Darcy's Journey (7 page)

14

Someone was whispering her name. A
man’s voice, familiar, like a dream of home.

‘Miss Bennet. Elizabeth. Wake up.’

She twitched, and nearly cried out, but
the reassuring voice hushed her. ‘Don’t be alarmed. You are safe, but we must
speak softly.’

She saw the outline of his face, just a
few inches away. ‘Mr Darcy! But how …’

‘Shh.’ He held a finger to his lips. ‘We
must go now, and take care not to alert the household. Do you understand?’

‘Go? But it is impossible …’ Frantic
images came into her mind, of Regina urging her to take her medicine, and
Gabriele waving a document that she had to sign—or had she already signed
it?

Darcy rested a hand on the blanket, near
her shoulder. ‘I am going to take you back to your family in England, if that
is what you want.’

Her heart jumped. ‘They say I am too
sick to travel.’

His voice was quiet, but firm. ‘You are
not sick, Miss Elizabeth. You feel tired and confused because you have been
drugged, with an opiate.’

‘It is a medicine …’ A wave of
drowsiness overcame her, and she bit her lip, struggling to focus.

‘The physician is in the pay of Signor
Carandini, who seeks to lock you away until you consent to marry him.’

‘They say I have signed a document.’ She
recalled her father’s advice. ‘Although I should not have.’

‘Do you wish to marry him?’

‘Marry?’ She shivered. ‘No. But they say
I have given my word …’

‘Miss Bennet, listen carefully. I have
seen the document. The signature is illegible. Either it has been falsified, or
you wrote it when you were half asleep and had no idea what you were agreeing
to. The document
does not matter
. All that matters is whether you prefer
to stay here, or return to England.’

She felt a familiar annoyance at the way
he assumed command. But she was too weak to retaliate now; it was a relief to
submit and give herself into his care.

‘I will come with you.’

‘Then let us make haste. Can you walk?’

She tried to lever herself up, but her
limbs were so heavy that she trembled with the effort.

‘Never mind, I will carry you. Now your
clothes …’

She pointed at a wardrobe. ‘How can I
dress?’

‘No time for that.’ He quickly made up a
bundle and handed it to someone on the balcony.

She managed to sit up, and pointed to
her nightgown. ‘I cannot travel in this.’

‘We’ll use the bedclothes. Permit me.’
She gasped as he pulled back the blankets, and he raised a hand. ‘This is no
time for delicacy. Relax, and try not to make a sound.’

His arms came around her and he lifted
her on top of the bedclothes, then wrapped her like a parcel. The sensation of
his hands through the thin cotton nightdress took her breath away, but with his
warning fresh in her mind she remained compliant. A wave of fresh air hit her
as he handed her through the window to another pair of hands; a moment later
she found herself on the balcony floor. She probed under the blankets and felt
rough canvas.

A hand touched her arm, and Darcy
whispered, ‘Keep still. We’re lowering you in a hammock.’

The canvas enfolded her and she was
swinging back and forth. There was a muffled oath from above as the hammock
bumped against the outside of the balcony, but she was unhurt, and did not cry
out. Another pair of hands guided her to the ground. Light footsteps sounded
behind her as Darcy and another man descended, then the hammock rose again,
twisting her into a bow shape as her head and feet were pulled up.

She heard a rattle from the villa
followed by the bang of a shutter, and a shriek of
‘Intrusi!’

‘Confound it!’ Darcy growled, no longer
keeping his voice down. The hammock swayed as the men rushed her through the
gate. In the corner of her eye she saw Darcy alongside, shouting at the men to
stop.

‘Too slow! I will take her. Run ahead
and alert the others.’

She felt his arms enfold her body, still
wrapped in the bedclothes, and they set off again, now at running pace. The cries
from the villa receded, then they were alone, in a woodland, with Darcy
breathing heavily as he picked his way between the trees.

A cold breeze woke her. She was in
a boat, leaning against the hard edge of a platform at the rear. In front of
her she recognised Darcy, silhouetted against the moonlight as he pulled on an
oar; beyond him she counted five other men. As she sat up a headwind caught her
hair, which streamed behind. The men grunted with exertion. She reached back
and tried to fold her hair into the blankets, but it flew out again as soon as
she released it.

Darcy stopped rowing, and pointed.
‘There! Another boat, from the same dock.’

‘A gud half-mile ahint,’ a man replied.

Darcy applied himself again to his oar,
and smiled as he realised she was awake. ‘Comfortable?’

Not very
, she thought, but at
least the blankets were keeping her warm. ‘Who is following us?’

‘I fear Carandini has found
reinforcements.’ He pointed over his shoulder. ‘Do you see an opening inland
from the lagoon?’

She leaned over, and squinted into the
distance. ‘I see two openings. No, three.’

They passed between a pair of tiny
islands, and a man at the front shouted, ‘
Fusina
.’

Elizabeth looked back at Darcy. ‘Is that
our target?’

He nodded.

‘And after that?’

He frowned. ‘We shall see.’

Unaccountably she felt a lightening of
spirits, and met his eye with a smile. ‘Mr Darcy, am I to understand that you
have no idea what to do next?’

He smiled back. ‘My plans are flexible.’

‘In other words, non-existent.’

‘Miss Bennet, we have a two-mile row
ahead of us into a stiff wind. Lie back and try to sleep. Perhaps when you
wake, my plans will have evolved to your satisfaction.’

She laughed—when had she last done
that?—and tried to find a comfortable angle to rest her head.

15

When they reached Fusina it was
still dark, but the wharf was already busy as goods from Venice were loaded on
to barges, to be drawn by horse power along the river towards the Brenta canal.
Looking back across the lagoon Darcy could no longer discern which of the boats
had been pursuing them from Lido. He had wondered whether to dock first elsewhere,
as a decoy, but decided that the priority was speed: they had only half an hour
on Carandini and his men, and must put it to good use.

Facing him at the back of the boat,
Elizabeth had slept through the latter part of the journey, and he felt a
twinge of guilt at the pleasure of having her so close, curled up in the warm
blankets with her hair spilling in all directions.

Angus and Dougal moored the boat, and
helped Burgess unload Darcy’s trunk, which now held some of Elizabeth’s clothes
as well as his own. He puzzled what to do with Elizabeth herself, still dressed
in her nightgown and probably too drowsy to walk. Eventually he awoke her, then
simply carried her up the steps to the wharf and sat her on the trunk, where
she drew the blankets across her shoulders and awaited events in silence.

It was time for a parting of the ways. Darcy
extracted two gold ducats from his belt for Angus and Dougal, and gave the
Italian fishermen a silver lira each to compensate them for the missing wine,
sacrificed in order to drug the guards. The men set off in excellent spirits. Without
them Darcy felt a knot of anxiety: if Carandini and company caught up, it would
no longer be possible to resist. He hoped that his pursuers would see the
caorlina
boat depart, and divide their forces in case Darcy and Elizabeth were still on
it.

Burgess returned with the welcome news
that a barge was about to leave, and could take them along the Brenta to Padua.
Even better, when tempted by another coin, the bargee sent two men to carry
their luggage.

It was a low thin vessel with the decks
at both ends laden with barrels, and a covered sitting area recessed in the
middle. As Darcy boarded, the bargee left to talk with a boy who was harnessing
two horses to the side of the boat. On deck there were open boxes of fresh
fish, which Darcy had to side-step as he carried Elizabeth inside. Two other
passengers, dressed like farm workers, watched with interest as he set her down
on one of two wooden benches which ran along the sides. Their presence
obviously disturbed Elizabeth, who had woken up sufficiently to worry about her
hair, but she managed to coil it beneath a blanket, after which she again closed
her eyes.

As the barge moved slowly off, Burgess
joined them.

‘Any sign of Carandini?’ Darcy asked.

Burgess shook his head. ‘Won’t be long
though, sir. An hour at most, probably less.’

‘What would you do in his place?’

‘Ask at the wharf. Then hire a horse and
gallop after the barge.’

‘Just so.’ Darcy thought for a moment.
‘Which means we have a problem. We cannot hope to reach Padua by barge, because
in an hour’s time we will be overtaken. We must disembark earlier, at a place
they won’t expect.’

‘We’ll be seen leaving the barge,’
Burgess pointed out. ‘As soon as Carandini’s men catch up, they will question
the bargee, who will set them back on our trail.’

Darcy nodded pensively. Of course he had
no proof that Carandini was
on their trail
at all; the boat following
them out of Lido might have been a fishing craft. But he trusted Mario
Carandini’s account of his cousin’s character. Gabriele would not relinquish
his obsession so easily. He would go to any lengths, spend any amount of money,
to get Elizabeth back …

Darcy woke with a jolt, to discover
that the farm workers had left. He cursed himself for giving way to his weariness
and dropping off. How much time had passed? Had they been overtaken? He shook
Burgess, who was also dozing, and ran up on deck, where the farm workers were
exchanging pleasantries with the bargee as they waited to disembark.

‘Where are we?’ Darcy asked in Italian,
joining them.

The bargee pointed to a villa with a
facade made up of triangles and columns, beautifully composed in the style of a
Greek temple. ‘Villa Foscari.’

In the dawn light the villa seemed a
fantasy, too good to be true. Darcy looked back along the river bank for evidence
of pursuit, but saw no riders.

‘We will disembark now.’

The bargee regarded him strangely. ‘You
won’t find anyone here from the family.’

‘I want to see the villa.’

The bargee shrugged and shouted
instructions. By the time Darcy returned, with Elizabeth in his arms, Burgess
was standing on the grassy bank, next to their luggage, and communicating in a
mixture of gesture and Venetian dialect with the farm workers. Darcy seated Elizabeth
on the trunk, and she stretched and rubbed her eyes.

‘Where are we?’

He pointed to the villa, and she gasped.

‘Oh my goodness, what a lovely place!’

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Not unwell, but so tired! I could sleep
forever.’

‘Don’t be alarmed. It will wear off.’ He
turned to Burgess. ‘We need to move quickly from the riverside.’

Burgess pointed to the farm workers.
‘They say we can go to the house. They work for a man named Boscolo, who may be
the owner.’

‘Not Foscari?’ Darcy queried.

Burgess threw up his hands. ‘That’s how
it seems. But they will help with the luggage if we want.’

‘Well done.’ Darcy nodded to the
Italians, asked their names, and helped Elizabeth to stand so that they could
carry the trunk. Although impeded by the blankets she tried a few steps, but
their progress was too slow, and he gathered her in his arms again; it was in
any case a walk of only a hundred yards.

Reaching the villa, he was surprised to
find two rustic carts parked outside, with chickens and geese running freely.
The centre of the facade extended in a wide balcony, with six columns in front
and a room underneath. It could be reached by external L-shaped staircases on
either side, and since this seemed the main entrance, Darcy carried Elizabeth
up the steps, and motioned to the others to follow.

On the balcony, a low wall helped
conceal them from any observers on the river bank. At the back a door was left
open, and Darcy found himself in what must have once been a grand hall. Its
condition was a shock. Instead of divans, carpets, a formal dinner table, he
found only a few rickety benches, several dozen sacks of grain, and a huge open
pile of dried maize.

He seated Elizabeth gently on a bench,
and they both looked around in wonder.

The interior was arranged in a cross
shape, with four corridors leading out from the hall. Over their heads was a
vaulted ceiling which, like the walls, was covered in the most amazing frescos
of classical themes from Greek mythology. One could have spent days studying
the paintings. They were plainly the work of great artists, on a par with the
magnificent architecture.

Yet the villa had been abandoned.

Wondering who was in charge, Darcy
turned his attention to the other occupants. A few were sleeping on straw
pallets. A woman was filling a basket with cobs of maize, perhaps for feeding to
chickens. In a corner he spotted a man dressed in breeches and a light jacket,
leaning against a sack of grain while he drew in a sketchbook with a stick of
charcoal. After a reassuring word to Elizabeth, Darcy crossed the hall to
approach him.

‘
Buon giorno
.’

The man looked up with raised eyebrows,
threw down his sketchbook, and jumped to his feet. ‘And good-day to you too,
sir!’

Darcy was momentarily lost for words as
he stared at a fresh-faced young man with flowing fair hair and a confident
manner. ‘You are English?’

The young man bowed. ‘Gerard Hanson,
from Woodstock, near Oxford. Of which I am an undistinguished alumnus.’

‘Then I fear we will never get on, since
my
alma mater
is Cambridge.’ Darcy wondered whether to give a false
name, but decided to risk it. ‘Fitzwilliam Darcy, from Derbyshire.’ He stepped
forward and dropped his voice. ‘Are you by any chance on terms with the owner?
I find myself in a quandry, and would appreciate some help.’

‘The estate has been rented to a man
named Boscolo who owns most of the farmland around here. As you see, the villa
has been left to decay, but this floor and the one beneath are used for storage,
while the upper rooms are let out for a pittance to itinerant labourers or
anyone else passing by.’ He paused. ‘What help do you need?’

‘I’m travelling with an Englishwoman who
has been ill. She needs privacy to wash and change. We have not eaten for a
long time.’

‘I suggest in that case that you bring
your, ah, companion upstairs, where I have one of the chambers. The furniture
is dilapidated, but includes a dresser with a jug of water, which she is
welcome to use.’

Darcy introduced Mr Hanson to Elizabeth,
and he led them through a domed side-room to a staircase. Reaching one of the
smaller upper chambers, he held up a hand.

‘Excuse me a moment.’ He opened the door
a crack and poked his head inside. ‘Alice?’

There was a moan from within, and with an
impudent smile he beckoned Darcy to follow him through. ‘As you see, I also
have a lady friend. Don’t worry, she’s still abed. Alice, we have visitors from
England!’

Darcy frowned. ‘This is not what I
expected, Mr Hanson. Is there not another room?’

Hanson laughed. ‘This is all I can
offer, but don’t hesitate on our account. We can leave the ladies in privacy
and go in search of breakfast.’

Darcy looked down at Elizabeth, who was
observing him with an amused smile. ‘Miss Bennet?’

‘I will stay, if Mrs Hanson permits.’

‘Very well.’ Darcy stepped into the
room, where a pale young woman lay in an ornate four-poster that looked as if
it might collapse at any moment. He found a similarly regal and dilapidated
armchair for Elizabeth.

‘Will you be alright here?’ he asked
softly.

‘Fine. Thank you.’

‘What clothes shall I bring?’

‘All of them.’

He turned, with relief, and followed
Hanson out.