by Lucy Tilney
He spoke so kindly that Elizabeth was overcome by confusion. How on earth could Mr. Darcy of all people be the first to truly understand Lydia? Yes, of course, what Lydia wanted was to be able to respect herself again but none of them had ever given her credit for knowing what self-respect meant let alone of feeling it. As kind as he was, how could he possibly know about Nettie? No, he could not. It had been concealed from him.
Just then Caroline slipped in by his side and Elizabeth was suddenly struck by the way that Caroline was always slipping, sidling, and insinuating her way in. For such a tall, self-confident woman she rarely, if ever, strode into situations or took them head on.
“You’ve organised this beautifully,” she said hoping that an initial compliment would begin to smooth things over with her future sister-in-law while wondering just how much time one was expected to spend with sisters-in-law anyway.
Caroline offered a crooked, half-hearted smile. “I did very little, I assure you, only the flowers. My mother and yours did the rest.”
There was a bitterness in her tone and such an expression of sadness in her eyes that Elizabeth left her clutching Mr. Darcy’s arm and took herself off to join some old school friends from Meryton who were hovering in a nervous gaggle by the door.
1 Lillie Langtry, Anglo-American socialite, actress, and stage producer, probably most famous for being the mistress of King Edward VII.
LIZZY TO THE RESCUE
Mr. Darcy or no Elizabeth enjoyed the rest of the party. She wasn’t designed for misery nor had she that much practice. She danced, she ate, she made new friends, and it wasn’t until she hit her own bed at 4am that she had to try not to think about Mr. Darcy. Again. On Sunday morning she lazed on the Gardiners’ sofa letting Jane sleep in their flat in peace and in the afternoon she took the twins to the park and spent dinner discussing the wedding.
Sunday night was another matter. She thought of Darcy all night long and dreamed about him when she finally fell into a patchy sleep. The man who could show compassion on Lydia who, in the end, was still silly, could not possibly lie about his own sister’s death or live knowing she was in such a grim situation. She slid out of the bed she’d been sharing with an invisible hippopotamus and promised herself no more indecision.
She was too tired for work that day and neither words nor anything else came easily to her. Thump-thump-thumpity-thump-thumpity-thumpthumpthump-ping. Thump…thumppppp… thwack… th…pppp. Ping. She stopped and ran her fingers through her hair. What she needed was a dictating machine to get the ideas out and save them for typing when her brain and hands were capable of coordinating.
“Miss Bennet,” Lily poked her head around the partition, “there was a Miss Lucas on the ‘phone a minute ago and she wouldn’t wait to speak to you. She says a Mrs. Younge is taking Nettie to Dover and she’s going to hold them up best she can but you’d better get down there. I think she meant Dover, not wherever she is.”
Elizabeth jumped up as the phone rang again. An excited Lily grabbed it and passed it to Elizabeth with a dramatic flourish, “Lizzy? I’m in the Station Master’s office at Hunsford. I saw Nettie and Mrs. Younge get out of a cab with luggage and when Nettie saw me she mouthed ‘help’. I don’t know what’s going on but I have a very bad feeling. I’ve begged Mr. Green, that’s the Station Master, to help and he’s going to hold them up taking a very long time to tell Mrs. Younge about Calais as she’s exceedingly nervous about it. He says if she misses the train she’ll have to wait three hours for the next one as they don’t all stop here. You can get to Dover ahead of them if you’re fast.”
“Oh, Lord!” Elizabeth clung to the edge of the desk, “The old witch knows I know and is getting a head start on me.”
Lily looked very interested.
“Yes, the Wicked Witch of the South. Get me Fitzwilliam Darcy on the phone… quickly!”
“Eh, the Fitzwilliam Darcy?”
“Yes, yes, him. Don’t stand there with your mouth open. Oh, where did I put my hat? Lily, I’m taking the petty cash.”
Lily clicked the receiver back into its hook, “Snooty male secretary at his London office says he’s not there and, yes, I did use your name and, no, the operator won’t put me through to Berkeley Square.”
Elizabeth hopped around putting on her outside shoes trying to get her hair into her hat. She stuffed some extra hairpins in her bag for the train journey.
“Lily, don’t ask questions, but a girl might be kidnapped and Mr. Darcy is the only person who can help. I promise all the gossip as soon as I get back. Here… take what’s left in the box… send telegrams to Mr. Darcy’s London office, London house, country house, and Charles Bingley at Bingley Beaufort Aeronautics too.”
She scribbled the text for the telegrams and fumbling in her desk drawer found her passport and a few francs she’d left there since last year’s trip to Brittany. A cab via West Hampstead to collect it from her flat would have been a disaster.
It had never taken so long in the history of transport for a woman to get from Mayfair to Charing Cross or from Charing Cross to Dover but eventually, she was there - and so were they. At least once on board, they couldn’t go anywhere and there was no need to keep them in sight and certainly safer not to. But all she could coherently think about was him. Not Annette but him. Now that she had done the stupidest thing imaginable and risked his long-lost sister’s future to her own vanity, now she realised he was the very man for her. Forget princesses and film stars and the daughters of earls, she wanted him, yet after today if he ever thought about her again it would be with absolutely righteous, justifiable, irrevocable anger.
If only her heart would get out of her throat and go back to its proper place. Would Lady Catherine have arranged for them to be met at Calais? Mrs. Younge was clearly uncomfortable and it was quite likely she’d never been out of the country before. She paced the deck feeling sick. If Darcy wasn’t on this ferry then he wasn’t leaving until the morning and by that time they’d be on a train to Germany or Switzerland and she wasn’t sure she had enough money to follow them and even if she did she had no idea how long she could keep doing it. Sooner or later she would run out of money. What did one do? Go to a bank, explain in French she needed them to ask Mrs. Gardiner to wire more and how long did it take? She counted out the francs for the third time without any comfort having no idea how much things cost in France. It all began to feel like a wild goose chase and good sailor though she was she said goodbye to her hastily eaten afternoon tea over the railings.
By this time it was obvious Mrs. Younge had intended to get the night ferry all along so Mr. Green’s subterfuge had been wasted. She and Annette disappeared into a reserved cabin leaving Elizabeth to wander the public areas. Around 4am huddled in her light linen coat wishing silk scarves and cotton gloves were just that little bit warmer she drifted back to Gunter’s and saw in her mind’s eye the desperate expression of a helpless little boy in the face of the man who believed his sister dead. Oh, dear God, she should have told him as soon as she suspected Nettie, as soon as, immediately, right there and then. Why had she been so determined to be clever and solve it herself? She had involved Dr. Turner and the Pringles but not Annette’s own brother who, in his own words, had loved her more than anyone.
“Now she will be lost forever and he will never forgive me.” This thought devoured her all night until Calais came into view. Oh, how different from last year’s trip with the Gardiners! A year ago she had been lighthearted and buzzing with excitement over her first taste of France and she couldn’t wait to get off the ship. This time she would have given anything, anything at all, for some bizarre international incident to make them turn around and sail back to England.
The ferry slowly manoeuvred itself into position and finally docked permitting its passengers to file off and into the railway station. Elizabeth kept as close to Mrs. Younge and Annette as she could sure this was the crucial point where she could not lose them but try as she might she could not catch Annet
te’s eye. Mrs. Younge was agitated and certainly unsure of herself. All pretence to gentility gone she rudely harried the porters and once she had one she barked at him in appalling French as she rifled through a wad of papers as if looking for instructions while Annette stood listlessly at her side. For a second Elizabeth decided the best course of action was to pull Annette away and run. Mrs. Young could hardly chase two healthy young women for long but did she have legal authority over Annette? If she did how long could it hold up if Elizabeth telephoned Marianne, every member of the Darcy family, the Earl of Alndale, the MP for Hunsford, and the editor of ‘The Times’?
She decided it was time to act. The worst that could happen would be having to call her father from a French police station. She stepped forward with bated breath stretching out her hand for Annette’s and then before she could make contact, out of the crowd of travellers in the station, appeared a familiar figure in a rumpled suit.
Charles!
And only Charles.
Elizabeth froze as he walked up to Mrs. Younge, greeting her by name, and swiping the sheaf of documents she was nervously shuffling. Mrs. Younge latched on to him like a lost monkey; it was clear that she was expecting instructions on where to go which raised the question of what had happened to the real escort. She looked around and seeing no-one likely started to trail behind them to the main exit noting that Annette was now on the other side of the porter with the luggage between her and Mrs. Younge. Suddenly she made a bid for exit and as Elizabeth raced after her she was aware of Charles physically stopping Mrs. Younge and then she was outside pushing through gaggles of travellers and there was and Mr. Darcy in dinner dress under an old Royal Flying Corps leather coat gathering Annette up in his arms. He glanced at her over Annette’s head and she longed to know what was in his mind at that moment; she knew he would be grateful, but could he still feel affection for her in defiance of everything - her awful words to him in the spring and her failure to tell him about Annette earlier? Oh, if he could still feel the affection for her that she now felt for him!
Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Charles, still holding Mrs. Younge’s arm, talking animatedly to a couple of gendarmes but before she could work out what was happening Annette had extricated herself from Darcy and thrown her arms around her.
“Elizabeth did it all, she said, Elizabeth gave me hope!”
Elizabeth glanced at Darcy but the expression on his face was so full of love and hope he wasn't thinking about her.
He pointed to a cafe across the street. “Let’s be English about this and talk over a cup of tea.”
CLARITY
They had just sat down when Charles caught up with them looking exceedingly pleased with himself. He smiled at Annette who smiled awkwardly back and glanced at Darcy and Elizabeth who were looking just as awkwardly at each other.
“Charles Bingley seeing as our friends aren’t going to introduce us.”
“Net… Annette,” she held out her hand and blushed as he kissed it.
“Enchanté, mademoiselle.”
Elizabeth found herself holding a melting red jelly.
“Sit down, Bingley, what have you done with Ellen Younge?”
“Ellen Younge is wanted by the Old Bill back in Blighty.” He picked up the menu.
“The what?” said Darcy, Elizabeth, and Annette almost in unison.
“Police, peelers, bobbies. Tall chaps in silly helmets always standing around in twos giving a fellow dirty looks for falling over after imbibing an extra ale. Hmmmm, don’t suppose this froggy establishment does eggs and bacon with muffins?”
“Monsieur?” The waiter looked stern but Charles was unrepentant.
“Eggs and bacon,” he said firmly, “all around. Nice soft eggs and lots of butter on the muffins.”
The waiter who had probably had quite enough of a certain sort of English officer during the war shook his head firmly.
Darcy ordered café noir.
“Rubbish. Got to eat. When did you last keep anything down Miss Annette? Don’t let this fellow turn you into a nun living on cigarettes and coffee until dinner. Half a dozen of those sweet pastries, please? Jam and almonds, if you don’t mind.”
Darcy glowered, “Charles, quite apart from your odd ideas about nuns, will you tell me what you’ve done with that woman who has been holding my sister prisoner?”
“Your sister?” Bingley’s mouth fell open but luckily he had beautiful teeth, “Uh, she was an accessory to a couple of murders that included my Uncle Julius. Her face was all over the Manchester papers for quite a while. I was fond of my Uncle Julius, he gave me my first real boat. I’ve never forgotten how he died.”
Darcy frowned. “This Mrs. Younge is wanted by the police in England as an accessory to murder in Manchester in nineteen…?”
“Five.”
“She was the mad..” He looked at Elizabeth and Annette and his ears pinked, “errrr… matron of… an… ummm…”
“An establishment,” said Darcy helpfully. Elizabeth and Annette exchanged glances. Matron, indeed!
“That’s right, an establishment,” Bingley shifted in his chair like a small boy remembering he has a newt in his pocket, “well, the establishment went on fire and my Uncle Julius died along with Sir Cadwallader Bullivant, the MP for Wolsley-on-Stowe. You know, the one who was acquainted with a young Russian lady who was also, um, known to the Japanese ambassador’s secretary. The police suspected the fire was deliberate to get rid of Sir Cadwallader but without Mrs. Younge, or Miss Miggins as she was then, they couldn’t prove it. I knew that the establishment’s doorman was a fellow called Younge, that Elvira Miggins was originally from Kent so when Elizabeth told me a woman called Ellen Younge was taking a girl out of the country against her will something clicked. That was just the kind of rotten thing Miss Miggins would do. I ‘phoned old Shorty Hazelwood at Scotland Yard, you remember Shorty, don’t you Darcy? Joined the Met after the war, great piece of shrapnel in his face should put the fear of God into London’s low-life, and he said it was worth a chance and he’d talk to the coppers here.”
Darcy shook his head, “I don’t remember half the people you do, Bingley, but I am immensely grateful. I suppose it is just possible that because of this Mrs. Younge will see justice without involving Annette.”
Darcy and Bingley both looked miserable for a moment. Bingley from curiosity and Darcy from the thought that not only had his aunt been involved in falsifying the death of a child but had then placed that child, her own niece, in the care of brothel owner wanted for murder. He opened Annette’s passport.
“Henrietta Smith,” he said contemptuously, “forgery now! How many crimes will my aunt be involved in by the end of the day?”
Charles, who had ordered cafe au lait (and a lot of lait, merci) took a swig, “Darcy, put me out of my misery. What is going on?”
Darcy looked at Annette.
“May I? Charles is my closest friend.”
“And his pilot. When the office phoned through Elizabeth’s message I got the ‘plane cranked up and sat there waiting for him and if I don’t get the whole story now I shall burst.”
Annette blushed again, “You own an aeroplane?”
“I do indeedy and as soon as someone clues me in on what’s happening here I’ll pop you all in it and fly you home.”
Annette took a deep breath, “May I call you Charles? When I was little, Charles, I had violent fits and my father believed me to be retarded. After my mother died, and on the advice of my aunt, he hid me away with a guardian believing that by concealing my disorder he was ensuring good dynastic marriages for his sons. I am Fitzwilliam’s sister. He has believed me dead for nineteen years.”
“Good God! I don’t know what to say. You poor, poor girl. I wish you’d told me Darcy instead of being so dashed cloak and dagger about it.”
“Was he cloak and dagger?” asked Elizabeth trying to find a little lightness.
“I was not.” Darcy looked indignant.
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br /> “Was he? He had Sibley ‘phone me to say he was driving down from London at the ungodly speed of 60mph and wanted me to have the DH 16 waiting to take off immediately he arrived but, as I said, I’d already heard from Elizabeth about a damsel in distress and was on the job. My rigger’s wife was feeding us coffee and sandwiches as we worked so I had my goggles on, magneto checks done, motorbike in the back, sandwich in my pocket when he arrived. Due to the motorbike, you may find the arrangements on the way home less than salubrious.”
“Motorbike?” asked Elizabeth.
“Had to land in a field and get here fast, not sure how all four of us will manage back on it,” he winked mischievously, “but, now Miss Darcy, tell me how you come to be reunited with your family like this.”
“Because Elizabeth is amazing,” said Annette softly, “she knew who I was and she was talking to Dr. Turner and Reverend Pringle and trying to work out what to do and I know she would have done something, even if she had to kidnap me in the dead of night,” she squeezed Elizabeth’s hand and did not let go, “but Miss de Bourgh guessed too and confronted her mother who immediately told Mrs. Younge to get me out of the country.”
“Thank God for Sibley,” murmured Darcy, “my secretary decided the telegram did not make sense and was therefore unimportant. Sibley had brought my evening clothes to my office so that I could attend a dinner without returning home, saw the telegram, and gave it to me. If not for him I would only be reading it about now.”
“I’ll say,” said Charles and Elizabeth remembered that Sibley had helped Darcy pull Charles out of the frozen trench.
“Where is Mrs. Younge now?” asked Annette nervously, “I won’t ever have to see her again, will I? I don’t want anything dreadful to happen to her because of me but I never want to see her again either.”
“If I have anything to do with it you never will,” Darcy put his arm around her shoulder, “I will do everything necessary to keep you safe and give you everything you ever want.”