He was so repentant and seemed so genuinely distressed that Georgiana assured him that she did not hold the incident against him.
“Fortunately,” she said, “and thanks to your cousin’s intervention, all is well that ends well. Let us put the whole thing behind us and hope that nothing of this kind will occur in the future.”
Channing assured her that he had learned his lesson well. Soon afterwards he departed with his cousin, some of his old devil-may-care attitude restored.
Georgiana wished they could have stayed, for she had been so involved with Channing’s apology that she had hardly spoken to Gatley, though not a moment had passed when she had not longed to go over and be at his side.
***
Meanwhile London was abuzz with activity. The decorations and victory celebrations added to the usual air of frantic activity. The Season passed its zenith and began to wane, but the crowds gave no sign of diminishing. News of Napoleon’s surrender reached England, and everyone waited to hear Napoleon’s fate. Rumours grew that he was to be confined in the Tower of London.
The rounds of parties and routs continued, indifferent to the outcome. As they followed each other relentlessly, the boundary between one event and the other began to blur in Georgiana’s mind, except for those in which she was able to spend time with Gatley.
Then word arrived that Napoleon was being held in a ship off the coast of England: the HMS Bellerophon. It was not long before the location of the ship became widely known and flocks of people headed in the direction of Plymouth.
The young ladies, naturally, wanted to have the privilege of seeing the imprisoned Emperor but could convince no one to take them. The Darcy gentlemen both disapproved of his treatment and considered that keeping him on board a ship for all and sundry to come and gape at him eroded any dignity he still had.
Certainly Napoleon played to the crowd, for it was rumoured that he made a regular appearance on deck every day at half past six. Not contented, however, with his official appearance, hundreds of ships sailed by the Bellerophon daily hoping to see more of the famous figure. It was even said that he stood long enough on deck for artists to produce paintings of him.
Since neither Caroline nor Elizabeth showed the least interest in a sighting either, Georgiana and Clarissa resigned themselves to missing the grandest event of the century, though not without numerous complaints.
One such complaint was addressed to Gatley, with very fortunate results. It appeared that Mrs Gatley at least was not immune to the Napoleon vogue and was, in fact, very eager to set eyes on him herself. There was no time to be lost. There was already discussion about moving him to an unknown location, and any delay could jeopardize their chances.
Reaching the coast, however, proved to be a considerable struggle, with every conceivable mode of transportation being used to convey people towards the sea. And when they arrived there, they feared it was all for nought, for there was no boat to be had anywhere.
“Let us stay on the beach,” said Gatley. “Perhaps something will turn up unexpectedly.”
As luck would have it, they encountered a single-toothed old fisherman who had just come in early for the day.
The old fisherman, however, was not at all eager to set out again. He muttered that his missus was expecting him, and that he’d already been out and come back and why should he set out again? Even Gatley’s very excessive offer—at least worth a week’s fishing—did not tempt him. He was determined to be stubborn. He had come in early because he wanted to go home.
In the end it was Clarissa—coaxing most insistently—who got him to agree.
“You’re just like my granddaughter,” he said. “She has that same wild look about her. And she won’t stop asking.”
At the end he agreed to take them out, but as he went about his work, he grumbled about all the people who had come to see Napoleon. “They’re obstructing us poor folks,” he said. “How are we supposed to get out and fish when the sea’s full of boats?”
The boat stank of fish. Gatley concealed his amusement as Georgiana came on board. The stench must have reached her even before she came aboard, yet she stepped in as if she was walking into a perfumed garden. Not for the first time, he admired her self-possession. She revealed nothing at all, not even the faintest twitch of her nose.
Clarissa, however, was not so circumspect. “Ugh! I had no idea fish could smell so foul.”
His mother, too, expressed herself candidly. “Could we have not rented something a little better smelling?”
“I do not know what you are referring to, Mother. What could be better than the salt tang of the sea, the restorative essence of seaweed, and the healthy fragrance of sea-creatures from the depth of the ocean?”
“I can think of a lot of things,” replied his mother. “Still, I suppose we must sacrifice if we are to see Napoleon himself.”
There were no seats in the boat. They were obliged to stand. Gatley drew closer to Georgiana, and the two of them stood side to side, the wind blowing into their faces.
Georgiana loved the feel of the wind on her face. She made a half-hearted attempt to shelter herself against the sun, then put down her parasol as the wind threatened to tear it from her grip. It was the first time she had been to the coast in many years—not since the disaster at Ramsgate.
She waited for the usual dull ache which she always felt when she thought of that place, but there was nothing. She was so astonished she did not even notice they had started to move, and she had to cling to the side to steady herself.
The ache was gone. Exhilarated, she watched the shore recede behind them.
“I love the sea!” she exclaimed and laughed, and the others, capturing her mood, laughed as well as the boat set out and the waves splashed against the sides, spraying them with droplets of sea foam.
“This is far better than rowing on the river,” she said, turning to Gatley. Their gazes connected.
“Although I think it very likely that you will soak your stockings again.” His eyes were brimming with secret amusement.
Odious man! He had noticed the stockings after all. She should have been shocked, but instead she grinned back at him.
“I have leather boots, this time,” she replied.
She thought he said “too bad,” in an undertone, but she could not be sure, for they had reached a large gathering. There must have been hundreds of boats there, all jostling for position.
They slowed down as the fisherman tried to squeeze through the crowd. Some skilful manoeuvring brought them in closer, at least as close as they could possibly get.
The name of the ship loomed in front of them: BELLEROPHON.
Mrs Gatley peered through the telescope they had bought at an exorbitant price from an enterprising vendor on the beach.
“I see someone with a commanding presence—oh, no, he is dressed in a British naval uniform. Perhaps he is Captain Maitland.” She moved the telescope to the right. “Someone is coming on deck. I can’t see him properly…”
“The Emperor himself…”
“’Tis Boney…”
Awed whispers, raucous shouts, hissing, and cheering came from various boats.
“Why are they cheering?” asked Georgiana, wondering who would want to cheer such a monster.
“He has his followers, even here,” replied Gatley. “There are many who see him as a hero.”
“He is a hero.” said Clarissa. “In Boston there are many who see him as a champion of democracy and freedom.”
Gatley raised his brows. “He had his chance as ruler, and if he did practise democracy and freedom, it must have been of a very strange kind. He certainly did not deal with his opposition very fairly.”
“I can see him now,” said Mrs Gatley, urgently, interrupting the argument and peering intently through the telescope.
Everyone wanted a turn at t
he telescope now. It passed from hand to hand, each one worried that Napoleon would disappear before they had a chance to behold him. But at the end everyone was able to observe him perfectly well.
Napoleon Bonaparte, who never lost an opportunity to play to the crowd, appeared on the deck looking every bit the Emperor. Every eye was upon him.
Georgiana had expected to be disappointed. But instead, she was full of awe.
“So that is what a Grand Entrance is supposed to be about,” she said to Clarissa later. “I wish you had told me. I was doing it all wrong.”
Clarissa laughed. “You no longer need to know about Grand Entrances, Georgiana. Your season is over, and you have found your match.”
Georgiana, who still had had no definite indication of affection from Gatley, shook her head. “Do not reach conclusions too quickly, Clarissa. Nothing is certain yet. I am not even sure of my own feelings, let alone Gatley’s.”
It was possible that he cared for her. Certainly, he was showing her a great deal of attention. But she had been mistaken before, and she would not make the same mistake again.
That night, as Georgiana fell asleep, in those magical moments between waking and sleeping, her mind was filled with many things: the gentle water lapping at the sides of the boat, the stench of fish, Napoleon imprisoned in a ship, and Gatley, his dark eyes regarding her tenderly. A sense of peace came over her and she sank into it, surrendering to that quiet joy.
All was well. Nothing bad could happen anymore.
***
A few days later, as Georgiana and Clarissa were trimming their hats at Robert Darcy’s home, a letter was brought in addressed to Clarissa. Clarissa opened the letter, looked over it quickly, then folded it and set it aside.
This did not escape Robert, who interrupted a consultation he was having with Caroline concerning the estate, to quiz his sister.
“You have received a letter, I see,” he said. “I wonder who could have sent you one? And why you hide it so guiltily? Do you think she has a secret beau, Caroline?”
“Hush,” said Caroline. “You know it would be most improper for her to receive a letter from a gentleman. You should not jest about such matters. You do know, Clarissa, that to receive such a letter, and to answer it, would be tantamount to an engagement? I only say this because you may not know it.”
“Yes, I do know it,” said Clarissa. “It is not from a gentleman.” She sought wildly in her mind for a way to divert their attention. “It is from an old school friend of mine in Boston, who has been sent here to visit her relations.”
“Really?” said Robert with interest. “Do I know her family?”
Clarissa, caught in her own trap, decided evasion was the best answer. “You need not pretend you know all my school friends. You never showed any interest in such details. You were always too busy with the business.”
One of the most powerful tools of manipulation devised by the human race is guilt. It can always be relied upon to divert unwanted attention from oneself. This moment was no exception. Qualms of conscience immediately descended upon Robert, and he put his hand to his neck to loosen his cravat.
“Did I really neglect you so much?” he asked.
Clarissa, feeling the stirrings of that same sentiment, laughed. “No, no, you need not worry. One cannot expect a gentleman to stay at home and attend to his sisters, after all.”
Leaving him to ponder that, she rose from the table and signalled to Georgiana.
“Shall we go upstairs?” said Clarissa.
Georgiana, who was in the middle of some rather delicate ruffing, was reluctant to put it down. But a warning glance from her cousin prompted her to rise quickly.
“There must be something in that letter,” said Robert. “I would dearly like to know what this old school friend of yours has to say.”
“I am sure you would be very bored by it—I never knew you were interested in gossip.”
Robert raised an eyebrow. “It depends on the gossip.”
Caroline threw her a shrewd glance. “As long as it not from a gentleman, I am sure it will not be of any interest to us,” she said calmly. “Cease this game of cat and mouse, Robert. Girls will be girls, after all.”
Clarissa took this opportunity to leave the room, dragging Georgiana behind her. She practically ran up the stairs. Georgiana followed, trying to puzzle out who could have sent the letter. An idea sudden sprang to her mind.
“Do not tell me you have heard from Mr Parker?” she said, in an excited whisper.
“I wish,” said Clarissa, her face crumpling. “Now that would be news worth having!”
“Then what—” Clarissa pulled her into the room and shut the door, leaning heavily against it.
“You will never guess who sent it.”
“Of course I will never guess,” said Georgiana, who was tired of all this suspense. “Can you not tell me without making a big show of it?”
Clarissa, who would have enjoyed tormenting her cousin, gave in reluctantly.
“If you insist, I suppose I must tell you.” She took out the letter and held it out to Georgiana. “It is from your cousin.”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam?”
“No, of course not!” Unable to keep the secret to herself any longer, she handed over the letter. “’Tis from Anne. Anne de Bourgh.”
Georgiana stared at the letter, stunned.
“What does she say? Quick, let us read it.”
“You may read it aloud,” replied Clarissa. “It is addressed to the two of us.”
Georgiana unfolded the letter nervously.
Dear Cousins,
I am sending you this letter to inform you that I have taken up a teaching position in a school, under the name of Mrs Williams. You may wonder that I took such a drastic step and that I should have aspired to such a lowly situation. I can assure you, however, that I have never been happier in my life.
I have wanted to write to you for some time now, to thank you for your kindness during your visit to Rosings. It meant a great deal to me to have you to talk to.
I beg of you to keep this letter a secret and to conceal the information from everyone else. You know the consequences very well if anyone were to discover where I am. However, if you could find some way to visit me some day at a future date, I would be glad to receive you. I am at Mrs Saunders’s Academy for Girls in Richmond.
Annabelle Williams
“Is that all she has to say?” said Georgiana, tossing the letter down in disgust. “When everyone has been consumed with anxiety about her? And she wishes us to keep it a secret? Does she not intend to inform even her mother?”
Clarissa nodded. “That was exactly what I thought when you first started reading the letter. But if you think about it, what choice does she have? If she informed Lady Catherine, do you think her ladyship would allow her only child—an heiress to a large fortune—to teach in a school? You know she would not.”
“We have to tell my brother at least. He needs to know the truth, after all the effort he has been through to discover her whereabouts.”
“It is better for him to think she is in Philadelphia. Then he will think her out of his reach,” said Clarissa. “Besides, she has written to us in confidence. We cannot betray that confidence. It is a matter of honour.”
“Honour is for gentlemen,” said Georgiana, “not for us.”
Clarissa threw her a disdainful look. “Perhaps, but I would not betray one of your secrets, not for anything. We may not use such grandiose names, but we have our own form of honour nevertheless.”
“But to keep my brother in the dark—”
“I wish to God I had not shown you the letter, Georgiana! I did not think that you would give preference to your brother over a young woman who has asked for our help.”
Georgiana closed her eyes. She too wished she had not se
en the letter. She would have preferred not to have the burden of this knowledge, for what good was it to know the truth?
The more she thought of it, the more she grew disturbed by the whole situation. Why would Anne wish to become a teacher, when she had a fortune at her disposal? It did not make sense. And why had she booked a passage to Philadelphia, when she was not planning to go there at all?
Something was not right. Someone else was involved. Someone who had pretended to be Anne and booked the passage on the packet boat. Even now, for all they knew, Anne was being held under duress—perhaps even forced to get married. The letter was yet another ruse to convince them Anne was safe.
Georgiana had to know the truth. If she was really at this girls’ Academy, then good. But suppose she was not? They had to go and see her.
Surprisingly, her cousin was not convinced of this at all.
“You are going too far now, Georgiana. Your suppositions make no sense at all. You must admit that imagination is not your strong point. You have conjured up a convoluted story that will convince no one. Not even I think that she is being held under duress. I think she has provided us with a perfectly rational explanation.”
“There is nothing rational about an heiress wishing to teach a school full of spoilt girls who have nothing in their heads but to make trouble. You have not been to a school here. I have. I know what they are like.”
“I have been to a school in Boston. I imagine all schools for young ladies are very much the same. Tell me. Why would she not wish to teach? It is a noble profession.”
“Perhaps. I do not mean to cast any aspersions on teaching. I just cannot imagine someone as delicately reared as Anne choosing to be at the beck and call of a mean, selfish brood of young ladies.”
The Darcy Cousins Page 26