The Journey (29 page)

He let out his breath in a deep sigh. “Such I was, from eight to eight-and-twenty, and such I might still have been — but for you.”

He looked down at me with such a strange expression that I felt as though I might drown in the depths of his dark eyes. “You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, Miss Bennet, I was properly humbled.”

“I never meant to humble you, sir. How you must have hated me after what I said to you.”

“Hated you! I was angry, perhaps at first, but my anger soon began to take a proper direction. I hope to show you by every civility in my power that I hope to obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your ill opinion by letting you see that your reproofs have been attended to.”

I looked at the floor, not knowing how to respond. “You have done much to alter my opinion of you. I shall be eternally grateful if what you have done secures the happiness of my dear sister.”

“Then let us hope Mr. Bingley’s affections can weather society’s onslaught.”

“Yes, let us hope,” I echoed.

“And if it does not come about, Elizabeth, do not blame yourself. It simply means he is not a good enough man to merit your sister’s love.”

Taking my hand, he kissed it and then walked out the door. Without thinking, I placed my hand still warm from his caress, against my cheek. If I never saw him again, I would rejoice that we parted on such magnanimous terms.

Mr. Darcy was the best man I had ever known or hoped to know, and I felt certain I should love him more than any other man for the rest of my life.

Chapter Thirteen

Christmas arrived a few days later and with it my parents and sisters, Mary and Kitty. Lydia, the youngest, had been invited to spend the holidays with Colonel and Mrs. Forster. He was in command of the militia quartered in Meryton and married to a much younger woman who, for some reason, had singled out my fifteen-year-old sister as her particular companion. Kitty’s nose was out of joint at the lack of a similar invitation, but I felt uneasy that my parents had allowed Lydia to forsake our family’s holiday for that of such a new acquaintance.

“Nonsense!” my mother declared when I voiced my concerns. “Your sister is much better off at Colonel Forster’s where she may enjoy the company of the young officers than she would be here in Town where no eligible young men may call. And all because of you, Lizzy.”

That began another round of complaints of how my senseless refusal of two proposals had thrown my sisters — my entire family — into the direst of straits. She went on and on and on, ending with the usual, “Oh, what is to become of us all?” refrain that my sisters and I could mimic in unison.

If not for my aunt’s frequent interference and distraction of Mamá’s interests, I feared that my ears might literally have fallen from my head, such was the intensity and duration of her objections.

Whenever spared, I hid either in my uncle’s library curled up in a corner with a book, in my room where Jane sympathised with me, or in my aunt’s garden at the back of the house. There I rambled through the miniature paths and lamented to the yellow tomcat that it was the time of year when little was in bloom except my mother’s tongue.

I suppose we celebrated Christmas day and the ensuing festivities, but it all seems to blur when I think back on it. My pressing concern was the upcoming trial of Morgan and his gang and with its termination, how quickly I could return to Hertfordshire.

I had convinced my uncle to allow me access to the newspaper once he learned how hatefully Jane and I had been shamed at the opera. He regretted now that he had overlooked Lady Catherine’s notice that Mr. Darcy and I were not to marry.

There was little published, however, about the trial beforehand, and I did not have any way of knowing whether Mr. Darcy’s enquiry into Morgan’s past would benefit the man. All I could do was trust that he would do what he could to keep the highwayman from hanging.

What I did find in the society portion of the newspaper were accounts of various parties and balls at Almack’s and other establishments wherein Mr. Darcy’s name was often linked with several young women.

He had been seen dancing the night away, one article claimed, with a Miss Templeton, Lady Jersey’s niece visiting from Bath, and another time with the Countess Olenska’s daughter from Vienna. I did not put absolute faith in the veracity of the reports, for I knew how little Mr. Darcy cared for dancing. I could not squelch the jealousy I felt, though, at the thought that one of them might be the woman he truly loved.

The one spot of joy in those days was the fact that Mr. Bingley continued to call upon Jane. Actually, he called upon all of us, but no one could mistake his partiality for my sister’s company.

Neither of his sisters accompanied him on his visits, and he no longer even pretended to offer excuses for their absence. My mother, of course, continued to ask about them, believing his family supported his interests and that nothing could hamper the gentleman’s quest for Jane’s hand. How I hoped with all my heart that she might be correct. He, at least, was persistent in his courting although he had yet to ask that all-important question.

“Mary,” Mamá demanded one morning before Mr. Bingley was to visit, “when you and Kitty walk in the park with Jane and Mr. Bingley this afternoon, make certain you lag behind them — well behind, mind you.”

A light snow began to fall two hours before the visit that day, however, and my mother’s plot fell by the wayside due to forces even she could not control.

“Is everything against us?” she wailed, casting her eyes to the ceiling of my aunt’s parlour.

She made every attempt to leave the couple alone together in various public rooms of the house, but with so many inhabitants dwelling under the same roof, they were always interrupted. Each time he left without having declared himself, my mother threw up her hands, and her familiar refrain could be heard all over the house. “Oh, what is to become of us all?”

In bed at night, Jane and I would laugh about our mother’s distress, but in reality I, too, wondered at Mr. Bingley’s hesitation. Had Mr. Darcy been correct? Was he not man enough to bear the
ton’s
disapproval and align himself with the now infamous Bennet family? Had I truly ruined my sister’s chances of a successful marriage?

Jane would not allow me to voice these concerns aloud, and so I spent many restless nights wondering.

* * *

The week of the trial finally arrived, and my uncle planned to accompany my father to the proceedings. How I wished I could witness it, somehow unobserved by others!

The day before it began, I found myself quite nervous, unable to sit still for any length of time, my mind at sixes and sevens when attempting to concentrate on a book, music, or conversation. My mother’s endless lamentations drove me to distraction. My father had escaped the house by hiding at my uncle’s office, so I had not even his wit to entertain me.

At last, I slipped out the back door and through the garden gate. I had been warned to keep to the house or inside the back enclosure, but I simply could not restrain myself from leaving the premises.

I walked around the house, which covered most of the lane, and crossed the street to the park. A light wind whistled through the bare trees, tossing my curls about, even under cover of a bonnet. I did not care how cold it grew. I was relieved to be out of doors and able to walk.

I hiked down the path a good distance, passing the copse where Lady Catherine had threatened me, past the small pond, now too cold for even the ducks to emerge. A pair of nurses pushed their young charges in prams, bundled up against the weather. The women smiled and nodded, and I was grateful that someone other than my family greeted me with civility, aware that they knew neither my identity nor my notoriety. I was obliged for even the slightest bit of warmth in this bitter city I had grown to loathe.

How far I walked I know not, for my mind travelled even farther away from that peaceful park, across town to the Old Bailey where the trial would begin on the morrow. I could well imagine what would take place, although I had never set foot inside a courtroom.

I could see Sneyd’s ugly countenance, how like a weasel he would seem, dirty in appearance and reprehensible in conduct. He would not hesitate to defame Mr. Darcy or me if it would add to his defence, nor would he help Morgan. After all, had he not attempted to kill Morgan? I could well imagine what lies he might heap onto the highwayman’s list of offences.

As for Rufus and Merle, they had sided with Sneyd against Morgan. I doubted that they would hesitate to corroborate whatever untruths he told.

Mr. Darcy’s word, of course, would be held in higher esteem by the court, and he would denounce the band of thieves, but what would he say in regard to Morgan? He said he did not wish him to hang for murder, but that did not relieve the highwayman from the charge of kidnapping and extortion, as well as robbery. I shook my head, all too aware that there seemed little chance he could escape harsh punishment.

By that time I had walked a great distance from Gracechurch Street. When my mind returned to the present, I saw that I had covered the circumference of the park and found myself emerging from the wood upon a city street with which I was not familiar. A row of houses similar to my aunt’s lined up across the road.

Several carriages passed in front of me, and the sounds of the city now awakened my thoughts from those that had consumed me. I had just turned to retrace my steps through the park, for I had not the slightest intention of walking that public route, when a carriage pulled up and I heard a voice call to me.

“Miss Eliza? Is that you?”

I glanced over my shoulder, shocked to see Miss Bingley lean out the window of her carriage and address me. “Miss Bingley,” I said, curtseying.

“What are you doing out here alone?” She beckoned for me to approach the coach.

“I — I went for a walk through the park and must have gone farther than I was aware. I actually do not know this street.”

“You are some distance from Gracechurch Street,” she announced. “You had better join my sister and me and let us take you to your aunt’s house.”

I thought that an extraordinary offer, coming from Caroline Bingley, but one I could hardly refuse. Climbing into the coach, I greeted Mrs. Hurst, who bestowed her usual brittle smile upon me.

“Miss Bennet,” Mrs. Hurst said, “what a surprise! I had thought you in seclusion.”

“Yes, Charles says you do not leave your uncle’s house,” Miss Bingley added.

“True,” I answered. “I confess that today I simply could not stay housebound and allowed myself to steal away.”

“Rather dangerous in this neighbourhood,” Mrs. Hurst said, “would you not agree, Caroline?”

“Oh, yes. You really should not go out alone here so near Cheapside. Now, in our part of Town it would be perfectly acceptable, well not acceptable, but at least safe. Actually, one should never go out alone. It simply is not done. I know you are used to tramping the wood in Hertfordshire, but — ”

“Yes, we acknowledge what an excellent walker you are,” Mrs. Hurst agreed. “But Caroline is correct. You must not wander so far in Town, and especially not when you are under such scrutiny. Why, what if we had not been the ones who found you? What if it had been one of those horrid reporters?”

“Oh yes, Eliza. Charles says you are held a virtual prisoner in your uncle’s house. What a terrible time of year for that to happen, with all the balls and parties! How you must suffer!” Miss Bingley actually pulled her face down as though she sympathized with me. I wondered if she knew how prune-like it made her appear.

“I am surprised to find you in this area,” I said. “Are you calling on close friends?”

“Goodness, no! We took Charles to visit your poor family,” Mrs. Hurst said. “He insists he must do what he can to keep up your spirits.”

“That he surely does,” I replied. “’Tis a pity you could not visit with him.”

“We would, my dear,” Mrs. Hurst said, “if not for a prior engagement claiming our allegiance. You understand.”

“Of course. Mr. Bingley has given that same reason for your absence oft times recently.”

“Oh, you know how busy one is during the holidays,” Miss Bingley offered. “One’s time is simply not one’s own with so many calls to make. I confess the stack of invitations at our house grows higher each day. You understand, of course.”

She paused then and gave a great sigh, and I felt certain it was done merely for dramatic effect. “Oh, but you do not, do you? There I go forgetting your plight once again. It breaks my heart to know you do not share in the season’s festivities. It is such a happy time of year, and everyone is exceedingly cordial and merry.”

She went on and on and on about
Lady this
and
Lady that
and the Countess’s ball and being invited to the home of
Lord so-and-so
until I wished fervently that I had never accepted their offer of a ride.

“You must see a lot of Mr. Darcy then,” I said, attempting to change the subject, “for I often see his name in the paper in attendance at those gala evenings. Did I not read that he danced the night away with Lady Jersey’s niece? Are we to expect an announcement in that regard?”