Darcy's Journey

by M. A. Sandiford

  ‘Mr Wickham?’ she whispered.

  ‘The same.’

  ‘Oh.’ She waited in case he wished to elaborate, but his lips remained pressed together.

  Eventually she continued: ‘No wonder you were so angry when I foolishly defended him.’

  ‘Not your fault.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I had another reason, even more compelling.’

  Again she waited. ‘May I ask …’

  ‘I explained in my letter.’

  She coloured. ‘The one I refused to read?’

  He nodded. ‘It concerns Georgiana.’

  She froze, and listened in horror as he unfolded the story of Wickham’s attempted elopement.

  Instinctively she covered his hand with hers. ‘Please rest assured that I will mention this to no-one. Not Jane, and of course not your sister should we ever meet.’

  As they walked back to the dock, she was struck by an awful thought. She had always seen Wickham’s marriage to Lydia as an impediment: for how could Darcy tolerate such an in-law? But now she understood that the situation was far worse. Georgiana’s feelings had to be considered too. That her trusted and revered brother should become the brother-in-law of the very man who had treated her so ill! Such a betrayal would be unbearable. Unthinkable. In his right mind, Darcy would never contemplate it …

  She uncoupled her arm, and stared at the ground ahead, evading his eye. Her sympathy was now replaced by anger. Why had he not told her before? Why allow her to dream of a union that could never be?

  39

  Darcy paced the deck of the Eisvogel, too agitated to sit in the lounge cabin and read. They were approaching Koblenz, and the scenery was spectacular, with hills on the right and a gorge on the left. He had never seen such a concentration of castles, many of them dating from medieval times and elaborated over the centuries. In the distance he saw the outline of what must be Rheinstein Castle, which according to his map had been built in 1316 and was now a ruin. In the late afternoon sun, a more romantic spectacle could hardly be imagined—yet romance appeared far from Elizabeth’s mind. After a silent breakfast she had pleaded tiredness and shut herself away in her cabin.

  On reflection, he traced her sullen mood to the walk back from the Mannheim Paradeplatz, where he had spoken of his university years, and disclosed Wickham’s attempt to elope with Georgiana. Had he upset Elizabeth by reminding her of Lydia’s indiscretion? There was no way of knowing: he had never had much success in understanding her thinking, or predicting her reactions.

  Weary of the uncertainty, he passed along the central corridor and tapped on her door.

  ‘One moment.’ After some frantic activity within, she appeared in the doorway. ‘Oh. I expected a servant. What do you want?’

  He flinched at her unyielding tone. ‘To make sure you are well, and to invite you to view a castle against the setting sun.’

  She made as if to close the door. ‘I am busy.’

  Gently he asked, ‘Elizabeth, what is the matter?’

  ‘I’m not sure you should make free with my name.’

  He stared at her. ‘We agreed to behave as if …’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ She exhaled irritably. ‘But that was before.’

  ‘Before what?’

  ‘Surely that is obvious.’

  ‘I am not a mind-reader, Miss Bennet.’ He retreated a step, losing patience with her. ‘However, my senses are sufficiently acute to tell when I am not wanted. Good day madam.’

  He bowed, and was halfway along the corridor when she called after him, ‘Wait! I will come.’

  He turned, gratified to have won this little battle—whatever it was. Elizabeth emerged, buttoning a spencer jacket.

  ‘Good idea. The air cools in the evening.’

  ‘I should apologise.’ She came to join him. ‘I believe I have reason to be upset, but that is no excuse for rudeness. If I was rude.’

  He said nothing, and she stamped her foot. ‘Well?’

  ‘Were you rude? Yes.’

  She glared at him. ‘Whatever happened to gallantry?’

  ‘With people I respect, I prefer honesty.’

  ‘A back-handed compliment, but I will be grateful for small mercies. Shall we see this splendid vista before the sun goes down?’

  Elizabeth stood close beside him, the wind flapping the ribbons of her bonnet. ‘You are right, as usual. A beautiful sight. Why so many castles here?’

  ‘I assume the older ones were built for military purposes in locations that afford a long view while being difficult to attack. More recently, princes added parodies of the old castles as symbols of their stature.’

  ‘Thank you for dragging me from my cabin. It would be folly to miss this.’

  He looked down, and was surprised to see her eyes moist. ‘My dear Miss Bennet …’

  ‘You can say Elizabeth. I was in a sulk.’

  He hazarded a smile. ‘I would like to ask why, but it seems this is forbidden by the rules. I have to guess.’

  She smiled back. ‘In which case, making allowance for your limited powers of discernment, I will explain. I am upset because I want to marry you more than I have ever wanted anything, and now discover that you have courted me these last weeks in full knowledge that a union between us is impossible.’

  He stared at her. ‘Impossible? What do you mean?’

  She threw up her hands. ‘Is it not obvious?’

  ‘Not to me.’ He lowered his voice, afraid that their exchange would attract notice. ‘I beg you, Elizabeth. Place no more reliance on thought transference. Just tell me.’

  She leaned across and whispered, ‘Because of your sister. Imagine! After all that she has endured, to learn of your intention to marry Mr Wickham’s sister-in-law.’

  He hesitated, wondering how this point had escaped him. Eventually he replied, ‘It is certainly an announcement that would have to be presented with delicacy.’

  ‘You mean, one that should never be made at all.’

  He looked away at the sky, now deep red behind the silhouette of the castle. After a long silence, he replied:

  ‘Let us think about it. I understand your concern, but perhaps the impediment is less troubling than you fear. I do try to protect my sister, but one cannot insulate people entirely from life’s travails. An embarrassment that might be only temporary should not override the desire of two people to spend their lives together.’

  To his relief, Elizabeth received this thoughtfully, rather than launching an immediate rebuttal.

  ‘Agreed,’ she said slowly. She slapped the rail, as if in irritable exhaustion. ‘Why is life always so difficult?’

  ‘I believe it’s called the human condition.’

  She sighed. ‘If only Mr Wickham and his kind could be erased from the surface of the earth.’

  ‘Do you really believe that?’

  ‘Yes.’ She took a deep breath. ‘All right, no. Anyway, such interventions are beyond my power, so it makes no difference what I believe.’

  ‘Remember, we cannot be sure that there is any problem at all. Perhaps there is, but we are only guessing. We can discuss how the situation should be presented to my sister, see how she reacts, then think again.’

  Elizabeth shivered, and wrapped her arms around her jacket. ‘I haven’t eaten since breakfast.’

  ‘I assumed you had taken luncheon in your room.’

  She shook her head. ‘I was confiding my anxieties to the new journal.’

  ‘Then let us dine, and talk of other things.’

  She took his arm as the boat rocked in the wind, and he guided her to the steps leading to the upper deck.

  40

  June 1815

  After a week of maddeningly slow progress, including a two-day wait in Koblenz for a gale to pass, they had disembarked finally at Cologne. The landscape was now flat, and suitable for fast transit by road—if one could find a carriage. They had taken rooms at a hotel, and with the help of the manager booked places on a stagecoach heading to Brussels vi
a Aachen and Liège. The carriage was shared with a Prussian officer, Kapitaan von Staufen, and his wife Mathilde, travelling further south to Ligny where the captain was joining his brigade.

  They set off in the late morning on the leg to Düren. The day was overcast, but fortunately for Burgess, who sat outside with two drivers and Frau von Staufen’s maid, the rain held off, and there was little wind. Elizabeth, exhausted after an uncomfortable night, dozed while Darcy made conversation with the captain. To follow von Staufen’s laboured English closely was beyond her powers of concentration, but the essence was reassuring. The timetable of which Darcy had spoken was still in operation. Coalition forces were building up around France in preparation for an invasion in July—by which time, all going well, she and Darcy would be across the channel and restored to their homes and families.

  Elizabeth had been surprised at first to see the captain accompanied by his wife. He was a genial man in his mid-forties, with a round face and strong-looking body running to fat. Frau von Straufen was of similar age and build, but displayed a more determined countenance and was perhaps the driving force in the partnership. When Darcy tactfully asked whether it was safe for Elizabeth to travel so near to the French border, he was told in no uncertain terms that it was perfectly safe, and normal practice, for the wives of officers to join their husbands at the front. In the event of an attack, wives and servants would retreat northwards, ready to tend to their husbands after the battle and accompany them on the journey home.

  After the first stop at a hostelry, von Staufen produced a flask of brandy and poured a tot for his wife, followed by a larger ration for himself. Frau von Straufen explained to Elizabeth that the liquor was medicinal, and would keep them warm on a chilly day. Hospitably the flask was offered to Darcy, but he, like Elizabeth, politely declined. Frau von Straufen commented that cognac was particularly efficacious as a remedy for hangover. Ten minutes later, both the captain and his wife were asleep, and Elizabeth felt able to speak freely.

  ‘Did they ask about us?’ she whispered.

  He shook his head. ‘Only where we were bound.’

  ‘Where is Ligny?’

  ‘Near the border. They will change coaches at Liège.’

  ‘How fortunate the captain speaks English. Do you think his information is reliable?’

  ‘It confirms what the newspapers have been saying. British and Prussian troops are assembled below Brussels, waiting for the other coalition forces to arrive on France’s eastern and southern borders. Until mobilisation is complete, there will be no invasion.’

  ‘The captain would hardly bring his wife to Ligny if it were unsafe.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  They relaxed, and talked of other things.

  ‘I have been puzzling over the first essay in A New View of Society.’ Elizabeth said. ‘Owen says that in principle one could order society so that people had any desired character. We are thus virtuous, or ignorant, or venal, in consequence of our training.’

  Darcy nodded. ‘It is a striking claim.’

  ‘And surely false. Take any family—my own for example. My sisters Mary and Lydia grew up in very similar circumstances, yet their characters are opposite.’

  ‘At least some attributes must depend on how an individual is treated. You can make a child ignorant by withholding teaching. A puppy beaten by a cruel master is more likely to bite.’

  Elizabeth smiled. ‘I overheard once an argument between my father and the Vicar of Meryton. It seems that as Anglicans, we believe that every person inherits a disposition for evil which stems from Adam’s disobedience in the Garden of Eden. My father claimed this was poppycock, since a baby knows nothing of Adam and Eve and therefore cannot be influenced by their supposed misdeed.’

  Darcy raised his eyebrows. ‘How did the vicar reply?’

  ‘He turned purple and said in a roundabout way that a small child may experience temptation without being able to articulate the cause. I think my father was winding him up for amusement.’

  Darcy looked out of the window at flat fields planted with wheat. ‘Still, I see some merit in the idea that we are born with desires that must be curbed through training. We are greedy; we try to get our own way without considering others.’

  ‘But if our church is correct, training is not enough. We must be saved from damnation through baptism and instruction in the true faith.’ She grinned. ‘Which is unfortunate for children reared by heathens.’

  ‘None of this contradicts Robert Owen,’ Darcy said. ‘He says that circumstances shape character. Baptism and religious instruction are merely examples of such circumstances.’

  ‘I imagine a baby.’ Suddenly serious, Elizabeth met his eye, and continued in a whisper. ‘Ours. A boy, let us say. The heir to Pemberley. We see him in his cradle, gurgling, his arms reaching although there is nothing to grasp, his features midway between yours and mine. Must we really see him as a bundle of sinful urges that can be curtailed only through baptism into a particular creed?’

  Darcy blinked, moved by the image. ‘I doubt I would see him in that way.’

  ‘Yet that is what we are enjoined to do.’

  ‘I would not take the dogmas so seriously, Elizabeth. These are traditional ceremonies that can be interpreted in a variety of ways.’

  She tilted her head, challenging him. ‘And how do you interpret them?’

  He glanced at the von Staufens, who were still sleeping off their earlier indulgences. ‘I accept that there must be a God who created the world and populated it with life. As to the various denominations, I cannot say with any confidence which, if any, is correct. Most people conform to the religion in which they grew up, and I see no reason not to do the same. As for children, my experience has been that if raised with firmness and kindness most turn out well, while a few do not. Why that should be I have no idea.’

  She smiled teasingly. ‘Is that what you said when you enrolled at the University of Cambridge?’

  ‘You mean the religious test?’ He suppressed a laugh. ‘I thought it best to confine myself to the 39 articles.’

  ‘Ha! And I thought you an honest man.’

  There was a stirring on her left, and Frau von Staufen said in carefully correct English, ‘Please, what are the 39 articles?’

  Elizabeth reddened as she wondered how much of their conversation had been overheard.

  Darcy answered. ‘Paragraphs, dating from Queen Elizabeth’s reign, which summarise the doctrine of the Anglican church.’

  ‘Ah.’ Frau von Staufen glanced at her husband, who was still snoring. ‘Perhaps a shorter version of the 95 theses which Martin Luther nailed to the door of All Saints’ Church in Wittenberg?’

  Elizabeth, out of her depth, waited for Darcy to reply.

  ‘No, although I believe there was some overlap.’

  The captain’s wife turned to Elizabeth. ‘Excuse me, you are sceptical of the significance of baptism?’

  Elizabeth blinked, not wishing to get into a dispute. ‘I see no harm in the ceremony, which serves to welcome a new arrival into the community.’

  ‘Ah!’ Frau von Staufen raised a finger. ‘But there are people who say that babies just a few weeks old are not ready to choose which religious community they wish to join.’

  ‘That is why we have confirmation,’ Darcy said.

  ‘In Prussia we have Anabaptists,’ Frau von Staufen continued. ‘Also called Mennonites. They originated in Switzerland and the Tyrol, and to escape persecution migrated to Prussia and the Netherlands, even to America. They believe that baptism should be delayed until adulthood. Also, that violence is always wrong, even in self-defence.’

  Elizabeth glanced at the sleeping captain. ‘I assume no Anabaptists follow your husband’s profession.’

  In the corner of her eye she noticed Darcy smile at this remark, but Frau von Staufen remained impassive. ‘That is right. We are Reformed Church. Calvinist. But I have Mennonite friends and they are good people. They take their lead from the Gosp
els, especially the Sermon on the Mount.’

  ‘Do we have Mennonites in Britain?’ Elizabeth asked Darcy.

  ‘Very few, I imagine. Most Englishmen are practical, and accept war as a necessary evil.’

  ‘Still, I admire the Mennonites for their consistency.’

  Darcy nodded. ‘They do no harm, which is more than can be said for most people.’

  ‘How cruel to persecute innocuous people who refuse to fight back.’

  ‘Ja.’ Frau von Staufen waggled a finger. ‘But not in Prussia. Our king, Frederick William III, is working for a union of all Protestant churches. He is Calvinist, like us, but his wife Queen Louise, now sadly no more, was Lutheran. We have many traditions under, how do you say, the same umbrella, and no more persecutions.’

  There was a grunt from the seat opposite, and the captain yawned, and nodded genially to the gathering. Frau von Staufen fell silent, as if conversation were no longer possible while her husband was awake. Elizabeth turned back to Darcy, wondering what he thought about such a bewildering array of religious viewpoints.

  41

  Wednesday 14th June

  On an afternoon warmed by white hazy sunshine they at last reached Brussels. The stagecoach halted at the Place Royale, a cobbled square more imposing than attractive, but Darcy asked the driver to continue a little further to the Royal Park, where they made a temporary base on benches shaded by evenly spaced lime trees.

  From conversation on the coach, Darcy knew that accommodation in Brussels would be hard to find: the city abounded with officers, enjoying its many pleasures while awaiting the call to action. His plan was to replenish funds, then hire a chaise that would convey them towards the coast. All depended on whether his bank in London had received his request for a fresh letter of credit.

  After leaving Burgess to guard their luggage, they followed a side-road into the old centre, where the Bureau de Poste was a fifteen-minute walk. They queued, their eyes sometimes meeting in excited anticipation, then endured further suspense as the employée des postes searched a back room. Darcy looked down at Elizabeth as she took his arm, holding her breath. She gasped and clapped her hands together as the girl returned with two bundles.