Darcy's Journey (3 page)

4

Darcy left his Mayfair house early,
skipping breakfast, in hope of finding Edward Havers still at home. The family
was more respectable than wealthy; Edward made do with a flat in Marylebone
Road, near a park now being redesigned under the patronage of the Prince
Regent. Except for a brief flurry the snow had held off, so Darcy, weary of
riding, went on foot.

A maid-of-all-work led him to a drawing
room occupied by an owlish young man named Algernon Hare who shared the
diggings with Edward. The interior was genteel but falling into disrepair, with
the fading wallpaper mostly concealed by a pair of huge bookcases—evidently
for use by Mr Hare, since Edward had never been studious. A little probing
revealed that Edward was dressing, having been abed when Darcy rang. From the
kitchen came the appetizing aroma of sizzling bacon, and Darcy was glad to
accept two rashers on a buttered roll, washed down with a mug of tea.

Mr Hare tactfully left them alone, and when
they had eaten, and Edward had fully woken up, Darcy imparted the grave news. At
first, Edward was too shocked to respond. He had received no word that his
brother was ill, and of course had no reason to expect such tidings from a man
he had scarcely met since university.

‘I must leave for Venice directly.’ He
paced the room. ‘But how is such a journey to be planned? Or financed?’

‘I can help on both points.’ Darcy
pointed to the chair. ‘Calm down, Edward. We must first visit your brother’s
London house, to find out if post has arrived there. Or have you already checked?’

Edward returned mechanically to his
armchair. ‘I haven’t passed by Montagu Square for months. The servant should
have informed me of any urgent messages.’

‘Shall we go right away? We can flag
down a hackney on the Marylebone road.’

‘Or walk it in ten minutes.’

Edward Havers cheered up once they were on
the move. He was tall, the same height as Darcy, but carried himself loosely,
like a puppet, slightly stooped, with his arms flapping. At Cambridge he had
been seen as one of the brightest men of his year, but through indolence had
left with a mediocre degree in classics, and after that subsisted on an
allowance. Perhaps for this reason he had never married, although he could
charm the ladies when he made the effort.

‘Have you other kin who might have
received post from Italy?’ Darcy asked, as they turned off Marylebone Road into
a quieter side-street.

Edward shook his head. ‘My mother died
shortly after I was born; father never remarried. We have cousins, but I doubt
Ambrose would inform
them
at such a time. He would write to me, at my
apartment.’

‘Who else was in the party?’

‘Lady Regina, Miss Bennet, and Ambrose’s
daughter.’ Edward’s face softened. ‘
Céline.
You see, he married a Frenchwoman,
Paulette Le Bon, when they were both in their early twenties. Her family had
fled from Paris after the revolution and lost most of their fortune. Paulette sickened
and died when
Céline was two years old. It was a love match, and my brother was
devastated. During those years Céline was the consolation of his life, as he
took over the baronetcy and struggled to rebuild the family fortunes. During
the summer, he met the most entrancing Italian woman at a
soirée. The Carandinis are wealthy
through manufacturing, and their daughter Regina is a classic auburn-haired
Venetian beauty. My brother was bowled over. Within two months they were married.’

Darcy nodded—he had heard some of this from Mr Gardiner, while negotiating
Lydia Bennet’s marriage to Wickham. ‘Even though her father was seriously ill?’

‘Signor Carandini was delighted with the match, and urged them to
proceed directly by special license.’ Edward halted his loping walk, as if to
emphasize the point. ‘He was concerned, you see, with Regina’s safety, so far
from home. He saw that my brother was not only titled, but a trustworthy man who
would never let his wife come to harm.’

At Montagu Square, an elderly footman
showed them to the parlour, and brought a carafe of wine and box of mail.
Edward, still distressed, drank a glass straight off as he sorted through the
letters; Darcy took only token sips. There was no correspondence from the continent,
but Darcy noticed an envelope addressed in Mr Bennet’s hand, confirming that the
enquiry had not been forwarded to Venice.

Edward refilled his glass with a sigh.
‘There is nothing further to be done in London. My brother is sick;
Céline is
left in the care of a woman she has known just a few weeks. I must go to
Venice.’

Darcy nodded gravely. ‘It is painful, Edward,
but have you considered the consequences if your brother dies?’

‘I would inherit the title.’

‘And Céline would return to this country under
your guardianship. The Carandinis have no claim, nor any motive to keep her.’

‘Another reason I must go to Italy.’

He sounded desperate, and Darcy took pains to
respond calmly.

‘It is a terrible situation, but I believe we
can make the best of it. First, I have every confidence in Miss Elizabeth
Bennet, and feel sure she will give support both to Lady Regina and Céline.
Second, I can help you with the practical arrangements.’ Darcy drank a little
more wine as he thought the matter through. ‘My cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam has
travelled extensively in Europe, and I was able to pick his brains at dinner
last night. Venice can be reached most quickly by sea. Merchant ships leave
often from London to Gibraltar, which is firmly in British control and a hub in
the trading networks. From there you should find ships sailing to the Adriatic.
Given luck and reasonable weather, you could be there within three weeks.’

Edward brightened for a moment, then slumped
back in his chair. ‘There remains the question of finance.’

Darcy was silent for several seconds.
He
had to decide now
. Leaning forward, he said quietly, ‘What if I offered to
fund the venture, and came with you?’

5

January 1815

The physician was a neat man with hair
that must have silvered prematurely, since he seemed in his early thirties. He
spoke with exaggerated clarity, as if explaining complexities to a child. His
name was Orsini, and he had attended the family regularly during Sir Ambrose Havers’s
illness.

‘
Un poco più alto, signorina
.’ A
bit higher. Elizabeth raised the black veil, exposing her neck. He walked
round, examining her from every angle but not touching. ‘
Va bene
.’ Okay.

From the edge of the parlour, Signora
Carandini and Regina observed. Orsini gestured that he had finished, and turned
to report to Regina’s mother. Favoured by his meticulous speech, Elizabeth understood
most of it. She was still
pallida
, pale, but there were no signs of
sickness. It was safe for her to leave the house but she should be accompanied
by someone who knew the city well, so that she would not stray into the poorer
areas where there might remain pockets of the
miasmas
, or bad air, that
were responsible for cholera.

Elizabeth offered to pay—she had
brought a bag of ducats—but Claudia Carandini waved this away: she was
their guest, and the fee would be added to the family account.

Regina took her arm as the physician was
shown out, and led her to a divan in the drawing room. ‘So, my dear
Elisabetta
,
it appears that you are not sick, so let us try to cheer you up.’

Elizabeth sighed. ‘I’m supposed to be
joining Gabriele in the music room.’

‘Ha! Always he wants to practise.’ She
drew closer and whispered, ‘You understand how he admires you?’

Elizabeth forced a smile. ‘I try,
Regina, but if I rehearsed day and night I would never meet his standards.’

‘Oh, that is just his way. Yes, he is
shy, he cannot express his feelings. But inside …’ She touched her heart.
‘Surely you understand.’

Elizabeth made a moue. ‘He shows no
shyness in expressing his
critical
feelings.’

Regina laughed. ‘There! Already your spirit
returns.’

Elizabeth recalled the camaraderie they had
once enjoyed, but as the moment passed, the darkness overtook her. ‘It is you
who have cause to sorrow, not I.’

Regina looked away. ‘I am, how do you say,
adjusting
to the loss. My husband suffers no more, and we must thank God for that.’

‘Have you heard from his family?’

‘Not yet. Ambrose left an address in London
where his brother lives, and I sent two letters. I hope one at least gets
through, but according to Gabriele, the post is still in confusion.’

Elizabeth fell silent. She had written
repeatedly to Jane and her father since the onset of the cholera scare, but
received not a single reply. The last communication had arrived in September,
bringing the alarming news of Lydia’s supposed
elopement
with Mr
Wickham. Her instinct had been to return immediately, but how could this be
arranged without obliging Sir Ambrose to curtail his visit? So she had held off
a few more weeks, hoping for reassuring news; then the cholera had struck, and
Sir Ambrose had been confined to his bed with distressing symptoms.

Although irked by the regime imposed by
Gabriele, with Orsini’s support, Elizabeth had not feared for her own safety, nor
that of Regina or
Céline. They were assured that cholera was not infectious. It was caused
by evil miasmas that gathered in poor areas of the city, where people lived in
squalor. Orsini had dealt with dozens of cases among his wealthy clientele, without
contracting the disease himself. He had treated Sir Ambrose with opium and
regular bleeding, and recommended a restricted diet of beef tea and diluted
wine. But the disease had proved too virulent, and in early December Regina’s
husband had passed away, leaving the family again in mourning, and Céline
distraught.

Gabriele came into the drawing room,
wearing his habitual frown.

‘
Signorina?
I am awaiting you in
the music room nearly half an hour.’

Elizabeth rose slowly to her feet. Gabriele’s
attentions were becoming suffocating, but at least the music helped pass the
time …

‘No, no, no!’ Gabriele Carandini
deposited his violin and bow on a divan and joined Elizabeth at the piano. ‘It
is marked
rallentando
.’ He pointed at the sheet music, his elbow coming
so close to her ear that Elizabeth had to lean away.

‘I
did
slow down,’ she said.

‘Not enough! Look, we are reaching the
end of the development section, and the main theme is about to return. Do you
not see?’

There was a tap on the door, and the
maid Sofia entered timidly.

‘
Scusatemi
.’ Excuse me. She edged
towards Elizabeth, and whispered in Italian, ‘Lady Regina requests your presence
in the parlour. Two gentlemen have arrived. From England.’

Elizabeth gasped, and turned to
Gabriele, who glared at the maid in irritation.

‘We are not finished.’ He ran to the divan
and picked up his violin. ‘Miss Bennet will come later.’

‘No!’ Elizabeth faced him, hands on
hips, amazed at his unfeeling reaction.
Could this be Mr Gardiner, or even
her father?
She wanted to ask Sofia, but in her excitement the Italian
words escaped her. ‘We will continue later.’

As they entered the parlour, she heard
Regina talking in English, her voice hushed; her mother sat beside her on the window
seat, intent as she struggled to follow. The visitors had been seated in the
library chairs. Elizabeth recognised a gangling young man as Sir Ambrose’s brother,
Edward. They had met briefly at the wedding, where he had chatted to her with a
relaxed charm that reminded her of Bingley; now he sat rigidly as Regina described
Sir Ambrose’s final days, and their efforts to inform the family in England.

The other gentleman had his back to her.
She realised straight away that he could not be Mr Gardiner, nor her father; he
was too tall and strongly built. In fact he reminded her of …

Regina ran over to enfold her hands and
usher her into the room. ‘
Elisabetta
, come and meet our visitors. You
know Mr Edward, my brother-in-law. And this gentleman—’ The other man
turned, giving Elizabeth such a shock that her legs nearly gave way, and she
clung to Regina for support. ‘—is his friend, Mr Darcy. With whom I
believe you are already acquainted?’

‘Miss Bennet.’ Darcy bowed stiffly, his
unease as great as her own. ‘Excuse such an unexpected intrusion.’

Elizabeth managed a token curtsy. ‘But
why …’

Darcy held an arm towards Edward. ‘I am
accompanying Mr Havers, a friend from university. It seems we are too late,
since sadly his brother has passed away. Lady Havers is kindly bringing us up-to-date.
Afterwards, he would like to see his niece …’

Elizabeth asked Regina, ‘Where is Céline?’

‘Playing with Maddalena,’ Regina said. ‘I
thought it better to leave her there for the moment.’

Elizabeth addressed the whole room. ‘I’m
sorry for interrupting. We should allow Lady Havers to continue her narrative.’

‘I wonder …’ Darcy said to Regina. ‘Is
there another reception room where I could have a word in private with Miss
Bennet?’

The
salotto
was across the
hallway. Elizabeth heard echoes of Gabriele’s violin as he played the sonata on
his own. She grimaced: this stubborn refusal to greet the visitors was typical
of Regina’s brother. He had to
finish his practice
first, as if to
underline the importance of what he was doing.

She asked Sofia in Italian to bring
coffee and cake, and left the door ajar so that they would remain in open view.

‘I did not know you were acquainted with
the Havers family,’ Elizabeth said, offering Darcy the divan. He sat near her
armchair, so that they were just a yard apart and could speak quietly.

‘Only Edward really.’

‘I’m sorry that he has come so far, only
to learn such tragic news.’

Darcy nodded, as if unsure how to reply,
then drew a bundle of papers from his coat pocket.

‘Miss Bennet, having heard from Mr
Bingley that you were in Venice, I took the liberty of bringing letters from
your family.’

Elizabeth accepted the package with a
trembling hand. ‘But how …’

She paused, blushing at their mutual
disquiet, and after a pause he said, ‘You will no doubt prefer to read them in
the privacy of your room. Would you allow me, however, to assure you that all
is well? I visited Bingley at Netherfield shortly before leaving England, and
was glad to find all your family in excellent health.’

Elizabeth stared at him. ‘Including … my
youngest sister?’

‘You have heard no news?’

‘Only …’ Her eyes moistened. ‘Excuse me,
Mr Darcy. I cannot say.’

He extended a hand, as if to comfort
her, then caught himself and withdrew. ‘Miss Lydia is now married to Mr
Wickham, and living in the north, where her husband has accepted a commission
in the army.’

‘Oh!’ Elizabeth shuddered with relief,
and this time there was no holding back tears.
If only he would leave her
now!
She buried face in hands, emerging to find him waiting patiently; a
clean handkerchief had appeared on the arm of her chair.

‘Excuse me.’ She dried her eyes, glancing
towards the doorway to check that this intimate gesture had not been observed,
then hesitated, unsure what to do with the used handkerchief.

‘Keep it,’ Darcy said. ‘I have plenty
more.’

She muttered her thanks, and after a
short pause continued: ‘Mr Darcy, you should return to your friend. I am unfit
for company.’

He looked disappointed. ‘But think, is
there anything you wish to ask me urgently?’

‘I’m surprised to hear that Mr Bingley
has returned to Netherfield. I thought …’ She sighed. ‘I never expected to meet
either of you again.’

Darcy smiled, not ironically but with
what appeared genuine pleasure. ‘He has indeed returned, and is now a happy
man, as you will learn when you read your letters.’

Bedrooms had been reallocated after
the funeral.
Céline now shared with Maddalena, and Elizabeth with Regina, who had
preferred to leave the chamber where her husband had lain. Grateful for
solitude, Elizabeth sank into a soft corner chair that she used for reading,
and opened her letters.

Everyone had written except Lydia: there was
even a sarcastic note from Caroline Bingley, praising her enterprise in
travelling so far away, and congratulating the family on its new in-law. Kitty
bemoaned the loss of the militia; Mary listed the piano pieces she had recently
learned; Mrs Bennet fretted over Elizabeth’s wardrobe; Mr Bennet affectionately
hoped she was well, and asked her to return as soon as possible so that he
might have some sensible conversation. All of them referred her to Jane for an
account of what had transpired.

Jane’s letter, filling four sheets front and
back, opened with an appeal for confidentiality: the truth of how Wickham had
been found, and persuaded to marry Lydia, had been withheld from everyone else,
even Mr Bennet. In her impatience Elizabeth raced through this section, her
stomach aflutter, occasionally murmuring out loud in disbelief:
This cannot
be!
Jane must surely have misunderstood
. But the letter included
verbatim citations from Mrs Gardiner, and Elizabeth recognized her aunt’s
clear, rational style. The story also made sense, for who else but Darcy had
the resources to locate the fugitives, and proffer £10,000 to pay off Wickham’s
debts and induce him to marry?

Having re-read Jane’s narrative more
carefully, Elizabeth put the letter aside. If this were true, as it must be,
her entire dealings with Wickham and Darcy had to be re-evaluated. Wickham’s
allegation against Darcy was false: he had not been
deprived
of the
living, but had
renounced
it in return for the generous sum of £3,000. And
it was this allegation that she had hurled in Darcy’s face after his proposal
at Hunsford. Another point immediately struck her.
Darcy’s letter!
If
she had only put sense above convention and
accepted
his explanation,
none of this would have happened. She could have informed her father, he would
have acted promptly, and Lydia would have been protected.
It was she,
Elizabeth, who was the villain.
She had rejected and abused a good man,
refused to heed his warnings, and put her sister in grave danger. She had been
so confident in her own judgement, so cavalier in exposing Darcy’s faults and
cutting him down to size. And she had accused
him
of pride! How he must
despise her …

In which case,
why had he done all
this?
What could possibly have spurred him to go to such trouble and expense,
merely to save Lydia, a foolish girl who was not his responsibility? Could it
have been for
herself?
Was it conceivable that he still loved her?

No. It was inconceivable. Her own
follies apart, Darcy would never contemplate a match that made him
brother-in-law of Wickham.

In that case,
why come to Italy?
Was
he concerned for her safety? So concerned that he would cross a whole continent
to assist a woman who had treated him so ill?

Again, no. He must have other reasons.
It would be entirely in character for him to accompany his impecunious friend.
As a cultured man he would be eager to tour Europe—an experience blocked
for over a decade by the war. He could have no special interest in her …

Except, perhaps, to reassure Jane, now
to become the wife of his best friend. And perhaps most of all, to relieve his
resentment at being insulted and falsely accused by one whom he had loved.