The Journey (27 page)

“Darcy must have returned to London and met with Caroline as soon as she and Mr. Hurst arrived,” Mr. Bingley said. “Perhaps he will come by and call upon us. It is of little consequence, of course, for we shall see all of them at intermission and at dinner afterwards. I know both my sisters are eager to spend time with you again, Miss Bennet, and you, too, Miss Elizabeth.”

Oh yes, indeed, I thought, just as eager as I to be with them.

Mr. Hurst entered the box shortly thereafter and grunted his usual greeting. Jane and I removed our cloaks, and I tugged my gloves back into position before I sat down. I stepped in front of the plush gold velvet chairs and peered over the rail at the crowd below. I had never seen so much of London’s high society in one place at one time. Fans, feathers and sparkling jewels intermingled with starched stiff collars and carefully groomed beards, all to the accompaniment of lilting laughter and rich, varied conversations.

Suddenly, somewhat of a hush seemed to settle over the theatre, and I turned toward the stage, expecting the program to begin. The musicians, however, continued to tune their instruments. No actors appeared on the stage.

Then I saw people turn their eyes upward in my direction and begin to whisper behind their fans. I glanced over my shoulder to see if someone else had entered our box, but no, there was only Mr. Hurst, Jane, and Mr. Bingley handing our wraps to an attendant behind them.

Could they be gossiping about my sister, speculating as to whether there was to be an announcement of their upcoming nuptials? But no, surely there would be smiles upon their faces at thoughts of a wedding. Instead, I saw disapproving frowns and harsh, disdainful expressions as they gazed at our box.

Then I stood amazed when some began to point with their fingers or fans, and I heard snatches of phrases: “
scandal . . . sham marriage . . . she and Mr. Darcy . . . who is she? . . . three days in the same room . . . will not marry . . . shocking!
”

I backed away from the railing and sank down upon the chair beside Jane. Surely my imagination ran amok. Surely people were not actually talking about
me
in such an insulting manner!

The servants began to turn the lights down low, and the conductor tapped his baton, signalling the audience that the opera was about to begin. It was not until after the conductor repeatedly tapped his baton on the music stand, however, that the talk died down.

I had glanced at Mr. Bingley when it began and saw the nervous, uncomfortable expression about his eyes and the strained manner in which he smiled. Jane reached over and held my hand, squeezing it until I almost cried aloud. Oh, what had I done?

Please, Lord, I prayed, do not let this gossip dissuade Mr. Bingley from his attentions toward Jane!

And then, thankfully, the great swell of music began, and all attention turned upon the stage and to the artistes providing the evening’s entertainment. I tried with everything that was in me to concentrate on the story portrayed before us, but to this day I cannot tell you anything about
Don Giovanni
.

Mr. Bingley handed his opera glasses to Jane, and she shared them with me. I raised them to my eyes, but I do not remember any costume worn, aria sung, or scenery that decorated the stage below. All I could think of was the hateful way in which I had been treated.

What had caused this sudden outrage? Why did society now deem me an object of gossip and spite, when earlier this week shopkeepers had courted me in hopes of obtaining my business for the forthcoming wedding they assumed was to take place? These thoughts whirled round and round during the first scene, until at last an idea struck me.

Mr. Darcy must have returned and informed the newspapers that we would not marry!

Immediately, I turned my gaze from the stage to his box, and my breath caught in my throat to see him sitting beside Caroline Bingley, his face turned in my direction. I had not seen him enter, and my companions had not mentioned it. He must have slipped in under cover of darkness after the music commenced.

I glared at him but knew our seats were too far away in distance for my expression to have any effect. Nor could I see the tenor of his countenance, only his head inclined toward me. Quickly I returned my attention to the stage and applauded at the end of the second scene.

During the third scene, I believe some kind of wedding celebration occurred in the story, for I do remember a bride and dancing, but as for the gist of the story, I was lost. I was only aware of Mr. Darcy’s gaze planted firmly upon my person. Each time I glanced his way out of the corner of my eye, I could see his posture turned toward Mr. Bingley’s box.

I wondered if he was angry that Jane and I had accompanied his friend or if he had heard the gossip before the show began. Most of all, I wondered why his eyes never deviated, why he persisted in staring at me throughout the performance. Had the man not come to see and hear an opera?

At the end of the first act, I clapped almost too vigorously, so relieved I was to rise from view and exit for the intermission. Why I ever thought the situation would be more favourable without is beyond my comprehension.

Mr. Hurst left our presence immediately, rushing from the box in search of liquid refreshment. I followed Mr. Bingley and Jane down the staircase to the gallery below where London society now mingled, gaily greeting each other with bows and curtseys.

I soon found myself clearly and plainly snubbed. As the three of us made our way across the large lobby, the crowd cut a wide swath. People did bow to Mr. Bingley, but then looked down their noses at Jane and me and immediately turned away. Not one person spoke to my sister or me, and many a rude gesture was openly directed my way.

“I wonder where Caroline and Louisa are,” Mr. Bingley said, his voice emerging somewhat higher than normal. “I know they wished to join us.”

He looked about the throng, but they did not appear or seek us out. One glance at Jane’s face told me how humiliated she was. This would not do! I felt impelled to free her from my constraint.

“Mr. Bingley, I pray you will excuse me,” I murmured, slipping my hand from his arm. “Please do not be concerned — a sudden wave of fatigue. I shall return to my seat.”

Before he or Jane could deter me, I hurried up the stairs, brushing past the couples who still descended. I walked down the red carpet as fast as decorum permitted. I kept my face averted as I searched for Mr. Bingley’s box. At last I found it, pushed open the door, and rushed inside, while my breath came forth in great gasps.

I was dismayed to see patrons still remained below and in their boxes, and not wishing to be seen, I pulled a chair well back behind the long drapes hanging on the side. There, somewhat hidden from prying eyes, I sank down upon the seat and fanned myself. I sighed deeply, aghast at how the evening had turned out.

If only I could find a way out of the theatre and make my way back to Gracechurch Street! But how? I was trapped, and my presence assured Jane of sharing in my censure.

Had not Mr. Darcy warned me of this? Had not my aunt and uncle and my father done the same? But no, I had foolishly ignored their words, confident that I could handle any rebuke London society had to offer. What I had not realized was the vicious depth to which the
ton
would punish not only me but my innocent sister as well.

I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes, hoping to restrain the tears about to betray my emotions, when I saw the door to the box open and Mr. Darcy enter. I immediately sat up straighter and lifted my chin. Whatever was he doing there? He looked about, an anxious frown upon his face, before he spied me.

“Miss Bennet! Are you ill? I saw you leave your party and hurry above stairs.”

I glared at him and did not even stand in greeting.

“Elizabeth?” he said again, pulling a chair to the side so that he could sit beside me. “Tell me the cause of your distress.”

“Those are fine words coming from you,” I spat at him. “After what you have done, how can you pretend solicitude?”

“I have no idea to what you refer.”

“Do not insult me further by asking me to believe you know nothing of what has taken place.”

“I fear I do not have the pleasure of understanding you.”

He reached for my hand, but I snatched it away and turned my face to the wall. “Do you mean to say you did not witness the cuts Jane and I endured before the opera began and in the lobby below?”

“No, I — I did not,” he said, rising. “I just returned to Town this evening and was detained by several acquaintances without. I did not enter my box until after the performance began. Tell me what happened.”

“Precisely what you predicted,” I replied. “I was greeted with whispers, hisses, and pointed fingers before the performance, and
your
friends made certain that Jane and I knew we were not worthy of their acknowledgement during the intermission. That is why I ran up here to hide. I thought perhaps Jane might be spared if I removed myself from her presence.”

His only response was to press his lips together, but I could see the vein stand out on his forehead, the one that indicated he was in high dudgeon.

“If only I could leave this place, could return to my uncle’s house.”

“Yes! That is what we must do — get you away from here immediately.”

“We?” I was incredulous. “I have no intention of going anywhere with you, sir! That would only increase gossip.”

He appeared to ignore my declaration and pulled out his watch. “There is still at least ten minutes left before the second act begins. Wait here. That will allow me time to have my carriage brought round. When your sister, Bingley, and Hurst return, make your excuses, and as soon as the lights are dimmed, go downstairs and out the front door. My driver will be waiting and will take you back to Mr. Gardiner’s house.”

I was amazed that he had devised a solution so quickly. He did not propose to inflict himself upon me but simply offered his carriage to spirit me away, which was exactly what I wished.

“Thank — thank you,” I murmured, dumbfounded.

“Do not worry, Elizabeth,” he said, “I shall make certain you get away safely.”

My heart turned over at the kindness in his voice and the sympathy in his eyes. Surely, he must be the most handsome man ever created, I thought, especially in evening dress! With the slightest of bows, he turned and exited the box.

I remained behind the drapes out of sight of any returning audience members until the intermission ended, and Jane and Mr. Bingley returned, along with Mr. Hurst.

“Lizzy, are you unwell?” Jane cried. “Why did you desert us?”

“A sudden headache,” I said.

“Shall I take you home?” Mr. Bingley asked.

“No, there is no need for you and Jane to miss the rest of the performance. Mr. Darcy has offered his carriage.”

“Darcy? Is he here?” Mr. Bingley asked, looking toward his box.

I nodded and rose just as the lights dimmed

“Shall I not come with you?” Jane asked, concern evident in her eyes.

“No, all is well. Stay and enjoy the evening.”

I bade them good night and slipped out the door. I passed not more than three or four couples hurrying to their seats as I ran down the great staircase. I did not even bother to notice if they directed disapproving frowns toward me. Crossing the wide lobby, my slippers lightly tapping on the polished floor, I willed myself to appear perfectly at ease as the doorman opened the doors for me.

How relieved I was to see a carriage waiting, a footman with his hand upon the door handle!

“Miss Bennet?” he inquired.

I nodded and he pulled down the steps. Once I was safely inside, he said, “Mr. Darcy suggests that you lower the shade, Miss.”

“Yes, of course.”

The opposite window was already covered, and I immediately applied myself to release the other. I heard the driver speak to the horses and felt the coach move. Only then did I breathe out a sigh of relief. At last, I was safe from public scrutiny. I could not wait to return to the security of my uncle’s house.

We went only a short distance, however, when the carriage suddenly stopped, and before I could pull back the shade, the footman opened the door once again. I knew we could not have reached Gracechurch Street so soon. Did they propose to thrust me out in the middle of Town?

Then I heard Mr. Darcy’s voice. “Thank you, Hudson.”

He pushed the shade aside and climbed into the coach, seating himself across from me. “That worked out rather well, did it not?” he asked. “If anyone happened to see you leave, they thought you were alone. I arranged to be picked up two streets from the theatre.”

I was surprised at his plan, but I said nothing.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked. “Shall I fetch a rug?”

I shook my head. It was so dark inside the cab that I could hardly make out his features.

“Now tell me, is tonight the first time you have been treated in this shabby manner?”

“Yes,” I said brusquely.

I heard him utter an oath under his breath, but before he could address me further, I declared, “I find it quite odd that my public disfavour coincides with your return to London. I have not read the newspapers for the last two days, sir, but evidently you decided the time was right to publicize the fact that we are not to marry. I only wish my uncle had informed me. If I had known, I would not have ruined my sister’s evening.”