Elizabeth Bennet's Excellent Adventure: A Pride and Prejudice Vagary

by Regina Jeffers

  * * *

  “And so you think Wickham claimed Darcy House as his residence?” Fitzwilliam asked in what appeared to be fury.

  “The man who attacked me told the one called ‘Sloane’ that he followed me about Town,” Darcy explained. “That as I acted as the master of Darcy House then he assumed me to be Mr. Wickham.”

  The expression on the colonel’s features spoke of his cousin’s ire.

  Darcy noted how Fitzwilliam tenderly claimed Georgiana’s gloved hand to offer his comfort. Darcy doubted his cousin realized his action. The colonel always was most protective of Georgiana, and all the talk of Wickham had Darcy’s sister appearing as pale as Darcy.

  “I wish to know if Mr. Wickham remains with the militia from Meryton. When I called upon Mr. Bennet, Elizabeth father informed me that the militia planned to depart for Brighton. Such is the reason I permitted Georgiana to travel to Meryton without my escort. I would not permit my sister to encounter Mr. Wickham on her own.

  “I also wish to learn if Mr. Wickham’s joining the militia had anything to do with the threat of meeting Mr. Sloane on Hampstead Heath.”

  Darcy paused to convey his need for the colonel’s understanding.

  “Do you possess knowledge of a man who might learn something of this unknown ‘Mr. Sloane’?”

  The colonel nodded his affirmation.

  “A former sergeant recently ended his service with Saunders Welch. Thomas Cowan possesses a brilliant analytical mind.”

  Darcy insisted, “And the character of discretion?”

  “Most assuredly,” Fitzwilliam announced. “You may count upon Cowan.”

  Darcy relaxed into his coach’s squabs. Before he could take action against Sloane, Darcy required more information on the man.

  “Then would you speak to me of Miss Elizabeth’s disappointment? I must discover a means to reclaim my intended.”

  Chapter Six

  Elizabeth arrived at the coaching inn before three of the clock and joined several other riders in the common room to wait for the various coaches coming and going from the busy inn, which offered access to the London Road and those leading west, as well as to the southern shires. Elizabeth often stopped at the inn when she traveled to and fro from the Gardiners’ London home for the inn was a reputable establishment. Even so, she never entered the inn alone before this day.

  Elizabeth paused before crossing to a table tucked close to the window to remind her faltering resolve that a widow would not think twice of taking tea alone in the company of strangers.

  Once seated, Elizabeth studied the inn’s customers and wondered which ones would be her traveling companions and which chose other destinations.

  At length, her eyes fell upon a woman cuddling an infant upon her shoulder, while a young boy no more than three played with a wooden horse at the woman’s feet. The woman’s drab brown hair framed what was a surprisingly expressive face. When she noted Elizabeth’s interest she smiled weakly.

  “To where do your journeys take you?” Elizabeth asked without a proper introduction.

  The woman possessed a friendly countenance, and Elizabeth thought if the mother was set upon Brighton, they might accompany each other for security.

  “I hardly know,” the woman responded in so soft a voice that Elizabeth knew surprise at hearing her over the rumble of voices in the inn.

  The woman’s response brought a flush of embarrassment to Elizabeth’s cheeks.

  “I meant no offense. I…”

  She glanced to the boy and fought back another round of tears. For a brief moment Elizabeth wondered upon the look of the children she wished to bear Mr. Darcy, before she could shake off the maudlin.

  “I…I simply thought we might keep each other company if we were traveling the same way. Not many women are counted among those waiting.”

  The woman’s bottom lip trembled, and Elizabeth suddenly noticed the track of dried tears upon the woman’s cheeks.

  “Oh, my,” Elizabeth said in sympathy.

  She carried her teacup to the woman’s table and assumed the empty seat before catching the woman’s free hand.

  “You are distressed,” Elizabeth declared, “and we are strangers, but I am of the persuasion that it is best to speak the words aloud if your anguish is to know an end.”

  Elizabeth realized she ignored her advice when it came to her feelings for Mr. Darcy, but she thought the woman knew nothing of abandonment. Two children spoke of the affection some man held for the woman.

  “My name is Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Would you care to share your name?” she coaxed.

  The woman studied Elizabeth’s gloved hand.

  “Yer a fine lady.”

  Elizabeth smiled encouragingly.

  “My father is a country squire, but I do not claim the peerage.”

  Again, the thought of Mr. Darcy’s connections brought a pang of regret, but Elizabeth placed those musings aside.

  “I be Alice Bylane,” the woman explained.

  Elizabeth smiled in encouragement.

  “Why do we not order a pot of tea and bread and butter?”

  A look of panic crossed the woman’s features.

  “I possess no coin for such luxury, Miss Bennet.”

  Before departing Longbourn, Elizabeth planned how much she could spend each day of her journey. She saved her coins for over two years to purchase a special book for her father’s fiftieth birthday, and she held the few funds Mr. Bennet slipped into her hand when Elizabeth left her home. The money was meant to allay the cost of her traveling with her aunt and uncle to the northern shires, and Elizabeth’s father would be sorely disappointed if her knew of her excess; yet, she would face Mr. Bennet’s disapproval upon another day.

  Calculating the expense in her head, Elizabeth announced, “Then it shall be my treat. I am certain your son would enjoy a bit of bread and butter, would you not, Darling?”

  Elizabeth leaned over for a closer look at the child.

  Mrs. Bylane spoke with both gratitude and embarrassment.

  “It is too much, Miss Bennet. Although young William would know delight, I cannot permit it.”

  “William?” Elizabeth whispered. “My favorite name.”

  She swallowed hard to force her tears away.

  “My gesture is not one of charity, Mrs. Bylane,” Elizabeth confessed. “I am uncomfortable traveling alone. Please permit me to do this.’

  Mrs. Bylane looked lovingly upon her son’s upturned countenance.

  “Very well, Miss Bennet.”

  Within minutes, the inn’s mistress delivered the tea and bread. Elizabeth held the sleeping baby girl while Mrs. Bylane prepared a weak cup of tea for the boy and placed a slice of buttered bread before the child. The woman made a like cup of tea for herself before she retrieved her daughter from Elizabeth’s arms.

  Elizabeth discovered how she felt bereft of the child’s closeness. Of late, she permitted herself the dream of children, but Mr. Darcy’s betrayal ruined her hopes.

  “I am to Brighton on holiday,” she told Mrs. Bylane. “If I may be so bold to ask, where do you travel?”

  Mrs. Bylane caressed the back of her son’s head.

  “I remain uncertain. Me and the children were to travel to Portsmouth for me husband’s ship was to dock there today. It’s been more than a year since we seen our Jamie.”

  Elizabeth frowned with confusion.

  “Did you hope someone would take pity upon you at the inn?”

  Mrs. Bylane shook off the suggestion.

  “I save me pennies. I be the cook for Mr. Joneston, but the rector find a new woman in service when I told him of Jamie’s return. I cannot return to me work, and I cannot make my way to Brighton before Jamie discovers me missing.”

  Elizabeth shook her head as if to clear it.

  “I remain confused, Mrs. Bylane. I thought you said Mr. Bylane was to dock at Portsmouth, not Brighton.”

  “I did, Miss Bennet. I be so distraught I not think with a so
und head. Mr. Bylane sent word that the Screaming Scotsman would dock at Brighton instead of Portsmouth, exceptin’ I’s already paid me fare to Portsmouth. That be the reason I have no pennies remainin’ for tea.”

  Tears filled the woman’s eyes, and she looked away so as not to frighten her child.

  Elizabeth patted the back of the woman’s hand.

  “Will not the innkeeper return your money or permit you to convert your fare to Brighton? I am certain the fare to Portsmouth is more expensive due to the distance, but it seems to me it would be worth accepting the difference as a loss if you could reunite with Mr. Bylane.”

  Mrs. Bylane glanced to where the innkeeper kept company with what appeared to be two tradesmen.

  “I asked if’n I might trade me place for another, but the innkeep say the Brighton coach be full. I am to wait for another traveler who wishes to journey to Portsmouth. Then the innkeep will sent the gent my way. I’s likely not recover me full fare, but I kin claim enough to travel to Brighton. There be another coach going south tomorrow.

  “It is good of the innkeeper to make the offer,” Elizabeth observed.

  “The man has a business,” Mrs. Bylane said without emotion. “But I could be long waitin’ fer another to ask of Portsmouth. A coach only goes to the western shires every other day, and the innkeep say it not be full until it reach London.”

  Mrs. Bylane touched her finger to the butter upon the bread and slipped the tip of her smallest finger into the babe’s mouth. The infant sucked greedily upon it.

  “If there be no takers soon, I must set out fer Brighton on foot.”

  “Will not Mr. Bylane come searching for you?” Elizabeth asked in concern. “Could you not wait for your husband’s calling? Surely there must be another means than walking to Brighton.”

  The woman looked off wistfully.

  “If’n Mr. Bylane thinks I not come he might rejoin the crew. Even if’n he do look fer me, Mr. Bylane will turn his steps toward Staffordshire, to where me family lives. Me husband knows not I’s took employment in Hertfordshire. That be the reason his message arrived too late.”

  “I could…” Elizabeth began, but Mrs. Bylane shook off the suggestion before Elizabeth offered.

  “I accepted the tea and bread for William’s sake, but I kin take no charity, Miss Bennet. I’s have me pride.”

  “Pride is a sour meal,” Elizabeth countered.

  She and the woman sat in silence for several minutes, each lost in her musings. At length, Elizabeth removed the scrap of paper the innkeeper presented her earlier from her reticule and slid it across the table to Mrs. Bylane.

  “I find I always wished to visit Portsmouth,” she said in a voice calmer than she felt. “Would you do me the great honor, Mrs. Bylane, of trading places with me?”

  Elizabeth knew very little of Portsmouth other than its seafaring renown, but surely it offered a variety of entertainments for gentlemen in the navy and their families. The town would not possess the pomp of Brighton’s connection to Prince George, but if she wished an “adventure,” Portsmouth would be one no one would expect.

  “Miss Bennet, I did not speak me tale to bring ferth yer sympathies,” Mrs. Bylane protested.

  Elizabeth spoke in earnest.

  “I experienced a loss of late, and I require some private time before I return to my family. It does not matter whether that private time comes in Brighton or in Portsmouth. Yet, marital felicity does depend upon your being in Brighton. Now, no more arguments. Take William and your daughter to reunite with Mr. Bylane. Claim a bit of happiness.”

  * * *

  “Darcy, you cannot,” the colonel declared when Darcy attempted to dress.

  “I must go to her, Fitzwilliam,” Darcy protested. “Miss Elizabeth must be made to understand I did not desert her.”

  The colonel scowled his disapproval.

  “You can barely walk without assistance,” his cousin reasoned. “If you persist in this madness, you could suffer dire consequences.”

  After the physician tending Darcy’s many wounds departed, Darcy had a long talk with Georgiana. His sister’s assessment of Elizabeth’s disappointment frightened Darcy more than had his assailants. Elizabeth was not the type to succumb to tears. Darcy expected her anger to send Elizabeth into as shrewish rant, but the idea of her displaying an emotional attachment to him had his hopes praying for succor.

  Was it possible Elizabeth held feelings for him? It was a question Darcy could not shake.

  “Elizabeth must despise me,” he whispered in anguish tones.

  The colonel caught Darcy’s arm to turn Darcy’s steps toward the bed.

  “I cannot be both guard and spy at the same time,” the colonel insisted. “You must choose as to whether my occupation will be caretaker or will I search out news on Wickham?”

  “You know my response,” Darcy grumbled as he eased his weight onto the bed.

  The colonel spread the linens across Darcy’s lap.

  “I will bring you ink, pen, and pager,” his cousin instructed. “You will write Miss Elizabeth your regrets, and I will ferry it to Longbourn. Promise the lady you will be on her doorstep as quickly as you recover.”

  Darcy sighed heavily. The colonel’s suggestion was all that was reason, but Darcy’s heart ached to know Elizabeth would still be his.

  “You will send an express detailing Miss Elizabeth’s willingness to hear my apology,” Darcy confirmed.

  “If it is your wish,” Fitzwilliam placated. “Now, permit me to retrieve your ink well and paper. You write while I speak to Cowan regarding Mr. Sloane. Then with your letter in hand, I will set a course for Hertfordshire.”

  * * *

  It took Elizabeth another quarter hour to convince Mrs. Bylane to accept Elizabeth’s offer. Only when the innkeeper announced the arrival for the coach set for Portsmouth did the woman relent. Elizabeth wished the woman well, and with a feeling of excitement and a bit of trepidation, she boarded the coach to a town of which Elizabeth held little knowledge. She felt the exhilaration of claiming a bit of freedom. Surprisingly, no one took note to her traveling unescorted, providing her the privacy to enjoy the journey: Elizabeth’s eyes were open to the absolute beauty of the English countryside.

  From Hertfordshire to London, then the coach crossed Bucks and the southern most points of Oxfordshire before entering Berkshire for the passengers to spend the night at a small coaching inn. Having heard horror stories of women attacked upon the road, Elizabeth stayed to her room for the evening.

  In the morning, she was the only occupant of the coach until a naval officer joined her at the second stop. If Elizabeth had her choice, the coach would pass close to Windsor and the royal castle so she might enjoy the splendor of the signts, but coming from the north, it only made sense to a make a large arc toward Reading and Basingstoke and Winchester.

  The gentleman appeared to take up more than his share of the coach, although, in truth, he kept himself very compact. Elizabeth studied his weather-beaten face with interest. His eyes missed few of the objects outside the coach’s window, but Elizabeth thought he truly did not see the rolling countryside or the dense forest. She wondered if, like her, the officer thought of another.

  The gentleman’s frame was square, much in the look of Colonel Fitzwilliam, rather than that of Mr. Darcy’s lanky form. The man’s eyes were a cross between a dark brown and a metal gray. His mouth, set in a tight line, displayed the firmness of his rank: A captain, if Elizabeth correctly recognized the insignias.

  When the coach stopped for a change of horses and a stretch of the passengers’ legs, they spoke for the first time.

  “May I assist you, Ma’am?”

  The officer reached to steady Elizabeth’s balance upon the coach’s narrow steps.

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  She placed her gloved hand in his and knew a twinge of disappointment that the gentleman’s touch did not affect her composure, as did Mr. Darcy’s. Even when they both wore gloves, Mr. D
arcy’s caress of the back of her hand with his thumb always set Elizabeth’s heart fluttering.

  “Captain is it not?” she said with practiced politeness.

  The officer released her when Elizabeth claimed solid footing. He offered a bow of respect.

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  He glanced about as if seeking someone.

  “As there appears to be no one about to provide a proper introduction, I pray you will forgive my gauche behavior. I am Captain Wentworth.”

  A second bow followed the gentleman’s declaration.

  Elizabeth smiled warmly at him.

  “Although we should claim propriety, as we are the only two passengers, such appears foolish. We are likely denying ourselves stimulating conversation because of Society’s strictures. I am Mrs. Elizabeth…”

  She hesitated, not wishing to use her family name. Instead, she chose a form of the surname of the woman Elizabeth left outside of Watford.

  “Mrs. Elizabeth Bryland.”

  The captain’s eyebrow rose in curiosity.

  “Does your husband not travel with you?”

  Elizabeth rushed to say, “Mr. Bryland lost his life upon the Continent. I am newly from my widow’s weeds.”

  The idea of being a widow appealed to Elizabeth for travel purposes, but the idea of creating a story of a lost husband and family was not to her liking. She always considered herself an honest person. In fact, speaking her mind often vexed her dear mother and sisters. Yet, Mr. Darcy found your quick tongue refreshing. The thought of her former betrothed brought a frown to her mouth.

  “I can see you still grieve for the late Mr. Bryland,” the captain said in concern.

  Elizabeth shook off her thoughts of Mr. Darcy.