Darcy's Journey

by M. A. Sandiford

  After eating in silence for a while, Edward asked, ‘And your own plans?’

  ‘My duty is clear: to find Miss Bennet, confirm she is well, and ascertain what she truly wants. I don’t trust the servant’s account.’

  ‘This will take time, Darcy. Weeks, perhaps months.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Darcy looked up. ‘If you felt able to wait, we could return together.’

  Edward thought for a moment, then shook his head. ‘Have you heard the news about Bonaparte?’

  ‘That he has escaped from Elba?’

  ‘Worse.’ Edward leaned forward. ‘It is said that he will soon arrive in Paris, and that his former generals have pledged their support. The war may start up again.’

  ‘In which case you must hurry Céline to safety.’ Darcy nodded approval. ‘You are right, Edward, I should have thought of that. Let me know if I can help in any way.’

  9

  ‘Elisabetta.’ A hand touched her shoulder.

  Elizabeth blinked. She must have fallen asleep again. With an effort she pulled herself up a little and turned to face Regina. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Early afternoon.’ Regina pointed to the bedside table. ‘I’ve brought broth and a glass of wine. The doctor says you are to drink it all. It will make you stronger.’

  ‘Oh. Grazie.’ Elizabeth struggled to sit up. Why were her limbs so heavy? Regina balanced the tray on her knees and she took a few sips of the appetizing broth. She had been sleeping alone in the tiny bedroom since they had come here—when? A week ago? Two? Time passed in a blur; she could no longer remember how they had moved out of Venice, or why.

  ‘Where are we?’

  ‘This is our holiday home. The air is fresher than in Venice. It will help you get better.’

  Elizabeth sipped the broth, which helped soothe a dry sensation in her mouth. So they had moved here on her account, because she was ill. Yet she felt no symptoms except a languor that was not uncomfortable; if anything it was pleasant, as if her mind were floating in the clouds, removed from the niggling problems of everyday life.

  ‘Drink your wine,’ Regina said.

  Elizabeth reached obediently for the glass. The wine tasted strong and sweet but with an edge of bitterness. ‘It seems a bit off.’

  ‘The physician prescribed a few drops of medicine.’

  ‘Oh.’ She drank the rest.

  ‘Signorina.’

  Regina had left, her place taken by Gabriele. He handed her a document, clipped to a board, and pointed to a quill on the bedside table. ‘You must sign this. Here, next to the cross.’

  The document was in Italian. She tried to read it, but the language was too formal. ‘What does it say?’

  ‘That you agree to place yourself under my care.’

  She put the board down, her head swimming. ‘If I am under someone’s care, why not Sir Edward Havers?’

  ‘Sir Edward is no longer here. He left for England with Céline. Do you not recall?’

  Now that he mentioned it, she did remember. Around the time she fell ill. Something about Bonaparte.

  He gave her back the document. ‘Here.’

  An image of her father came into her head, warning her to exercise care when signing legal papers. She shook her head. ‘I don’t understand what it means.’

  ‘I have just explained.’

  ‘Even so.’

  ‘You do not trust me?’

  She sighed and made no reply.

  A petulant look flashed across his face. ‘Dearest Miss Elizabeth, do you not realize that you already signed this document two days ago? This is just a formality. We need a second copy for the comune, the local authority.’

  Elizabeth reached for the quill, but a spasm of unease made her withdraw. ‘Perhaps later.’

  He slapped the table with frustration, and launched into a tirade reminiscent of their rehearsals. The whining voice made her cringe. She closed her eyes and clenched her fists, digging her nails into her hands as a distraction.

  He had gone. She unfurled, allowing the tiredness to seep through her limbs and carry her away.

  In the distance, she thought she heard the sea.

  10

  After a three-day journey Darcy had at last crossed into Venice, to find the city abuzz with gossip about Napoleon. The Corsican had sneaked past his guards, evaded a British ship patrolling the island, and made his way to France. French police sent to arrest him kneeled in fealty. At the Congress of Vienna, delegates planning the aftermath of the war pronounced him an outlaw—an empty gesture when French generals and their troops were rallying to his support.

  Rising early in his former room at the Palazzo Gritti, Darcy lost no time hiring a boatman recommended by the Gritti family, a bronzed man of few words named Luca. Leaving Mr Avery to resume his scholarly pursuits in Academia, he set sail for Murano with his manservant Burgess, and they made their way to the glassworks.

  Luckily Mario Carandini was on site, and Darcy joined him for coffee. The reception was cordial, with no hint of any crisis. As Darcy recounted what he had learned from Edward, the manager fidgeted nervously.

  ‘It is … preoccupying,’ he said finally.

  ‘You were unaware of Sir Edward’s departure?’

  ‘Oh, that was planned long ago. No, I had not realised that Miss Bennet had remained behind with my family.’

  ‘And left Venice?’

  Mario Carandini chose his words with care. ‘Such outings are common in the spring.’

  ‘You mean, outings to the wine-growing regions in the north?’

  Another pause, then Mario shook his head. ‘I would be surprised if they had gone north.’

  Darcy sensed his embarrassment, and tried to control his own impatience. ‘Where then?’

  ‘Gabriele owns a villa on Lido which the family uses for vacations. Since he does not always inform me of his plans, I cannot guarantee they are there. Still, it is probable.’

  ‘You can give me exact directions?’

  ‘Yes.’ He frowned. ‘You are concerned for la signorina inglese? Miss Bennet?’

  ‘I am concerned about your cousin, and his intentions towards her. Have you heard anything in that regard?’

  Mario bit his lip, as if engaged in an internal struggle. Finally he said, ‘Mr Darcy, I know you as an honourable man. I would like to help. You must appreciate, however, that my position here is insecure. Since my uncle’s unfortunate passing, I have been in sole charge of the business. It is important for our family that I continue in this role. But as you know, I am not the proprietor. My cousin Gabriele owns almost all the shares, and I am thus dependent on him. He can dismiss me any time he pleases.’

  Darcy nodded slowly. ‘You would not wish to cross him.’

  Mario Carandini grimaced. ‘Nobody would. These are times in which political and legal authority are in flux, and consequently money talks. So you are right, it would not be in my interests to provoke conflict. Still, like you, I am concerned.’ He checked the door, and dropped his voice. ‘In confidence, I cannot altogether trust my cousin.’

  Darcy leaned forward. ‘Go on.’

  ‘You will have noticed that he is influenced by his mother, my aunt, who has always longed to secure for our family a social status commensurate with our wealth. It was for this reason that she urged Regina to set her sights on the English aristocracy. With Gabriele she has a harder task. As you will have observed, he is neither handsome nor socially adept. People find him intellectually intimidating or even absurd. Over the years he has attracted no young women except for fortune hunters from the lower orders. Now, all of a sudden, his sister brings from England the daughter of a gentleman. Not titled, nor rich, but a lovely personable woman who would grace any salotto. What is more, this young lady shares many of his cultural interests, and treats him politely and with respect. He sees her as his destiny, his grand opportunity. He cannot bear the idea that one day she might leave. You follow?’

  Darcy frowned. ‘Let us speak plainly. Yo
u fear some kind of—abduction?’

  Mario recoiled a little. ‘That would depend on whether Miss Bennet shares his … hopes.’

  ‘And if she does not?’

  He sighed. ‘I cannot be sure. All I can say is this. My cousin, for all his gifts, is not a reasonable man. He is like a child who becomes obsessed with something he wants, and pursues it to the exclusion of all else. Even if others suffer, even if he brings destruction on himself, he will not relent. He must have the thing he desires.’ He looked up, trembling. ‘It is not easy for me to say this.’

  ‘It will not be repeated.’

  ‘I wish you well Mr Darcy. By the way, I have sent the first consignment to Mr Gardiner, as agreed. For the second there may be some delay. We are all in fear that the war with France will begin again.’

  ‘And the house in Lido?’

  ‘I will show you now.’

  As Darcy left, carrying an annotated map, another reason for Mario’s helpfulness struck him. Honourable Mario might be, but Elizabeth was not just any young woman.

  She was Mr Gardiner’s niece.

  11

  The villa was located midway along the narrow island of Lido. Having decided to reconnoitre, they sailed down the west coast, bringing bread and salt cod to eat on the way. Lido seemed to go on for ever; luckily a tiny island just off the coast provided a landmark, and they easily found the wharf that Mario had highlighted on his sketch. From there the villa was a short walk inland.

  It was a fair-sized square building of recent construction, set away from the older terraces and ringed by a garden planted with Mediterranean pine, cypress, and lemon trees. Observing from nearby scrubland, which provided good shelter, Darcy remarked to Burgess that the shutters were open; however, during a ten-minute surveillance, no-one came or went. Burgess pointed to movement in the back yard, and with his pocket telescope Darcy saw a maid enter a chicken run, perhaps to collect eggs.

  ‘I must get closer,’ he said to Burgess. ‘Run back to Luca and make sure he is ready for a fast getaway. Then return here, and wait for me.’

  ‘Are you planning to enter the house, sir?’

  ‘I see no alternative. We must find out whether Miss Bennet is here.’

  ‘Begging your pardon, sir, might it not be better to come back later with reinforcements?’

  Darcy sighed. Burgess was correct: they had not even troubled to bring pistols. But he had to find out whether Elizabeth was truly in danger. Even if common sense advised caution, it ran against all his instincts to retreat, when for all he knew she might be inside those walls, just a few yards away.

  His knock was answered by a footman, whom he recognised from the residence in Venice.

  The man bowed. ‘Signor Darcy.’

  ‘Buon giorno. Is Signor Carandini here?’

  There was a frantic hiss from the passageway and the servant shook his head. ‘Mi dispiace. He is unavailable.’

  ‘And the others? Lady Havers? Miss Bennet?’

  ‘Unavailable.’ The footman reached for the door, but Darcy held up a hand.

  ‘When are they expected back?’

  The door slammed shut. Angry at not inserting a boot, Darcy retreated past the gate, and waited a moment before circling round to the side of the plot. Using a convenient overhanging branch he pulled himself back into the garden, and began a cautious circuit.

  There were two main floors, and an attic. All ground floor windows had iron bars. Above, the windows were shuttered but unbarred; some had terraces. He sought a tree that would provide access, but found none. Scanning the upstairs windows, he saw no sign of Elizabeth or anyone else. Round the back, near the chicken run, he came on a back door, and breaking cover, gave it an exploratory tug.

  The door held firm, probably bolted on the inside.

  Darcy looked both ways before returning to the shelter of the bushes. He watched, wondering whether he had been seen.

  On the floor above, a window opened and a small face peeped out.

  Maddalena. The younger daughter.

  She waved, and he moved out a little and waved back. Fearing she might cry out, he lifted a finger to his lips.

  The little girl nodded, held up a hand as if telling him to wait, and ducked beneath the window sill.

  He held his breath. Would she find a way of opening the door for him? Or summon Elizabeth to the window?

  Maddalena returned, holding a cloth doll, which she launched into the garden not far from where he stood. Could there be a note attached? He stepped forward to examine the doll. No message. He looked up questioningly, and she pointed down to the back door.

  He thought he understood.

  She could not come herself, but had found a pretext for causing a servant to open the door.

  Darcy dropped the doll and crept to the side of the house, where a rose bush beside the door offered shelter. Minutes passed. A bolt was drawn, and out trotted the maid whom Darcy had seen earlier with his telescope. He dodged round the bush as her back was turned, and found himself in a scullery. In the kitchen, a cook stared at him open-mouthed as he passed through to the hall. There was a cry as the maid returned. A door swung open and the footman appeared, followed by Gabriele Carandini. They froze, then Carandini stepped forward, bristling with outrage.

  ‘Signor Darcy, you have no right …’

  ‘My entrance was unconventional, but I might also ask why I was so rudely excluded.’ Darcy turned as another door opened and Signora Carandini joined her son, with Regina at her flank. ‘I have been told that Miss Bennet is still residing with you. May I see her?’

  Carandini shook his head. ‘Impossible. Mr Darcy, you must leave now.’

  ‘Is Miss Bennet here or not?’

  ‘She is unavailable.’

  From the top of the stairs a tiny voice cried out, ‘Non è vero. She is here.’

  The maid scampered up with the cloth doll, as Darcy turned back to Carandini. ‘Enough. I will see her now.’

  ‘Miss Bennet is sick, and not to be disturbed. I must insist that you leave.’

  Darcy looked at Regina. ‘Is this true, Lady Havers?’

  Regina threw an anxious glance at her mother, then at Carandini, before responding in a whisper, ‘My brother is right. Elisabetta has not been well.’

  There was no point appealing to the mother. Darcy span round and mounted the stairs, ignoring the outraged cries of the family. He found nobody in the upper passage, only six doors, all closed. From the stairs came a frantic clatter as Carandini and the footman gave chase. He saw the cloth doll again, on the floor, with its arm extended towards a door. Coincidence, or a pointer? He ran to the door, pulled, and discovered it had been locked with the key left on the outside. Quickly he entered, slammed the door shut, and relocked it.

  The room was tiny, with a clammy atmosphere. Elizabeth was levering herself into a sitting position, blinking in confusion as if awoken by the rumpus. She gasped as he approached, but said nothing.

  ‘My dear Miss Bennet …’ He sat beside her and took her hand. ‘You are ill?’

  She met his eye, and he flinched to see the pallor on her face. ‘Tired.’

  There was a rap on the door, which he tried to ignore. He leaned close to her and whispered, ‘What is happening? Why did you not leave with Sir Edward?’

  The banging intensified. ‘Signor Darcy!’ Carandini’s voice. ‘I have sent for the police. Unlock this door!’

  Elizabeth touched his arm, her brow creased. ‘I cannot remember …’ The door shuddered as a shoulder was applied, and she fell back in a swoon.

  ‘Stop!’ Darcy yelled. ‘I will unlock the door.’ He made a quick survey of the room, spotted an empty wine glass on the bedside table, and sniffed it. Replacing it with a grimace, he turned the key, returning to Elizabeth’s side as Carandini and the footman rushed in.

  ‘Leave now,’ Carandini said. ‘Or you will be arrested.’

  ‘I will leave when Miss Bennet is ready to accompany me,’ Darcy said.

>   Carandini took up his familiar bristling stance, his face beaded with sweat. ‘The signorina is too sick to travel, and you are not responsible for her.’

  ‘As a friend of her family it is both my right and my duty to assist her.’

  ‘On the contrary.’ Carandini waved a piece of paper. ‘As her fidanzato, betrothed, it is I who am responsible.’

  Darcy took the document, which held a lengthy text in Italian followed by an illegible signature. ‘This is meaningless to me and proves nothing.’

  ‘I can call my lawyer if you wish.’

  Darcy turned to Elizabeth, who had opened her eyes and was following the conversation with a curious apathy. ‘Is this true? Did you sign this document?’

  She blinked. ‘It seems I did.’ She looked away dreamily. ‘My father warned me …’

  ‘Miss Elizabeth, listen carefully. What do you wish to do? Remain in Italy and marry Signor Carandini? Or return to England?’

  Carandini stepped forward. ‘Miss Bennet is too sick to travel. Do you not see, she can scarcely follow what you say? She is receiving the best possible care from my physician, and must stay here.’

  Darcy held out a palm to ward him off. ‘Elizabeth?’

  Her eyes moistened. ‘I would like to see my family …’

  The crowd attending at the door parted, and a man in dark blue uniform entered. He recognised Carandini, and there was an exchange too rapid for Darcy to follow. The man turned to Darcy, and spoke very slowly in Italian:

  ‘Signor, you must leave now. The English lady will stay because she is sick and under the care of a physician.’

  There was a whimper from Elizabeth, who looked imploringly at Darcy before burying head in hands.

  ‘See, you are distressing her,’ Carandini said.

  There was no point resisting. Darcy bowed to the policeman and followed him from the house.

  12

  Seated at his desk, Richard Hoppner attended impassively while Darcy concluded his story. Through the open window at the consulate a clock tower chimed four. The consul nodded slowly.