her discomfort as well, for she was fussing with something in the corner and decidedly not looking at him.
There was, he considered, something particularly intimate about sleeping, that was not a part of sitting on the box of an open carriage. At night, when the sun had set and there was no light, the protective armour of everyday clothing was stripped away, leaving the soul as bare as the body.
Would Elizabeth sleep in her clothes, or change into a shift? What would he do? Mrs Abbot had shoved an old nightshirt into the sack she thrust at him, and he wondered if Elizabeth had taken along a night rail as well. Now, it seemed, was when he would find out. If he dared do anything other than stand here, paralysed into motionlessness.
Elizabeth broke the silence. “I suppose I ought to go up and see what we need. It is almost dark and we have no light, nor would I want an open flame in a barn.” Her voice was flat. Without another word, she climbed the ladder with sure and practised movements.
“There are three low cots,” she called down from the loft, sounding a bit more her usual self, “with straw-stuffed mattresses. They might be used for field hands during harvest, for they look quite abandoned for now. We will need the blankets from the wagon.”
“Blankets. Yes. Of course.”
Grateful for something to do, Darcy went in search of the necessary items and managed to pass them up to Elizabeth before attempting the climb. When he hoisted himself into the loft, Elizabeth was already under her blanket on the cot the furthest away. She must have made herself ready for bed whilst he was at the cart. Of the two other cots, she had laid the blanket on the one closest to where he now stood, leaving the middle one empty. He could not see what she was wearing, but now he had his own decisions to make.
It was dark enough that he must look, to her, like nothing but a moving shadow, as she was little more than a shadow to him. Still, he felt as if he were standing on a stage, being illuminated by a thousand lamps. His face burned hot, and had he a mirror, he knew his reflection would glow red with embarrassment. He must, at least, remove his coat and boots, and he wished desperately not to have to sleep in these trousers. He stood motionless with indecision and anxiety.
“I shall roll over and stare at the wall whilst you undress.” Elizabeth’s voice filtered through the growing darkness. “I believe I can trust you to be a gentleman. We might be forced into further, similar proximity over the course of our flight.”
In quick motions, he slithered out of the least comfortable items of clothing and hurried under the blanket. What was he to do now? Engage in pleasant conversation? Pretend she was not there? Sing a lullaby?
Again, Elizabeth settled his worry with her quiet words. “Do not be uneasy, Will. It is strange, I know. We will grow accustomed to this.”
“You deserve better than this, Elizabeth. You are a gentleman’s daughter, not a farmhand.” And it was true. She had offered not one word of complaint. What other woman of his acquaintance would have borne so willingly these rustic conditions?
Her response confirmed his estimation of her. “We are warm and safe, and our bellies are full. A great many people cannot claim even these comforts. And after we leave, should Mr Wickham chance by and inquire after us, our host will remember only a farmer and his wife out on a drive to visit an uncle in a distant village.”
Wife? They thought she was his wife? That momentary panic subsided in an instant. Of course, else they never would have offered this space to them. And, as he contemplated the matter, he found the notion did not bother him quite so much.
“Sleep well, Will.”
“And you, Elizabeth.”
But although he slept long and deep after the exhaustion of the day, he was always aware that she was so very close.
CHAPTER 8
Fear
The following day began far more gently, with no alarmed awakening, and no panicked flight under a pile of bags of flour. Instead, they rose when the sun lit their loft, slowly and with a sense of relief at having spent a peaceful night. Elizabeth announced she would stare at the wall whilst Darcy dressed, and he scurried down the ladder to see to the wagon whilst she prepared for the day. They filled their bellies with hot porridge in the Neelers’ kitchen, and departed when the men were just heading off to the fields, the sun still low in the sky. Mrs Neeler had filled their basket with some bread and fruit, and Darcy had thanked them for their kind hospitality with a handful of coin to compensate them for the food for themselves and for Dobbin. Armed with directions and landmarks, they moved with more confidence this time, knowing how to find their way without venturing onto the better-travelled roads.
They continued west and slightly south, using the sun to guide their way. The countryside, always green and lush, grew hillier, their narrow lane darting through thick growths of trees, then breaking into wide fertile valleys, sometimes edged by ancient stone walls or wooden fences, other times running along well-tended farmland or through the occasional village, cradled between river and hillside.
In one such place, they stopped to allow Dobbin to rest and eat and purchased some more bread and cheese and some early apples. Darcy counted out the coins from his purse. Each one was precious.
“Have we enough?” Elizabeth asked when they returned to the cart. Darcy did not miss the import of the word we. They were in this mess together; she was no longer his adversary, but his companion. It made the awful situation a little less dreadful.
He tested the weight of the purse in his palm. It was not as heavy as he would have liked.
“I cannot say. I know not how long it will take us to get there, or what obstacles we might meet along the way. If we are lucky, if fortune smiles on us and we—” He swallowed at a dreadful thought. “If we avoid encountering our foe and eat sparingly, we might manage. But whilst I am prepared to forego a meal or two, we cannot ask the same of Dobbin. He must eat well.”
“And rest well,” Elizabeth added. “It will slow our progress.”
“That might help us. The longer we take to arrive at the lodge, the more likely Wi—our adversary is to believe us elsewhere. I hope, I pray, that a delay will be to our advantage.”
He tried to keep his voice dispassionate, but Elizabeth must have heard something in it.
“You are afraid.”
“I? I was raised to face anything with no fear. It is unbecoming to a gentleman, to an Englishman, to be a coward.” He straightened his back and thrust out his chest.
“It is not a disparagement. Fear is natural, for it shows that you are a thinking man. Only a fool would not be afraid of someone making such dreadful threats against you. Furthermore, fear does not make you a coward. It makes you a man.”
She reached out a hand and let it fall gently atop his own. That small gesture of compassion was a seed that planted itself within his soul. Once more, like her observation about the dwindling coins, it told him that he was not alone.
His heart tightened at the thought. When last had someone looked to him not to lead or to provide, but to offer comfort? When last had someone given, rather than taken? Elizabeth could not offer a fast horse or a pocketful of coins, but she could offer her presence, and it meant more to Darcy than he would ever have imagined. He turned his hand over, so their palms touched, and he laced his fingers with hers for a brief moment before turning his eyes away. But he did not miss the small smile that touched her soft lips.
They set out again on their path, one plodding mile after another. Dobbin, as promised, walked steadily onwards, stalwart and seemingly untiring. The silence between them was comfortable and unforced, but the thoughts churning through Darcy’s mind eventually forced their way out in words.
“I am afraid,” he said, as if the hour between Elizabeth’s statement and this continuation of the conversation were merely a second. “I am afraid for myself, of course, but also for everybody relying on me. My tenants. My sister. They depend upon me.” He lapsed back into silence.
Elizabeth’s hand covered his own again. She said nothing, but her silence was compassionate.
“I have been called proud,” he said after a moment. “It is not always intended as a compliment, but I take it as such.”
Now he noticed her eyebrows flicker upwards on her smooth forehead.
“Indeed.” It was half-statement, half-question.
“Pride is often conflated with vanity, but I see them as very different things. I am proud of what I have achieved on my estate. Pemberley has always been prosperous, but its stewardship was thrust upon me at the age of three-and-twenty, most unexpectedly. My father, an excellent man, had a weak heart, although we did not know it. I thought… I hoped he would live another twenty years, that I could take over management of the estate slowly, as I learned more about it. But one moment I was carefree and enjoying a house party with an old friend from university, and the next I was responsible for the lives and welfare of thousands of people.
“And,” he added after another pause, “a ten-year-old girl.”
Elizabeth’s voice was as soft as the breeze that riffled through his hair. “It must have been terrifying. I am sorry your inheritance came upon you so tragically.”
“This is the double-edged sword of wealth. The cost of my fortune was tremendous. People look at me with envy and whisper about my great luck. But I would give it all up in an instant to have my good father back.”
They rode in silence for a few minutes longer. Dobbin strained up a rather steep hill, and the two travellers dismounted to walk beside the horse and lighten his load. How much like this horse he was, Darcy thought. Struggling against the unseen pull of the earth, hoping that somebody would act to lighten his load. Like Elizabeth did without a conscious thought. The notion buoyed him, somehow.
“I learned to manage the estate, and with my improvements, it is more prosperous now than ever,” he said at last. “Changes are coming, and I hope to balance industrial development with agriculture, so we can prosper into the future. I shall not bother you now with these details, but I am proud of what I have done. I, and my advisors and tenants. We are all partners. That, I believe, is not vanity. But they depend upon me and my management of the estate. At the moment, Georgiana is my heir, with my cousin as her other guardian. What does a fifteen-year-old girl know about managing Pemberley? What does a soldier know? Without me, I do not know what will happen. That is the weight of my pride, if such it is.”
Beside him, Elizabeth nodded her head. “It is pride, indeed, but not misplaced. I commend you, sir, on your achievements.”
“And for them, I am afraid. If I… if I do not return, what will become of them? What will become of my dear sister? She is fragile, still, and so young. My aunt is a good-hearted woman and will keep Georgiana’s body and soul together, but her spirit will be destroyed. If the man who tried to misuse her ends up killing me,” his voice broke, “it will utterly destroy her. I am afraid for her as well. No. I am not afraid. I am terrified.”
All Elizabeth did was squeeze his hand once more, but it helped far more than she could ever have imagined.
With these melancholy thoughts, they continued their journey. The heavy skies matched Darcy’s mood, and even Elizabeth’s comforting presence could not keep the blue devils from tormenting him.
At last, with the sun ready to kiss the horizon, they happened upon a small village, somewhere beyond Gloucester. They were sore at heart and exhausted, and the modest inn was as welcome to their sight as the finest palace. They begged a stall for Dobbin at the stables, and then proceeded to the inn itself to find accommodations for the night. It was easier to procure shelter for the horse than for themselves, for the inn’s proprietor looked askance at Darcy’s request for a bed.
“Don’t see I’ve room for ones like you,” he muttered. “This here’s a respectable establishment.”
For the third time in as many days, the once-esteemed Master of Pemberley was taken for nothing more than an itinerant ne’er-do-well. The Neelers, to give them their due, had not looked down on him, even though a plate of stew and a cot in a barn was nothing like what he had learned to expect. Now, this innkeeper was sneering at him, eyeing his less-than-pristine clothing and judging him as unworthy of taking a room for a night.
A glimpse in a cracked mirror by the stairs told him something of the truth of the matter: two days unshaven, two days unwashed, and looking more than impecunious in his old borrowed clothing, his appearance quite belied the essence of the man he knew himself to be.
How different this was from Darcy’s accustomed treatment, when he arrived in a grand carriage pulled by a matched team, and descended in his fine London clothes, his liveried servants already having made the arrangements. On those occasions, he was treated almost like royalty, rooms cleared for his use, and food prepared to his liking. How unlike those days this was.
Was this how he treated others? The notion hit him with force. Did he look at a man poorly dressed and judge him accordingly? Did he take the measure of a stranger based more on what he saw on the outside than on the man’s character? He sent a glance towards Elizabeth, herself looking quite as disreputable as he, and wondered once more how he would have regarded her if he first saw her dressed as she was, looking nothing like a gentleman’s daughter. He had been forced into company with her now; he was beginning to discover her true worth. With no such requisite upon him, he might well have turned up his nose at her muddy skirts and put her entirely from his mind.
Once again, he began to understand how much the loss would have been his.
Now, that supposedly inconsequential piece of trouble he had unintentionally acquired stepped up to save him once more. She gave the suspicious innkeeper a dazzling smile and, in the sweetest words Darcy could imagine, she told him something of their plight, rather embroidered at that. A runaway carriage, a need to visit an uncle, such a pity about the loss of their trunks. It was a grand tale, and eventually, she coaxed the proprietor of this small inn into accommodations for the evening. The flash of good coin from Darcy’s dwindling supply helped matters considerably, and at last, the man agreed to show them to a small room facing the stables at the back. They signed their names in the register as Mr and Mrs Williams, which seemed to surprise the innkeeper simply because he clearly did not expect them to be able to read and write at all.
He walked them to the room, handed over the key, informed them that there was food in the public, and left.
Darcy cracked the door open and stepped inside. The room was plain but it seemed clean, with one bright window illuminating the space with the last rays of the sun. Then he stopped in horror. There was only one bed.
Elizabeth seemed to read his thoughts. “He does believe us to be a married couple,” she soothed, “and we could hardly tell him otherwise.” Her eyes betrayed her discomfort, however, and Darcy was struck by a need to comfort her. Until this moment, he realised, she had been the one reassuring him, despite the unhappy fact that her predicament was his fault.
He took a step towards her and opened his arms so she could fall against his chest as his sister always used to do. But as she accepted the tacit invitation, he acknowledged that the sensation of having her pressed against him was nothing like Georgiana’s affectionate hugs, and that his feelings were far from fraternal. He fought his rather alarming and not entirely unpleasant inclinations. He would not frighten her. He scolded himself severely, but their predicament remained.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he tried to sound dispassionate. “I am a gentleman. You have nothing to fear from me. Your name, too, will remain unblemished. They know us as Mr and Mrs Williams, and will never associate Lizzy Williams with Miss Bennet from Hertfordshire.” His eyes flickered to the single bed, taunting them from its place near the wall. There was no chair in which to sleep, and little space on the floor. Still, the floor would have to do. He was, as he had insisted, a gentleman.
