Conceit & Concealment: A Pride & Prejudice Variation

by Abigail Reynolds

  How long had they been sitting here in the night mist, soaking wet? “What happened? How did you escape the Neptune? Were you thrown clear?”

  “I jumped. When the Achille exploded, I knew the Neptune would be next. Everyone was at the rail, trying to see the wreckage through all the smoke. Then...what was I saying?”

  “It does not matter. All that matters is that you are alive.”

  “She saved my life,” said Mrs. Hayes. “She grabbed my hand and told me there was no time to explain and we had to jump clear. We made it to the opposite rail. I lost my nerve once I was standing on the railing, but Lizzy jumped and pulled me with her. We hit the water – no one ever told me that it hurts to land on water from a great height! – and of course we sank down deep, and everything exploded around us, like a storm of wood and nails and worse things.” She shuddered. “But I grabbed onto the nearest piece of wood, and by great good fortune, it was that barrel.” She pointed towards the water’s edge. “With its help, we were able to get to the surface, but I was certain we would drown.”

  Elizabeth said, “There was smoke everywhere, and we were coughing out water, and it was hard to breathe, like Georgiana during one of her attacks.”

  “But the tide was going out,” continued Mrs. Hayes. “It took us with it. Elizabeth could have swum to shore, but she would not leave me. By the time we made it here, it was dark, and we decided we should hide until daylight.”

  Puck had clambered onto the pier, and now found himself with his favorite people within easy reach. Enthusiastically he began licking first Darcy’s cheek, then Elizabeth’s.

  Darcy tried to push the puppy away, but only half-heartedly. “Puck, you deserve to eat off gold plate for the rest of your life for what you have done tonight. But I do not need dog slobber all over my face.”

  Elizabeth gave a muffled giggle. “I do. The river water is foul and disgusting. Being licked by a dog is a great improvement.”

  ***

  The foggy, dreamlike quality was beginning to fade from Elizabeth's mind by the time Darcy managed to get the two women up to the nearest street. “Where are we?”

  “Somewhere east of the Tower, I think.” Darcy glanced up and down the street, keeping a supportive hand around her shoulder.

  “But what of the curfew? If the French soldiers find us, they will know I came from the ship.”

  “Curfew?” He sounded puzzled, which was odd given how many years the curfew had been in place. “Of course, you do not know. London has been liberated; the only French soldiers left have taken asylum in Westminster Abbey.”

  She stopped so abruptly that he staggered. “Is it true? We are free? What happened? I knew the uprising must have started, but is it over already?”

  Darcy's brows drew together. “I do not know the details. Once I heard the Neptune was sunk, I stopped listening to the rest. But it is over, and Demarais has surrendered. Kit will be able to tell you more; he was in the midst of it. Wellington is commanding the forces on land and Lord Nelson has the fleet.”

  “Wellington? Nelson? I thought they were long dead! Oh, this is the best news!”

  “I beg to differ.” Darcy's hand cupped her cheek. “Finding you alive is the best news.”

  If Elizabeth had not been so cold and so wet, she could have lived in that moment forever.

  A boy ambled past them. What was he doing awake at this hour?

  Darcy hailed him. “Ho, boy! Do you want to earn a shilling?”

  “What? Yes, sir, if you please.”

  “I left my carriage on St. Katharine’s Way. Can you run there and tell the coachman that Mr. Darcy says he should come here?” Darcy looked around. “Wherever here is.”

  The boy's eyes grew wide. “Cor! Are you really Mr. Darcy?”

  “Did I not say so?”

  “The Mr. Darcy? The one that hid the princess all these years?”

  Elizabeth, seeing Darcy stiffen, said, “Yes, he is that Mr. Darcy.”

  “Cor! Wait till I tell my mates! I'll fetch your carriage in a trice, sir!”

  “One moment! Is there a respectable public house nearby where I can take the ladies in the meantime? They are cold and wet.”

  The boy squinted at the women in the darkness. “Oh, sorry. I thought they were men in those coats. Bad night for swim, innit? But you can go to the Royal Oak down there at the corner, the one with the candles in the window. It's me mum's place, and she'll take care of you.”

  “Good. Now off with you.”

  The boy took off at a run.

  “Where do you suppose he heard about me?” Darcy took Elizabeth's arm and steered her toward the pub.

  Elizabeth's teeth started to chatter. “I have no idea.”

  “No more talking. We must get you warm.”

  Molly said, “Wait! What was that about the princess?”

  “I will tell you later,” said Elizabeth. “When we are warm.”

  The inn was lit only by a few candles and a dying fire, but the light dazzled Elizabeth's eyes after so many hours of darkness. Half a dozen men and women sat at tables in the tap room. A woman in an apron rubbed a rag over one table while several late customers tarried over their ale at another. The hum of conversation ceased abruptly as they entered.

  Uncaring of the staring customers, Elizabeth hurried toward the fire, followed closely by Molly. Ah, heat! She only wished it could warm both sides of her at once.

  The aproned woman bustled towards them. “Now, what's all this, then? This is a respectable house, this is, and I won't have no strange folks coming in at this hour and up to no good.”

  Darcy said stiffly, “My good woman, we are quite respectable. Your son has gone to fetch my carriage and he suggested we could wait here.”

  The woman seemed to waver, perhaps owing to Darcy's cultured accent, but it was not surprising she would have doubts. Darcy hardly looked the gentleman in his shirtsleeves and with mud covering his boots and knees, two bedraggled ladies wearing his coats and no doubt reeking of the stench of the Thames, and a half-grown puppy trailing behind them.

  The hostess placed her hands on her hips. “Anyone can say they have a carriage, but I won’t believe it until I see it. Now out with you.”

  “Aw, let them stay,” called out one of the patrons. “It’s not every day we have a new queen.”

  Wanting to sob at the very idea of going back out into the streets, Elizabeth took a shot in the dark. “He is Mr. Darcy.” It had worked with the boy, after all.

  The woman took a step back. “Not the Mr. Darcy?”

  “Yes,” said Elizabeth helpfully. “The one who hid Princess Charlotte all these years. He just saved our lives by fishing us out of the river. We were on the Neptune when it exploded, you see.” She tried to ignore Darcy's stiff look of incredulity. If it meant she could stay by the fire, she would be willing to say almost anything.

  A man with a bushy beard said, “But... But the lady on the Neptune is supposed to be dead. Miss Gordon, or whatever her name was.”

  “I am Miss Gardiner, and I came very close to dying, I assure you.” She had become accustomed to being Mrs. Darcy, but if Miss Gardiner could have a place by the fire, she would use the name.

  The innkeeper gasped. “The one who escaped with the princess and hid in a hayloft?”

  “The very one. Georgiana – that is what we called the princess when she was in disguise – she said that if King Charles could hide in an oak tree all day, she could hide in hayloft all night.” Elizabeth exchanged a wary glance with Darcy. How could these people know all these things?

  “Well, that's different, then! Come with me, ladies, and you too, Peg Jones. We must get these ladies dry and clean. George Mason, you tend the bar and get Mr. Darcy something to drink.” She herded Elizabeth and Molly behind the bar and into a blessedly warm kitchen. The other patrons were already crowding around Mr. Darcy and asking questions.

  In the kitchen, a startled looking barmaid clapped her hand over her mouth at the sight of t
hem. The hostess set her scurrying to fetch a bowl of water and towels and the woman called Peg to find dry clothing.

  Dry clothing! It sounded like heaven.

  Elizabeth managed to wash her own face and hands, but then the hostess took over her care personally, stripping her down to her shift and drying her hair. Molly, clearly considered a lesser personage, was left to the mercy of the barmaid.

  Peg Jones miraculously produced two dresses in everyday brown and shifts to go with them. “Not what you ladies might be used to, but at least they are dry.”

  Elizabeth looked at the simple wool dresses, tears of gratitude in her eyes. “I cannot tell you how grateful I am. This is perfect, and I will be proud to wear it.”

  “As will I,” said Molly.

  “And who might you be?” asked the hostess, as if noticing Molly for the first time.

  “Molly Hayes,” she said humbly.

  Elizabeth said, “Mrs. Hayes is the Lord Mayor’s wife.”

  The poor barmaid shrieked as if horrified that her humble hands had touched the Mayor’s wife. “I did not know!”

  The hostess seemed less impressed, or perhaps the rescuer of the princess simply rated higher than the Lord Mayor’s wife. As she began to dress Elizabeth, she asked, “What is she like, the little queen?”

  What would common people want to know about her? Presumably not about her occasional petulance or fits of nerves. “She is a little shorter than I am, with flaxen hair, and when she is thinking hard, she always wraps her finger in one of her ringlets. Her hair is short, though, barely to her shoulders, because we had to cut it when we escaped.”

  “Is it true she dressed as a boy?” Peg Jones’s eyes were wide.

  That was an easy question. “Only when there was no other choice. She was very brave about it, and ready to do anything that would serve England and its people. She did make a fetching boy, though.”

  The women sighed happily. “And Mr. Darcy’s brother, is it true he is mad with love for her?”

  Good Lord! Where in heaven’s name had they heard that, when it was only a few hours since London had been won? “I cannot repeat his confidences to me, but he is her most fervent supporter.”

  “Ooh, is he handsome?” ventured the barmaid.

  “Oh, yes. He is dark-haired like his brother and has an engaging smile.”

  “I do hope the queen will take pity on him. After all, he has loved her for such a long time.”

  For a long time? Kit had not known Georgiana half a year! But now Elizabeth knew the source of all this information. No matter who had repeated the story to these particular women, Lady Matlock clearly was already preparing the populace for Georgiana – Charlotte – to marry Kit. With the overthrow of the French, Lady Matlock would have changed her plans for the queen’s future as quickly as she might change her gloves. Richard Fitzwilliam was out of the picture and Kit was in. What must Kit think of his new role in this saga?

  Finally they were dry and presentable, if appearing more like common women than usual, and Elizabeth had learned that good strong ale tasted much better than river water. Of course, almost anything would.

  Back in the taproom Elizabeth discovered Darcy seated at a table with the other patrons, holding a tankard of ale and still answering questions with surprising amiability. Puck sat as his feet. When he rose to his feet on seeing her, his eyes were warm.

  “I missed you,” he said softly when he reached her side. “The carriage is here.”

  While the ale-drinkers huddled together in earnest discussion, Darcy paid the proprietress several times what the service required. Elizabeth promised to return the clothing as soon as possible. Then, recalling what Georgiana had done after their night in the hayloft, she pulled a silver ring from her little finger and handed it to the woman. “This is to remember tonight, and you may show it to prove we were here. The princess gave it to me.”

  “Oh, Miss Gardiner, I couldn't!” But the hostess was staring at the ring as if it were a holy relic.

  “I want you to have it, and if the princess... the queen were here, she would say the same.”

  “Bless you, miss, and God bless Her little Majesty, too.”

  The man who had been appointed barkeeper rose from the huddle, stuck his thumbs in his waistband and addressed the hostess. “We’ve been talking here, and we think that in honor of today, and what the queen said about hiding in the hayloft like King Charles in the oak tree, this pub should be called The Royal Hayloft instead of The Royal Oak.” A murmur of agreement followed from the others.

  The hostess’s expression lit up as she turned to Darcy and Elizabeth. “I hardly dare ask it, but would you mind it?”

  Fighting back the urge to laugh, Elizabeth said, “I would be honored.”

  With poker-like solemnity, Darcy said, “You will need a new sign, then.” He added two more coins to the pile.

  Biting her lip was the only way Elizabeth could keep a serious countenance, but when the coach pulled away from the inn, she could no longer repress her mirth. Between bursts of laughter, she managed to say, “I felt as if we were characters in some old story like the tales of King Arthur. I half expected Sir Lancelot to ride up.”

  Darcy looked down at her with an arrested gaze. “I thought I would never hear your laugh again.”

  Molly cleared her throat as if reminding them she was still there. “Lizzy, about Princess Rosalinda and the hayloft,” she said pointedly.

  “Er, yes. Princess Rosalinda and Princess Charlotte do have a great deal in common, I am afraid. I wish I could have told you before. Do you remember when we first met, I said I was guilty of doing far worse things than folding newspapers? Now you know just how much worse!”

  “Perhaps you should tell me the story now since everyone else in London seems to know more than I do,” Molly teased.

  The tale took up the duration of the journey to Mansion House, where Darcy delivered Molly into the hands of the tearfully grateful and none too sober Lord Mayor, still awake despite the church towers tolling midnight and already dressed in mourning black. As he embraced his wife, he said, “Darcy, if there is ever anything I can do for you, no matter what it is, I will be happy to do it. I owe you everything. When I heard the news about the Neptune, I thought my world had ended.”

  Once back inside the carriage, Darcy gathered Elizabeth into his arms and said, “His gratitude is misplaced, since I did nothing more than deliver her to him. But I do understand how he feels. I still cannot believe you are alive and here with me.”

  “And that we are free of the French,” said Elizabeth, stifling a yawn. “It may take some time for me to truly believe that.” She rested her head on his shoulder. How long had it been since she had felt as safe and happy as she did at that moment? If only she could remain in his arms forever! “I have not even thanked you for finding me.”

  “Puck deserves the credit for that.” Darcy nodded to the sleeping dog on the opposite bench. Normally Puck was not permitted onto the carriage seats, but tonight Darcy would allow him anything.

  “Well, then, I thank you for thinking to bring Puck to search for me.”

  Darcy’s arms tightened around her. “I did not expect to find you. I had already sent servants to ask if there were any survivors from the ships, and they reported there were none. But I simply could not stay away. I had to be near you.” He pressed his lips against the part of her forehead he could reach. It was true – she was alive, and soon she would be living with him at Darcy House as his wife. He had tried to avoid imagining that or it would have been too painful to awaken to an empty bed every morning.

  Elizabeth’s breathing was slow and even. Had she fallen asleep? Darcy held perfectly still to avoid awakening her. She must be exhausted, and she needed rest if she were to avoid taking a chill. And this way he could bask in the sheer indescribable joy of holding her close. He was the most fortunate man in the world.

  ***

  “Elizabeth, my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth.”


  She barely heard Darcy’s words through the veil of sleep, but the tenderness in his voice drew her. Without even opening her eyes, she tilted her face up to him. Oh, the pleasure of his kiss! Perhaps they could stay in the carriage forever, just like this.

  She did not even care when the carriage came to a halt, not until she heard the click of the door latch as it opened, followed by it being firmly closed. She straightened abruptly, now wide awake. Had Darcy's coachmen actually caught them kissing? “Oh, dear.”

  “Oh, dear, indeed.” Darcy did not sound in the least bit regretful. “It is safe to open it now, Symons.”

  When the door opened this time, the coachman's eyes were firmly fixed on the ground. As he put down the steps, Symons said, “This is as far as we can go, sir. I think you may need to deal with this.”

  Elizabeth stuck her head out. They were still a short distance from Darcy House, but despite the late hour, Brook Street was filled with people, some carrying lanterns. A line of men with rifles stood at the end of the block.

  Darcy descended from the carriage and strode up to the nearest armed man. “What is this?” he demanded.

  The fellow said, “Sorry, sir, nobody comes in without the major’s approval.”

  “This is Major Darcy? Go ask him then.” Darcy bit out.

  “Nonsense!” It was the hearty voice of Mr. Cartwright, Darcy's neighbor, the one who had scorned him over his politics. “Darcy, pray allow me the very great privilege of shaking your hand. I could not be prouder if it were my own son. You, there, let Darcy through. He is the one who hid the princess.”

  Elizabeth was already beginning to tire of hearing this.

  The armed man straightened abruptly. “Sorry, sir. My mistake, Mr. Darcy. You can go straight through.”

  The crowd inside the barrier was already turning towards Darcy. Mr. Cartwright called out, “Make way for Mr. Darcy!”

  Elizabeth scrambled out of the coach, shutting the door quickly to keep Puck inside. Darcy held his arm out to her, even if she did look more like a servant than his guest.

  The armed man looked askance. “Who's the lady, sir?”

  “I am Miss Gardiner, and I am not dead,” said Elizabeth. If everyone knew all the details anyway, she might as well save time. All the details except her marriage, that is.