The Darcy Cousins

by Monica Fairview

  Georgiana stood as still as she could. He could take the pendant. She would not resist. There were stories bandied around—stories of cutthroats who thought nothing of killing you for a coin, let alone a gold cross.

  She did not look at her cousin. She just hoped Clarissa would not decide on any sudden heroics. Hatty too. They were searching her for valuables.

  They could just as easily take the pendant, then kill her.

  She refused to think about it.

  A carriage careened through the street and headed straight for them. The horse stopped just in time right in front of them. A door swung open and a gentleman jumped out.

  “Leave the ladies alone!” The familiar voice held an unmistakable threat. An officer’s voice, accustomed to obedience.

  He could have saved his breath. The shadows had dissolved into milky opaqueness as soon as the carriage approached, taking their booty with them.

  Georgiana stood in the fog, looking up at Gatley, who was pointing a musket at them.

  “You can put that down now,” said Georgiana in a colourless voice deprived of all emotion.

  Gatley’s mouth was tight—a white line in an ashen face. Or was it the fog? Georgiana could not be sure.

  “Good afternoon,” he said icily. “I hope you have not suffered any loss beyond the reticules?”

  “No,” replied Georgiana. She returned to animation again, as if coming out of a trance.

  His face was so familiar, so handsome in that moment she could have thrown her arms around him. “You appeared at just the right moment. Oh, I don’t know how to thank you!” Her hand trembled as she held it out to him. He took it briefly. “How fortunate for us that you had business here!”

  “Fortune has had nothing to do with it,” he said briefly.

  Clarissa had not moved yet. She looked dazed, almost as if she was sleepwalking. Georgiana stepped back and took her cousin’s arm.

  “Help me,” said Georgiana to Hatty, who also had a similar glazed look.

  The command restored a sense of normalcy to Hatty, who took her mistress’s other arm and put it around her shoulders. “You can lean on me if you want, Miss. We wouldn’t want you fainting on us, now, would we?”

  Together they helped Clarissa into the carriage.

  Gatley stepped aside as they went by, then followed them in and shut the door behind him.

  “I knew about your plans for a visit. Channing told me. But when my aunt came to visit us she told me he had received word of an important mill—a boxing match—and had gone in pursuit. I then realised that you had come here escorted only by Mr Parvis and his sister. I rode over immediately to ensure that all was well—I do not have too high an opinion of Mr Parvis.” He looked grimly out of the window. “Still, even I did not imagine he would be so lacking in conduct as to abandon you on the street.”

  “Then we are even more indebted to you,” said Georgiana, “if it was not chance that brought you here.”

  He did not seem to have heard her. Certainly, he did not acknowledge her words. That white line around his lips was still there. It was not just from the fog.

  He turned to Clarissa, who sat quite still in the corner.

  “It is quite beyond belief that you could behave so irresponsibly,” he said to her. “You are a stranger to our country. You do not know our customs. You should be guided by people who know better than you what is acceptable and what is not. You skirt the edge of propriety without wondering if you are putting others in danger as well as yourself. What would have occurred if I had not happened along? Have you considered that?”

  Gatley’s dark eyes were hard as agate. Georgiana waited for Clarissa to rebuff him, or to make a dismissive comment, or to laugh his anger away, but she seemed to have shrunk into herself. She looked like a child, her eyes large and black, her face sallow. She did not utter a word.

  Her spirit twisted inside her to see Clarissa like this. Truth be told, she herself was still trembling. She did not know why she trembled. She did not know if it was from fear or from anger.

  Gatley’s words brought out the anger. She was used to kindness from him. His harshness now, when what she needed most was gentleness, kindled the spark that the trembling had kept under control. The anger that flared was the anger that should have been directed at the ruffians who had cornered them. Now it found a direction. Gatley had no right to reprimand either her cousin or her in this manner.

  And to think that she had greeted him as a saviour! She had been ready to think the world of him in that instant.

  But now she could see that Channing—whatever his faults may be, and they were a multitude—had spoken the truth about his cousin. Gatley had assisted them, but for what purpose? Out of the kindness of his heart?

  The answer was clearly no. Self-righteousness motivated him—to be able to lecture and moralize and browbeat them into accepting what he considered right. And he was taking full advantage of the fact that they had no choice but to ride with him to impress upon them that they were at fault.

  It was not their fault that they had been accosted. When they had set out, it was with the confidence that they would be properly escorted. How could they possibly have imagined that they would be abandoned? How could they be faulted in that?

  “And you, Miss Darcy,” he said, turning those dark eyes like a hammer to nail her to the seat. “You have no excuse of not knowing where to go and where not to go in London. You, at least, were aware that the City is no place for well-bred ladies. Yet you are so easily persuaded, so easily under your cousin’s thumb, that you will follow her to ruin rather than go against her will.”

  She had heard enough.

  “Stop the carriage instantly,” she said. “Stop it now! For I will not endure another moment here with you. What right do you have to castigate us? What right to intimidate us? Do you think that because we were treated uncivilly by those men, you have the right to abandon all civility toward us? That because we were insulted by others, you may insult us yourself?”

  The whiteness around his mouth disappeared as he turned pale. She was too far gone, her anger and frustration too acute, to care about his reaction. She shook, and her words tumbled out as if she had held them back for ever.

  “You speak as though I knew what would befall us if we came to see the exhibit, as if, by coming here, we had been asking for something like this to happen. As if I would deliberately seek out such treatment! The whole of society conspires to keep us ignorant and to set us rules and guidelines without ever explaining the consequences if we break the rules. How could I have known that a visit to an East India House exhibit would put us in a position of needing rescue? We were to have been escorted by two gentlemen, as well as another young lady, and Clarissa’s maid. If there is anyone to blame, blame your cousin for not escorting us and for introducing us to someone who does not have a gentlemanly bone in his body. Blame yourself. You knew about Parvis’s character, yet you allowed him to join us on our boat trip, a trip you yourself organised, and you said nothing about him. Castigate them. Castigate yourself. Do not seek to castigate us.”

  She glared at him. She was still not finished.

  “You have rescued us, yes, and I will always be grateful for that. But if you mean us to see you as a knight errant, then you will be very disappointed. A knight errant would provide comfort and support to the ladies he rescued, not do everything he could to increase their misery. It is clear that nobody has taught you that one of the principles of chivalry is to behave as a gentleman.”

  She was striking back, hammer to hammer, and she was not finished yet.

  “As for you accusing me of being under my cousin’s thumb, then it is a case of the frying pan calling the kettle blackened, for I have never met a man more under the thumb of another than you. Why your cousin cannot move anywhere without you following him around, like a little puppy—” She halte
d, knowing that she was going too far, that her words had lost their truthful ring.

  “You have made your feelings on the matter abundantly clear, Madam. You need not speak any farther. I apologise deeply for any offence I may have caused you, and for what you consider my want of conduct. You shall have your wish. I will not force you to endure my company a moment longer. I will instruct my coachman to drive you to your residence.”

  And with that, he signalled the coachman to stop, and bowing briefly, he took his leave.

  “Wait!” cried Georgiana, but he had already gone.

  Plagued by conflicting emotions—consternation at her own words, stubborn conviction that he deserved every word, frustration at having been deprived of the object of her wrath, and stinging shards of fear from her encounter in the street—she sat staring unseeing from the window, oblivious to her cousin’s presence.

  By and by, she became conscious of the space around her and turned to see Clarissa observing her quietly.

  “Oh, Clarissa!” she said, “What did I do?”

  A ghost of a smile hovered on Clarissa’s lips. “You did nothing at all, beyond losing your temper, and telling him exactly what you thought.”

  “But what a terrible thing to do! And now we have deprived him of his carriage as well, after he rescued us and provided his assistance.”

  “You need not attach too much importance to that part, for he is a man and will be able to find his way back. For a moment, in fact, I was worried that you would carry through your threat to leave the carriage. Now that would have been a problem, for who knows how quickly we could have found a hackney to take us home, and we may well have fallen into the same problem as befell us before, for I have no idea where we are.”

  Georgiana looked out of the window and actually looked at the neighbourhood through which they were driving. “Goodness! Thank Heavens he had the presence of mind to leave the carriage himself. Yes, we would have been in a rare pickle,” she said, and began to laugh.

  ***

  The moment he stepped out of the carriage, he realised he had made a mistake. He had allowed his temper to get the better of him, and the result was that he now was without a carriage, in a part of Town he did not know at all. He was able to protect himself, of course, at least against a single assailant. But chances were, the way things were happening today, he would be more likely to be confronted by a group of cutthroats.

  Though to be fair, not everything had gone wrong. He had not had to fight with the ruffians in Leadenhall Street. When he had seen Miss Darcy with her back against the pillar, glaring defiantly at the men around her, his blood had roared, and he had leapt without thought to her defence. Luckily the men had dispersed, frightened away by his sudden appearance. Which was providential for all of them. Ever since the government had taken stricter measures to regulate the City and to enforce tougher measures against crime, criminals had grown more desperate and more prone to use violence against their victims.

  He looked around him uneasily, every sense alert. The fog swirled around him. It was not thick, but it limited his visibility, so that he could not trust the edges of his vision, where everything seemed just a little hazy and distorted.

  It would take a stroke of luck to find a hackney.

  As if conjured up by his thoughts, a hackney emerged out of the mist. He waved at it. To his complete surprise, it stopped. He was so taken by surprise, he almost expected the door to swing open by magic. But it did not. He opened the door himself, checked the inside to make sure it would not spring any surprises, and entered.

  He sat back in the seat. The tension of the last hour washed away, and he felt drained of all energy.

  How could he have made such a mess of things? It was as if he had deliberately set out to anger Miss Darcy. In fact, he had done everything he possibly could to provoke her. He could not explain it, except that he himself had been so shaken by the incident that he could not think straight at all.

  He had noted her trembling hand, and he had responded by lashing out at Clarissa Darcy, putting the blame squarely on her shoulders. Except that Miss Darcy was right. Miss Clarissa was not to blame any more than she was.

  The fact was, somewhere, in the back of his mind, he had chosen to lash out at Miss Clarissa because he had expected her to retaliate. He had expected her to fight back, tooth and claw. She sat in the corner instead, saying nothing, accepting his blame.

  And Miss Darcy had retaliated instead. She had protected her cousin and defended herself.

  It was all so topsy-turvy, so contrary to his assessment of the situation, that he had trouble grappling with the new image of Miss Darcy that was emerging. She was not the timid little squirrel he had imagined her. She was fierce and protective, and she had turned against him like a lynx—he had come across one in Portugal, as she fought to protect her cubs—when he had tried to hurt her own.

  He grinned to himself. She had been fierce and magnificent in that moment. She had been…beautiful.

  Except that she had accused him of appalling things, things that wounded him to the core and snuffed out that grin from his face very quickly. But she had been justified—on the whole.

  At this moment he could not think of a single thing he could possibly do to make her forgive him.

  Chapter 23

  The carriage dropped off Georgiana in Berkeley Square and continued on its way to Robert’s house. Georgiana tried to creep up the stairs, hoping her return would pass unnoticed, but she had hardly gone a few steps when Elizabeth’s face peered down at her from the banisters above.

  “Oh, you have returned. As it turned out, I could easily have gone with you, since Lewis fell asleep after you left and slept most of the time. I missed my chance. Tell me about it. Was it as thrilling as Clarissa expected?”

  Georgiana briefly considered not telling Elizabeth anything. She really did not want to go over the whole thing with anyone else. Now that she had arrived home, she felt completely drained of energy. The last thing she wanted to do was provide a coherent explanation to someone else. She needed to piece things together for herself first.

  But Elizabeth was smiling expectantly, and besides, she and Darcy would be bound to hear, sooner or later. She may as well tell the whole sorry story and finish with it.

  “I suppose it probably was what Clarissa expected,” she replied. “But the visit did not go well at all. In fact, it was very nearly a disaster.”

  For the first time, she considered what could really have happened on Leadenhall Street. A cold shiver swept through her. It all could have been so much worse. Gatley’s arrival had indeed been providential.

  As Georgiana related the events of the afternoon to Elizabeth, it was as if she was telling a tale that had occurred a long time ago. She could scarcely believe that it was only a few minutes since Gatley’s carriage had deposited her here.

  “And so Mr Gatley came to our rescue,” she ended.

  She told her nothing about the quarrel in the carriage.

  Elizabeth gave a horrified gasp. The colour drained from her cheeks.

  “This is all my fault!” she cried, jumping up and moving around in quick agitated steps. “This is worse than I could ever have imagined! Not in my wildest dreams. I should never have let you go alone. I should have come with you.”

  “I do not see how your presence would have mattered,” said Georgiana desolately.

  “I would not have allowed Mr Parvis such liberties. He would have found it difficult to take advantage of the situation with me there.”

  “Perhaps, but he took advantage of my preoccupation—and Hatty’s—to separate Clarissa from us, so he may have done exactly the same if you had been there.”

  “I doubt it. He would have been more circumspect.”

  Georgiana was doubtful. Mr Parvis was so brazen, so certain of his position as the son of an administrator in the East
India Company, she did not think he felt accountable to anyone.

  But Elizabeth was too torn by remorse and recriminations. Nothing that Georgiana said could convince her that she was not to blame.

  “What if Mr Gatley had not run across his aunt and had not known there was something amiss? Imagine what would have come to pass! My neglect could have led to appalling consequences.”

  “Nothing happened, Elizabeth,” said Georgiana, “and that is the end of it.”

  ***

  The story was revealed to Darcy later in the evening, as they gathered in the drawing room before making their way to a ball at the Keelings’s. Elizabeth was distraught and blamed herself for being such a dreadful chaperone.

  Darcy apparently agreed.

  “This is not the first time such a thing has occurred, Elizabeth” said Darcy sternly. “I know you are young yourself, and I know how badly the mantle of matron and chaperone sits on you, but I had thought you more responsible than that. You know that the City is no place for young ladies, yet you let them go, escorted by no one other than a maid who is scarcely older than they are. What did you think the young maid could have done to protect them, pray?”

  “It is not as if she sent us alone,” said Georgiana, staunchly defending her sister. “Mr Parvis and Mr Channing were to be with us, and two footmen, and Miss Parvis, and Hatty—surely that should have been enough protection. None of us thought of danger. We thought only of propriety, and Elizabeth was satisfied that the proprieties were met.”

  Darcy considered her words for some time, then nodded his head. “I suppose you are right. You were not to know that Mr Channing would not show up—though that is not without precedent. I do recall another such occasion very well. And you could not have envisioned that Mr Parvis would first insult Clarissa and then abandon you to your fate. Perhaps Clarissa overreacted by striking him, but no gentleman would behave as he did, no matter what the provocation.” He rose and paced the room angrily.

  “By God!” he said, turning round suddenly. “I am half decided to call him out for this.”