Darcy's Journey

by M. A. Sandiford

  They divided the other pieces, Maria Grazia still anxious. ‘Should we rehearse them now, before the others come in?’

  The singer laughed. ‘Nein. This whole evening is a rehearsal, is it not? It will go splendidly. You will see.’

  The music room was the grandest in the apartment, with two rows of chairs upholstered in floral chintz facing a slightly raised platform for the grand piano and other instruments. Overhead hung a ten-candle chandelier in the French style; a matching candelabra on the piano illuminated the musical score.

  As a guest, Elizabeth was invited to sit in the front row, with Darcy on one side and the lead violinist’s wife on the other. Small ornate tables held brandy for the gentlemen, but Elizabeth opted for coffee in hope of clearing her head.

  ‘Are you not playing, Rebecca?’ Darcy asked.

  ‘Be patient, dearest. We’re taking turns.’

  ‘You look exquisite in that dress.’

  ‘So I should, considering what you had to spend on it. Still, thank you for the compliment. My good qualities are under your protection, and you are to exaggerate them as much as possible.’

  They fell silent as a tentative Maria Grazia played the opening bars of Dido’s Lament. Fraulein Edelmann waited calmly, hands loosely clasped, her gaze directed over their heads into the distance. She sang the first line, When I am laid in earth, in the original English, and Elizabeth shivered. It was as if the room had been transformed. The voice was magical. It was not the voice of an operatic diva, resonant with vibrato, but thinner, more fragile, with a purity that took the breath away. Elizabeth saw now why Fraulein Edelmann gave recitals to small audiences, rather than concerts in grand halls like La Fenice. In a huge auditorium filled with people fidgeting and coughing, her art would be lost. But in a drawing room she was hypnotic.

  The piece ended, and during the applause Elizabeth observed that Darcy too was captivated. It was now her turn, and she was surprised by her own confidence as she replaced Maria Grazia at the piano. She knew the aria, a popular duet in which Don Giovanni tries to seduce a peasant girl who is engaged to another man. Là ci darem la mano—Give me thy hand. Professor Pavoni, who was to sing the seducer’s part, followed her to the platform. This time there was no introduction: Pavoni beat time with his forefinger, met her eye, and they began together.

  He sang pleasantly enough, but as she played the simple chord sequences Elizabeth found herself waiting for Fraulein Edelmann’s response, and when it came she was again so electrified that her scalp tingled. Somehow she managed to continue the accompaniment, as if her hands and eyes went ahead on automatic while her attention was fully occupied in listening. They finished with a flourish, and Maria Grazia ran to her side.

  ‘Signora Ashley, bravissima!’

  Elizabeth blinked. ‘Did I play it correctly?’

  ‘Every note! You must play the others as well.’

  ‘I would rather take turns.’

  She returned to her seat, very aware of Darcy’s admiring gaze. He touched her arm gently. ‘That sounded truly beautiful, Rebecca.’

  ‘We both know who deserves the credit.’

  A servant came to refresh their drinks, and she felt a glow of intense happiness as they chatted before the next piece.

  26

  Torrential rain woke Darcy. Navigating by the embers in the grate, he opened the shutters and looked down at the water splattering against the roof below. On the horizon lightning flashed, and he counted ten before hearing a rumble, so distant it was almost drowned out by the rain.

  Someone screamed. He went to the dividing door, and heard whimpering from the next room.

  He pulled on his dressing gown, hesitated a moment, then opened the door half-way. What could it be? An intruder? The thunder? She cried out again and he scanned the chamber before hastening to her bedside.

  ‘Miss Bennet? Are you ill?’

  She gripped his arm, and in the dim light he saw sweat gleam on her brow. She was like a trapped animal in panic. He took her hand. ‘You’re safe. There is no danger, it is only a storm.’

  ‘Mr Darcy?’

  She fell back, taking a deep breath, and he took the opportunity to light a candle. ‘Do you see now? There is nothing to fear.’

  She sat up, shivering. ‘It was a nightmare. I was held prisoner in a dungeon. The ceiling fell towards me, so low I was forced to lie down, and still it descended …’ She shuddered at the memory. ‘I’m sorry. I’m behaving like a child. It was only a dream.’

  ‘Can I bring you a drink? Wine? Brandy?’

  ‘A sip of brandy would be nice. But later.’ She mopped her brow with a sleeve, and managed a smile. ‘What happened to the walls of Jericho?’

  ‘I scaled them to rescue the damsel in distress.’

  ‘I’m not usually like this. Bad dreams, yes, but not these intense attacks of panic.’ She held up a hand. ‘No need to play the physician, for I know your diagnosis. It is the opiate. It will pass.’ She sighed. ‘In truth I thought it had passed already, since I felt so well during the evening.’

  ‘It is normal. There are setbacks, but they will become fewer and soon vanish altogether.’

  ‘How fortunate that I have a husband to comfort me.’

  ‘It seems rather that I irritate you, by repeating the obvious. Still, I have scant experience in the role, having been your husband for only two days. I hope to do better in the future.’

  ‘Come come, Mr Darcy. As you may recall, I examined your character long ago and found it without flaw. For one on such a lofty peak, no improvement is possible.’

  He felt self-conscious, recalling her teasing manner in Hertfordshire, which he had misinterpreted as flirtatious. ‘I will fetch the brandy now, Miss Bennet, since you have obviously recovered.’

  ‘You mean, I am restored to my usual silliness?’

  He smiled, disdaining to contradict her, and left the candle at her bedside in case she took fright again. At the door he took a last glance at the lovely apparition in white, still watching him, dark curls hanging loose around her smiling face. This is not real, he told himself. We are acting a part. But reason be damned: he could still dream.

  ‘Can we try this one?’ Fraulein Edelmann turned a page in her hand-written manuscript book. ‘Come raggio di sol. How do you say? Like a ray of sun?’

  ‘Sunshine.’ Elizabeth peered at the piano part. A traditional Italian song, author unknown, slow and relatively simple.

  They had been alone in the piano room since luncheon, running through the pieces one more time. At the recital, scheduled for the early evening, the accompanist would be a local maestro who had sent a servant to pick up the sheet music, while declaring himself too busy to rehearse—his scribbled note mentioned teaching engagements. Fraulein Edelmann took this in her stride: she was used to impecunious musicians who would prefer to give a ragged performance than turn down a fee.

  Elizabeth managed well enough until a tricky bar full of accidentals. She had broken down before, and noticed that every time, Fraulein Edelmann carried on as if nothing had happened, rather than stopping to repeat the passage. The accompanist was expected to catch up. At the end, she apologised.

  ‘Doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Shall we do it again?’

  Fraulein Edelman shook her head. ‘Better to stay fresh for the recital.’ She turned to a song by her Austrian friend Franz Schubert. ‘Try this one.’

  There was a tap at the door and Darcy entered.

  ‘Giles!’ Elizabeth went to meet him. ‘Did all go well?’

  He nodded, and replied softly, ‘Burgess was waiting at the Basilica, as planned. Our, ah, friends from Villa Foscari have continued towards Verona, but left a note for you. Also a present.’

  Elizabeth smiled eagerly. ‘Show me!’

  ‘Patience, Rebecca. You may view them in your room after rehearsing.’ He turned to Fraulein Edelmann. ‘Excuse the interruption. Might I listen for a few minutes?’

  They tackled the Schubert, and
during an easy passage Elizabeth glanced round and noticed that for once, Darcy’s gaze was not focussed on herself.

  He was watching the singer. Hilda Edelmann.

  They had agreed that it was too risky to attend the recital, which might attract Gabriele Carandini’s notice if he was searching for Elizabeth in Padua. Professor Pavoni concurred; his wife and daughter, unaware of the deception, were mystified.

  ‘Signora Ashley, you must come,’ Maria Grazia pleaded.

  Elizabeth explained that they were tired, having been kept awake by the thunderstorm—which was true, so far as it went.

  Left alone with Darcy, in the salotto, she showed him the note from Miss Dill, which gave her address in Oxfordshire with the message: Hoping to meet you again, and as a memento, please accept these pages from my sketchbook. Carefully she handed him the drawings of blueweed and sweet violet that she had last glimpsed over the artist’s shoulder in the farm wagon.

  ‘Excellent.’ He gave them back. ‘I admire economy in art. There is not a single unnecessary line.’

  She paused, intrigued by this comment. ‘I feel uneasy to receive such a gift. After all, these drawings are important to Miss Dill. They record her discoveries during her travels.’

  ‘No doubt she made copies.’ He smiled, and Elizabeth felt a quiver of humiliation that she had not drawn this obvious inference herself. He continued, ‘Miss Bennet, while we are alone it would be a good moment to plan our next move. The Pavonis have been all generosity, but I would not wish to outstay our welcome.’

  She bridled, finding him patronising. ‘Indeed, to outstay one’s welcome is rarely advisable.’

  He flinched, and continued with forced politeness. ‘Of course I am also concerned that you should have time to recover from your ordeal.’

  She sighed, feeling ridiculous. ‘I’m doing my best.’

  ‘Believe me, I understand how difficult it must be.’

  Her eyes flashed. ‘Can we drop the subject, Mr Darcy? I realise that in my present state I am even more burdensome than usual. Yes, sooner or later we must continue our journey, presumably to Verona, and then west to Milan and the Alps.’

  Darcy raised a finger. ‘Just so, and there I have an idea. Fraulein Edelmann will also be leaving Padua in a few days time, and for a while our routes coincide. Why not share a carriage to Verona?’

  Elizabeth brightened, feeling a spark of optimism at this clearing of the mist. It would be a relief to remain in comfort for a few more days; she had also enjoyed the company of the Austrian singer. But a shadow crossed her heart as she recalled the way in which Darcy had looked at Fraulein Edelmann in the music room. The contrast between the talented, courageous young woman and herself was all too sharp.

  ‘So?’ Darcy pressed. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Oh!’ She blinked in confusion. ‘It is masterful, like all your ideas.’

  He recoiled, and managed a token smile. ‘You exaggerate, of course, but I hope your approval is sincere.’

  ‘Forgive me. I do approve.’

  He nodded, and she wondered why their conversation had become so awkward. She recalled wistfully how easily they had managed as Mr and Mrs Ashley. That was it! Playing the role of a married couple they were relaxed, entertained, confident. As Mr Darcy and Miss Bennet they had a history of misunderstanding and mutual harm …

  She remained silent, not wishing to share this observation. Perhaps one day, but not now, with the atmosphere still fraught.

  27

  April 1815

  Darcy strolled alone round the Roman amphitheatre in Verona. In the sunshine he felt warm in his light morning coat; he wore also a hat over the grey wig. The disguise might not deceive Carandini if they met close up, but he dismissed this as unlikely. His earlier visit to Verona had been interrupted by the urgent necessity of returning to Venice; now he had time to tour the sights.

  So far all had gone smoothly. Fraulein Edelmann accepted his plan with alacrity, and a vetturino recommended by Professor Pavoni provided a carriage with covered seating for four, and extra space outside—sufficient to carry the singer’s manservant and maid as well as Burgess. The professor, eager to attend further recitals, came along as well, and introduced them to his friend Signor Alfredo Zamboni, director of the Accademia Filarmonica. This was originally a circle of artists and musicians who met every week to talk, and organise exhibitions and concerts; now it ran a magnificent opera theatre that would celebrate its centenary the following year. Zamboni had already offered hospitality to Fraulein Edelmann, and Darcy was quietly delighted when the offer was extended to the Ashleys—a private residence was not only more comfortable than a hotel, but far safer.

  They had intended to stop in Verona only two nights before proceeding to Milan, but for several reasons Darcy had preferred to extend their stay. Foremost among these was the convenience of having a companion for Elizabeth—an arrangement that suited Fraulein Edelmann too since Elizabeth (or rather, Rebecca Ashley) had become an invaluable partner for rehearsals. Playing the piano accompaniment had also helped distract Elizabeth from the vexations of laudanum withdrawal. With every day that passed she grew stronger, removing any illusion that her symptoms had been due to an authentic illness.

  The other reason for staying was that Darcy was having second thoughts over their itinerary. He had assumed that they would follow the most direct route, via Milan, Switzerland and France. Disadvantages of this plan were now apparent. Napoleon was back in Paris, having regained the loyalty of the French army. This could mean only one thing: within weeks France would be at war with a coalition of states that included Britain. Moreover, after leaving Fraulein Edelmann they would be alone, with no companion for Elizabeth, nor even a maid. Both problems could be allayed by taking the alternative route north through Austria and the German Confederation towards Ostend.

  Darcy circled round the amphitheatre to the cobbled road leading to Zamboni’s town house. Elizabeth was still probably with Fraulein Edelmann in the music room, rehearsing two new pieces for tomorrow’s recital, which she hoped to attend. Since adopting their disguises they had circulated in society with increasing confidence, so her bravura was understandable. He pressed his lips together. It would not do. He would have to persuade her …

  They had been allotted adjoining chambers in a wing of Zamboni’s grand house, this time with no connecting door. To talk in privacy they could use the larger bedroom, Elizabeth’s, which had two armchairs facing the fire. They had retired after lunch, announcing their intention of taking a siesta.

  Seated with an atlas on her knees, Elizabeth traced the line north through the Adige valley towards Innsbruck. ‘Is it not longer than the other route?’

  ‘In distance, yes. In time, probably not. Almost certainly we would be delayed in France, even assuming that we are allowed to move freely at all.’

  ‘The Dolomites!’ Her eyes sparkled as she traced the route through Bavaria and Prussia. ‘So much to see.’

  ‘And in Fraulein Edelmann’s company.’

  He expected this to be a further inducement, but for a moment her face fell—had he missed something? She recovered and flashed him a smile. ‘We could go all the way to her home town. Salzburg.’

  ‘That would be a digression, Rebecca.’

  ‘Rebecca?’ She smiled. ‘I can be Miss Bennet now that we are alone.’

  ‘If you were Miss Bennet we would not be tête-à-tête in your bedroom.’

  ‘True. Anyway, I much prefer Mr Ashley to that awful Mr Darcy.’

  ‘There is an obvious rejoinder to that, madam.’

  She thought for a moment, then smiled. ‘Concerning the even-more-awful Miss Bennet?’

  ‘Enough nonsense.’ Darcy took a deep breath. ‘Listen, Rebecca, you are not going to the recital tomorrow.’

  She flinched, but managed to maintain a light-hearted tone. ‘Come dearest, we are a hundred miles from Venice and have perceived no sign of Carandini or his acolytes for over a week. I will be weari
ng my wig, new dress and hat, even a veil if you wish. Are you not exaggerating the risk?’

  ‘I would remind you that Carandini is an obsessional devotee of music. Even living a hundred miles away he is known to Zamboni’s circle.’

  ‘And I would remind you, sir, that I have spent many hours this past week helping Hilda prepare for her concerts, and would enjoy just one opportunity to hear the results of my labours.’

  ‘So it’s Hilda and Rebecca now?’

  ‘I think of her as a friend, yes. Indeed, that is the main reason I wish to attend. Do you not see? We have made some excuse or other every time. How do you think she feels?’

  He sighed, seeing the force of this. ‘If you are attending, then so will I.’

  ‘Of course.’ She grinned, sensing victory. ‘I would have it no other way. With my devoted husband at my side, I shall feel entirely safe.’

  28

  On a balmy evening, Elizabeth crossed Piazza delle Erbe arm in arm with Darcy. It was dusk, and the market stalls were closing down. The recital would start in just ten minutes, but as a precaution they had decided to arrive at the last moment and walk straight to their reserved seats.

  Wearing her new silk dress, with veil and bonnet over the blonde wig, Elizabeth hoped she would be well disguised; even so, she kept her gaze to the front, resisting the temptation to keep a lookout for Carandini, or agents who might be in his employ. Walking the length of the piazza was daunting, but less conspicuous than arriving in a carriage. They reached Palazzo Maffei, the location of the recital, and were ushered to seats at the front between Professor Pavoni and the Zambonis.

  While Elizabeth greeted Signora Zamboni, she heard Pavoni whisper to Darcy, ‘There will be a delay. De Santis is late and a servant has been sent to his house.’

  Elizabeth frowned. She had met Giovanni De Santis, a young fop of undoubted talent who had offered to serve as accompanist free of charge—intending, in her view, to exercise his charms on Fraulein Edelmann. A rehearsal in Signor Zamboni’s music room had been cut short when De Santis realised, first, that the piano part provided him no scope for displaying virtuosity, and second, that Hilda would be chaperoned by her friend Signora Ashley, and was in any case unmoved by his flattery.