They had joined the Sankt Goar at Basel, after bypassing the turbulent stretch of the Rhine at Lake Constance and taking the main stagecoach route via Zurich. From Basel the Rhine was calmer, and riverboats drifted with the current across Germany and the Netherlands to Rotterdam, assisted when necessary by oars or sail. The boat had ten cabins laid out in two rows, each ending in a narrow staircase leading to the upper deck, where meals were served in an enclosed lounge.
Excited, Elizabeth dressed quickly and followed a central corridor to the front deck. It was an overcast morning which might turn to rain, and they were docked beside a row of warehouses to take on provisions. On the upper deck people were already breakfasting, and she spotted Darcy seated at the back reading a newspaper.
She joined him, acknowledging stiff bows from two men in military uniform at the next table. ‘Good morning. Where are we?’
‘Strasbourg.’ He handed her the newspaper. ‘Can you make sense of this?’
She glanced at the headline, understanding only the word Napoleon, and put the paper aside. ‘I know three German words, and I answer with one of them. Nein.’
‘I’ve been trying to fathom it this last half-hour, with help from the gentlemen on my left. It seems a timetable has been drawn up. Armies are assembling like chessmen laid out on a board. French troops are stationed at the borders, awaiting an invasion.’ He pointed towards the dock. ‘The French Armée du Rhin is quartered just a few miles west of here. On the opposite bank we will soon pass the Austrian and Bavarian forces. Their numbers grow daily and may rise to 100,000 men.’
Elizabeth accepted coffee, and a basket of bread and pastries, marvelling that these refinements of civilisation continued as they navigated the ribbon of territory separating the armies. ‘You must guide me, Mr Darcy, for I understand little of war. Should we not be alarmed?’
He smiled, taking a refill of coffee. ‘No, because as I mentioned before, there is a timetable. First the forces assemble, then they wait patiently until the date for hostilities to begin. And that will be roughly two months from now, in July. By which time …’ He looked up to meet her eye. ‘We will be safely home.’
She smiled back, warmed by his optimism. ‘We still have to reach Brussels, remember, which is only 50 miles from the French border.’
He nodded. ‘True, but there too fortune should favour us. British forces are assembling in that very area, ready to invade France from the north. We will travel under the protection of our own army.’
She breathed deeply, allowing herself to hope. In just a month they might be home.
They were moving again, past streets with inns and shops where Bavarian infantry in blue coats and white breeches mingled with the locals.
Elizabeth turned back to Darcy. ‘Tell me something about yourself. Your family, for instance.’
‘You have met the principals, except for my sister.’
‘But the history.’ She reddened, recalling that his parents, unlike hers, had both passed away. ‘If the memory is not painful.’
He smiled. ‘I should have expected this. Before accepting my hand, you demand to check my credentials.’ He thought for a few seconds. ‘It is really a story of three families, the Fitzwilliams, the Darcys, and the de Bourghs. The old Earl Fitzwilliam had two daughters, Anne and Catherine, and a son who is the current Earl. Their estate is at Matlock, near the Peaks. My mother Lady Anne was shy as a girl, but her beauty and sweet nature drew many admirers in her first season, amongst them Mr Darcy of Pemberley. Lady Catherine, as you can imagine, was neither shy nor sweet-natured, but her determination produced a similar outcome, and before long she too found a husband. Last to marry was my uncle, who has two sons: the future earl, and Colonel Fitzwilliam.’ He spread his arms. ‘The result is that I spend much time in transit between four places: Pemberley, of course; my house in town; Rosings; and Matlock.’
‘And your childhood?’
‘Idyllic, when I was a small boy. But sadness intruded with the death of my brother from sour throat, and two other siblings stillborn. Physicians advised that my mother was too weak to tolerate another confinement, but she wished to try, and to our delight Georgiana was born. But happiness was short-lived, for soon afterwards my mother’s health faded, while I was sent away to school.’
Elizabeth extended her hand towards his. ‘How cruel to leave home at such a time.’
‘It was usual. Expected.’
‘Which school?’
‘Harrow.’ He looked away, as if in recollection. ‘Not a long journey from our house in town. I arrived in 1798, two years before a boy named Robert Peel, of whom you may have heard.’
‘Was it through your misbehaviour that he perceived the need for a professional constabulary?’
‘By no means, madam. But the school was undeniably rough in those days. Fighting, swearing and drinking were rampant, even among the aspiring Dukes and Earls in the headmaster’s house. In fact their behaviour was worse than ours.’ He smiled. ‘Byron was a case in point.’
She gasped. ‘You knew the poet?’
‘He was two years below me, but what an impression he made! Such a dishevelled trouble-maker, and a club foot to boot, yet he soon had a loyal following.’
She shook her head, overwhelmed by the disparity between the rich variety of his experience and the poverty of hers. ‘So what did you do there?’
‘In the morning, lessons. Latin. Greek. History. Some mathematics. Construing. Writing verse.’
‘Science? Religion?’
‘Very little of either. Which was strange, since almost all the teachers had taken holy orders. We attended the parish church on Sundays, but there was no insistence on piety, and many boys merely gossiped.’
‘And after lessons?’
‘Sport was popular. Swimming, fencing, boxing, skating in the winter. Older boys raced horses, or went rat-catching with ferrets. Many fished or shot.’
‘Were you happy there? Did you make friends?’
He considered. ‘It was austere and traditional, and for many a preparation for the army. But with such a variety of companions, I did find some who were congenial.’
‘How were you regarded?’
‘Oh, as a sobersides, since I studied diligently and took no part in gambling and drinking. Luckily I was tall and strongly built, so the bullies learned early on to leave me alone.’
She regarded him teasingly. ‘No wonder those bandits ran away. Shall we take a turn on the deck?’
They descended and walked round to the bow, still talking.
37
By mid-afternoon a continuous drizzle was falling, almost obscuring the outskirts of Karlsruhe. After lunch Elizabeth had retired to her cabin to rest, leaving Darcy at a loose end. He had struggled through a polite conversation with one of the officers, who appeared interested only in lauding the Bavarian infantry and abusing the French. A beaker of mulled wine raised his spirits momentarily, but he had no wish to dull his brain by over-indulging, especially in the company of Elizabeth. He opened one of the few books he had brought from England, Robert Owen’s A New View of Society.
The author was a mill owner who had bought land in Lanarkshire, not far from Glasgow, and used it to carry out what was in effect a social experiment, demonstrating that a mill could be run to the benefit of its workers as well as its owners. His ideas were challenged by his partners, who believed that welfare reforms cost money that might have been better diverted to their own pockets; but instead of giving way Owen bought them out, found new partners, and continued as before. Interspersed with this narrative were philosophical claims about human nature: for instance, that character was not inborn, but shaped by experience.
He heard footsteps, and Elizabeth joined him.
‘Aha.’ She pointed to the wine glass. ‘As soon as my back is turned you return to your cups.’
‘You think I behave myself only in your presence?’
She waved this away. ‘I am talking gammon as usual. Good wine?’
‘Mulled with cinnamon and sugar. Warming on such a dreary day.’
‘I will order coffee to clear my head.’ She pointed to the book. ‘Don’t stop on my account.’
‘Have you anything to read?’
‘All my books were left behind in Venice.’
‘I have a recent novel by Sir Walter Scott, if you are interested in the Jacobite rebellion. Waverley.’
She shook her head. ‘Thank you for your kind offer, but after weeks viewing soldiers on the march I am weary of such pursuits. Have you nothing more suited to my feminine sensibilities? Fanny Burney?’
‘I admire Mrs Burney and bought her latest novel, but left it at my town house for Georgiana’s benefit.’
‘What you are reading now?’
He held up the book, and she nodded immediately. ‘My father showed me a review in a literary magazine. It caused quite a stir.’ She smiled affectionately. ‘One thing I like about you is that your tastes are so wide-ranging. I can never be sure what you will think about anything.’
‘Many would consider that a reason to mistrust me.’
‘To me it is a delight. But of course that is because I have such faith in your dependability. I could scarcely feel any other way, given all you have done for my family.’
He looked away, gratified but embarrassed. ‘Some compensation for my addiction to the grape?’
She looked round to order coffee from a waiter. ‘Do you think well of the author?’
He duplicated her order. ‘I would have to confess a general prejudice against men of his kind. Owen is, after all, a factory owner, a breed normally concerned only in accumulating vast wealth so that they can afford country estates and the other trappings of rank.’
‘Indeed?’ She squared up to him, her eyes glinting with challenge. ‘They might retort that they seek through effort that which you have obtained merely through birth.’
‘True, but there is a difference. Having been raised as a gentleman, I have been taught to exercise responsibilities as well as privileges. I see my relationship with my tenants as a trade, to our mutual benefit. In return for their work, I not only pay them fairly but do my best to protect them, especially when they fall on hard times. This cannot be said of most factory owners. They desire the rewards, but offer nothing but a pittance in return. Children are forced to work long hours. Men too sick to work are discarded, and their families left to starve.’
She frowned, reluctant to concede the point. ‘I suspect you are painting with too broad a brush. I can believe that Pemberley is a well-run estate where the poor are treated charitably. This cannot be said for all estates; nor is it plausible that all factory-owners are as voracious as you claim.’
‘Most are.’ He waved this aside. ‘But not Robert Owen. He has provided good housing for his mill workers, and schools for their children. They work fewer hours, leaving time for rest and diversion; as a result they are healthier, and perform their duties more efficiently.’
She looked out of the window as a column of soldiers came into view. ‘Reminiscent of Thomas More’s Utopia.’
He gaped, not for the first time amazed by her pockets of eclectic learning. ‘I cannot wait to show you the library at Pemberley.’
She smiled. ‘Aha. An added inducement.’
‘I must play all the cards in my hand.’
‘I see your ruse, Mr Darcy. You hope to mould me into your paradigm of the accomplished woman. My poor little mind is to be improved by extensive reading.’
He pushed the book across the table. ‘Why not begin with this? I need to stretch my legs.’
He finished his coffee and left her to read alone.
38
Elizabeth explored the stationery section of a bookshop near the Paradeplatz in Mannheim. Having spent much of the previous afternoon with A New View of Society, and even tried some chapters of Waverley, she had decided to forgo Darcy’s book collection and dedicate herself instead to writing. In retrospect, she wondered why this idea had not occurred to her before. Yes, she had described some of the people and places encountered during her travels, but only in letters to Jane—which might, for all she knew, go astray. How much better to keep a journal.
They had docked at Mannheim that morning to change boat, from the Sankt Goar to the Eisvogel, which would take them along the so-called ‘heroic’ Rhine to the city of Bonn. Since the Eisvogel would depart in the afternoon, they had left Burgess to supervise the change-over, and taken the opportunity to pass some time on dry land. The old part of the city, set in the triangle between the Rhine and the river Necker, could be reached by a five-minute walk across wooded parkland. They had proceeded first to a money-changer, where she had handed over two of her precious ducats for a bag of silver thaler, and thence to the post office. The cobbled streets were laid out in a regular grid, framing residential blocks and grand open squares; before long they had reached the fashionable shops and restaurants of the Paradeplatz.
Darcy arrived at her side carrying maps of their route through the German states and Kingdom of the Netherlands. ‘These may help. No recent books in English, unfortunately. Have you had better luck?’
She showed him a leather-bound notebook, octavo size, with fine-quality paper watermarked with the manufacturer and year. ‘It’s an indulgence, but I would like this one. Light, portable, yet robust enough to withstand the journey.’
‘I spotted a coffee house across the square where we can sit outside.’
She smiled, warmed to see him in such good spirits.
‘You wrote to Georgiana?’ she asked.
Darcy stirred sugar into his coffee. ‘Yes, in London, although I cannot be sure she is still there. I hoped she would remain with Colonel Fitzwilliam, but with the war restarting he will almost certainly be called away. I should have news when we reach Brussels.’ He regarded her anxiously. ‘Did you remember …’
She raised her eyes as if seeking divine help. ‘Yes! I gave specific instructions, just as you advised, and have more faith in Jane than you obviously have in me.’
‘I only hope our letters get through.’
‘Some must.’ Elizabeth looked away across the square, wondering when her family would receive the letters dispatched from Innsbruck and Basel. ‘At least we know for sure that they have been posted. Not misappropriated by Signor Carandini.’
They watched as two elegant women strode past carrying parasols and arguing in shrill voices. Darcy smiled, and said gently, ‘You were going to tell me more of your childhood.’
‘You have the essence already,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Three families, Bennet, Gardiner, Phillips, that have bestridden our nation’s history like a colossus. Plus Collins, but I did not encounter that branch until later.’
‘I was wondering what happened after Lydia put a frog in the piano stool.’
‘Oh, Mary opened it, you know, to take out some music books, and was not amused at all.’
‘Did she scream?’
‘No. She replaced the frog in the garden and lectured Lydia on kindness to dumb animals.’ Elizabeth sighed. ‘I wish I could paint a more laudable picture, Mr Darcy, but in truth we were then what we are now: five very silly and indulged young ladies.’
He smiled. ‘Your wiles do not deceive me, Elizabeth. You exaggerate your family’s eccentricities so as to deter me from marrying you.’
‘I merely seek to give you a fair chance.’
‘You will not change my feelings.’
She waved this away. ‘Tell me of your career at Cambridge. I have always wondered what it was like to attend a university.’
He sipped coffee, thinking. ‘At first it seemed like a continuation of school by other means.’
‘To paraphrase Clausewitz.’
‘Ah, so now you change tactics and try to scare me off by a daunting display of learning.’
‘Keep to the point, sir.’
‘The point? Oh, university. Yes, at St John’s College, as in Harrow, our day comprised a lon
g morning of study, then exercise, then dinner at four o’clock. Evenings were usually passed in local taverns, drinking, gambling, and debating. Late suppers were popular. Boar’s head, ham and game pie, a bowl of punch to share.’
‘Did you study the same subjects?’
‘Yes, except that divinity was included. In fact, that was the most striking difference. At Harrow, religion was marginal; at Cambridge most graduates took holy orders. Only Anglicans were allowed to study for a degree. When I applied to St John’s, I had to pass a test of religious orthodoxy, which so far as I know is still required.’
‘Such piety hardly accords with the merry debauchery that you were describing earlier. I mean, the drinking and gambling.’
He sighed. ‘Indeed, and matters were often far worse. Drunken undergraduates would roam the streets after the taverns closed, getting into fights with the townspeople, and disrespecting women.’
‘Disrespecting women.’ She laughed. ‘I wonder what that means.’
‘I leave it to your imagination.’
‘I assume the upright young Darcy abstained from these deplorable activities?’
‘Yes.’ He fell silent, looking far into the distance. ‘But more than once I was obliged to clear up after the misadventures of others. Who should be nameless.’
‘Not Byron again?’
‘No, he arrived later and was a Trinity man.’
‘Who then?’
He hesitated. ‘A gentleman with whom you are, unfortunately, already acquainted.’
She stared at him, open-mouthed. Surely not Colonel Fitzwilliam? Or Mr Collins? Amused at the thought of the obsequious clergyman having a misspent youth, she stifled her laugh as the truth dawned.
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