by Hahn, Jan
During the third scene, I believe some kind of wedding celebration occurred in the story, for I do remember a bride and dancing, but as for the gist of the story, I was lost. I was only aware of Mr. Darcy’s gaze planted firmly upon my person. Each time I glanced his way out of the corner of my eye, I could see his posture turned toward Mr. Bingley’s box.
I wondered if he was angry that Jane and I had accompanied his friend or if he had heard the gossip before the show began. Most of all, I wondered why his eyes never deviated, why he persisted in staring at me throughout the performance. Had the man not come to see and hear an opera?
At the end of the first act, I clapped almost too vigorously, so relieved I was to rise from view and exit for the intermission. Why I ever thought the situation would be more favourable without is beyond my comprehension.
Mr. Hurst left our presence immediately, rushing from the box in search of liquid refreshment. I followed Mr. Bingley and Jane down the staircase to the gallery below where London society now mingled, gaily greeting each other with bows and curtseys.
I soon found myself clearly and plainly snubbed. As the three of us made our way across the large lobby, the crowd cut a wide swath. People did bow to Mr. Bingley, but then looked down their noses at Jane and me and immediately turned away. Not one person spoke to my sister or me, and many a rude gesture was openly directed my way.
“I wonder where Caroline and Louisa are,” Mr. Bingley said, his voice emerging somewhat higher than normal. “I know they wished to join us.”
He looked about the throng, but they did not appear or seek us out. One glance at Jane’s face told me how humiliated she was. This would not do! I felt impelled to free her from my constraint.
“Mr. Bingley, I pray you will excuse me,” I murmured, slipping my hand from his arm. “Please do not be concerned — a sudden wave of fatigue. I shall return to my seat.”
Before he or Jane could deter me, I hurried up the stairs, brushing past the couples who still descended. I walked down the red carpet as fast as decorum permitted. I kept my face averted as I searched for Mr. Bingley’s box. At last I found it, pushed open the door, and rushed inside, while my breath came forth in great gasps.
I was dismayed to see patrons still remained below and in their boxes, and not wishing to be seen, I pulled a chair well back behind the long drapes hanging on the side. There, somewhat hidden from prying eyes, I sank down upon the seat and fanned myself. I sighed deeply, aghast at how the evening had turned out.
If only I could find a way out of the theatre and make my way back to Gracechurch Street! But how? I was trapped, and my presence assured Jane of sharing in my censure.
Had not Mr. Darcy warned me of this? Had not my aunt and uncle and my father done the same? But no, I had foolishly ignored their words, confident that I could handle any rebuke London society had to offer. What I had not realized was the vicious depth to which the ton would punish not only me but my innocent sister as well.
I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes, hoping to restrain the tears about to betray my emotions, when I saw the door to the box open and Mr. Darcy enter. I immediately sat up straighter and lifted my chin. Whatever was he doing there? He looked about, an anxious frown upon his face, before he spied me.
“Miss Bennet! Are you ill? I saw you leave your party and hurry above stairs.”
I glared at him and did not even stand in greeting.
“Elizabeth?” he said again, pulling a chair to the side so that he could sit beside me. “Tell me the cause of your distress.”
“Those are fine words coming from you,” I spat at him. “After what you have done, how can you pretend solicitude?”
“I have no idea to what you refer.”
“Do not insult me further by asking me to believe you know nothing of what has taken place.”
“I fear I do not have the pleasure of understanding you.”
He reached for my hand, but I snatched it away and turned my face to the wall. “Do you mean to say you did not witness the cuts Jane and I endured before the opera began and in the lobby below?”
“No, I — I did not,” he said, rising. “I just returned to Town this evening and was detained by several acquaintances without. I did not enter my box until after the performance began. Tell me what happened.”
“Precisely what you predicted,” I replied. “I was greeted with whispers, hisses, and pointed fingers before the performance, and your friends made certain that Jane and I knew we were not worthy of their acknowledgement during the intermission. That is why I ran up here to hide. I thought perhaps Jane might be spared if I removed myself from her presence.”
His only response was to press his lips together, but I could see the vein stand out on his forehead, the one that indicated he was in high dudgeon.
“If only I could leave this place, could return to my uncle’s house.”
“Yes! That is what we must do — get you away from here immediately.”
“We?” I was incredulous. “I have no intention of going anywhere with you, sir! That would only increase gossip.”
He appeared to ignore my declaration and pulled out his watch. “There is still at least ten minutes left before the second act begins. Wait here. That will allow me time to have my carriage brought round. When your sister, Bingley, and Hurst return, make your excuses, and as soon as the lights are dimmed, go downstairs and out the front door. My driver will be waiting and will take you back to Mr. Gardiner’s house.”
I was amazed that he had devised a solution so quickly. He did not propose to inflict himself upon me but simply offered his carriage to spirit me away, which was exactly what I wished.
“Thank — thank you,” I murmured, dumbfounded.
“Do not worry, Elizabeth,” he said, “I shall make certain you get away safely.”
My heart turned over at the kindness in his voice and the sympathy in his eyes. Surely, he must be the most handsome man ever created, I thought, especially in evening dress! With the slightest of bows, he turned and exited the box.
I remained behind the drapes out of sight of any returning audience members until the intermission ended, and Jane and Mr. Bingley returned, along with Mr. Hurst.
“Lizzy, are you unwell?” Jane cried. “Why did you desert us?”
“A sudden headache,” I said.
“Shall I take you home?” Mr. Bingley asked.
“No, there is no need for you and Jane to miss the rest of the performance. Mr. Darcy has offered his carriage.”
“Darcy? Is he here?” Mr. Bingley asked, looking toward his box.
I nodded and rose just as the lights dimmed
“Shall I not come with you?” Jane asked, concern evident in her eyes.
“No, all is well. Stay and enjoy the evening.”
I bade them good night and slipped out the door. I passed not more than three or four couples hurrying to their seats as I ran down the great staircase. I did not even bother to notice if they directed disapproving frowns toward me. Crossing the wide lobby, my slippers lightly tapping on the polished floor, I willed myself to appear perfectly at ease as the doorman opened the doors for me.
How relieved I was to see a carriage waiting, a footman with his hand upon the door handle!
“Miss Bennet?” he inquired.
I nodded and he pulled down the steps. Once I was safely inside, he said, “Mr. Darcy suggests that you lower the shade, Miss.”
“Yes, of course.”
The opposite window was already covered, and I immediately applied myself to release the other. I heard the driver speak to the horses and felt the coach move. Only then did I breathe out a sigh of relief. At last, I was safe from public scrutiny. I could not wait to return to the security of my uncle’s house.
We went only a short distance, however, when the carriage suddenly stopped, and before I could pull back the shade, the footman opened the door once again. I knew we could not have reached Gracechurch Street so soon. Did t
hey propose to thrust me out in the middle of Town?
Then I heard Mr. Darcy’s voice. “Thank you, Hudson.”
He pushed the shade aside and climbed into the coach, seating himself across from me. “That worked out rather well, did it not?” he asked. “If anyone happened to see you leave, they thought you were alone. I arranged to be picked up two streets from the theatre.”
I was surprised at his plan, but I said nothing.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked. “Shall I fetch a rug?”
I shook my head. It was so dark inside the cab that I could hardly make out his features.
“Now tell me, is tonight the first time you have been treated in this shabby manner?”
“Yes,” I said brusquely.
I heard him utter an oath under his breath, but before he could address me further, I declared, “I find it quite odd that my public disfavour coincides with your return to London. I have not read the newspapers for the last two days, sir, but evidently you decided the time was right to publicize the fact that we are not to marry. I only wish my uncle had informed me. If I had known, I would not have ruined my sister’s evening.”
“You think I alerted the papers?” His tone of voice was shocked. “I just returned this evening. How could I have perpetrated the deed?”
“Well . . . if you did not do it, then who?”
“I do not know, but I shall find out.”
Immediately, he tapped the roof of the carriage with his cane, and the driver slowed the coach and stopped. Mr. Darcy stepped out, and I pulled the shade aside to observe, having not the slightest idea what he was about. He asked if any of the servants had a newspaper.
A newspaper! Did he think they read in the dark? I rolled my eyes, but unfortunately, he did not witness my scorn. And then I was astounded to hear that the driver actually sat on a paper, saving it to amuse himself while waiting for the opera to conclude.
Mr. Darcy beckoned to the runners carrying the road torches, and one of them held his light close so that he might search the periodical. I heard him utter another oath, and within moments, he joined me inside the cab and instructed the driver to walk on.
“Well, there is the answer,” he said with disgust.
“What do you mean? Is it in the Gazette as I feared? And does it reveal the source who told the reporters?”
“Did you happen to have a recent visit from my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh?”
A feeling of doom descended over me. “I did, sir, two days ago.”
“And did she demand an answer as to whether we would marry?”
“Yes, she did. I fear we did not part on the best of terms.”
“No doubt,” he said, sighing. “She has taken her revenge on you. The reporter quoted her.”
“What does it say?”
“Nothing worth repeating. Suffice it to say the cat is out of the bag. All London knows there will not be a wedding as well as Lady Catherine’s ill opinion of you. How I wish you had refused to speak with her!”
“She is hardly a personage one can easily refuse anything.”
“True. I hate to even think of how she insulted you.”
I said nothing. How could I repeat the dreadful things with which Mr. Darcy’s aunt had threatened me?
“Do not bother to reply. I know her well enough. I can only apologize for any and everything she said.”
“She was adamant that you are to marry her daughter,” I said quietly.
“Ah yes, she persists in that delusion, although neither my cousin nor I have any desire to bring that occasion about. I am afraid my aunt lives in a realm of her own, wherein she thinks she can command obedience not only from servants but also from family members and everyone else within earshot. Believe me when I tell you that is one command that will not be heeded.”
Why did I feel such relief when he said that? I had doubted that his cousin was the object of his affections ever since Mr. Wickham had told me she possessed a sickly constitution. I could see their marriage taking place out of duty to combine the family fortunes, but I could not imagine that Mr. Darcy loved a woman of that description. No, the woman he desired must be one of great passion who could respond to his own driving need.
I suddenly grew warm all over, aware that the cab was quite close, and we were alone in the dark. I pushed the hood of my cloak back, hoping it would lessen the heat causing me discomfort.
“I was surprised that you went away, Mr. Darcy,” I said, attempting to change the subject. “The constable’s office informed me that I must remain in London until after the highwaymen’s trial. I fail to see why you were allowed to depart when I was not.”
“You are correct. We are to stay here. I confess I did not bother to ask permission from the authorities before Fitzwilliam and I left. Did they question you about what happened during the abduction?”
“They did. I told them the necessary facts and attempted to explain Morgan’s background, although I do not think it caused them to think any higher of him.”
“No, I doubt that will happen, Elizabeth. You must come to terms with it.”
I sighed and did not reply. We rode in silence for a while. “I hope you enjoyed your respite from London. Pleasure bent, I assume?”
“Hardly.”
He did not elaborate, which vexed me, but I did not know how to question him as to his whereabouts without appearing unduly interested. I wracked my brain thinking of a subtle manner in which to accomplish my goal.
“I suppose you had business in Derbyshire,” I said at last somewhat awkwardly.
“Does it matter where I have been?” I heard bemusement in his voice.
“Of course not,” I snapped. “I was simply making conversation.”
“I see.”
I knew he was laughing at me, most probably flattered that I was curious as to where he had travelled. I resolved to say nothing more, even if my life depended upon it.
We rode in silence for several minutes before he said, “Fitzwilliam and I returned to Hazleden, Jonah’s Village, and the country thereabout.”
Nothing could have surprised me more! Why should he wish to revisit an area of such unpleasant memories?
“You may wonder at my choice,” he said.
When I murmured my assent, he explained that they had spent two weeks searching out Morgan’s former haunts, looking for clues as to his background and, in particular, who it was that he had slain.
“You do recall that the man has committed murder, do you not, Miss Bennet?”
“Of course, I do. He told me so himself.”
“I am well aware of what he told you. I wished to ascertain if it was the truth or one of his tales. As it turns out, it happened years ago, but Morgan was never apprehended and brought to trial. The man he killed was a landowner, formerly of France, Monsieur Devereaux, who owned a large estate outside Jonah.”
He stopped speaking and turned directly toward me. I could feel the force of his gaze even in the darkness. “And it seems you were right in your assessment, Elizabeth. Morgan took his life in self-defence — over a woman.”
“A woman? But who?”
“You need not worry. ’Twas not one who had stolen his heart, but rather his half-sister.”
“His sister? What happened?”
“She worked as scullery maid in Devereaux’s kitchen, and Morgan, little more than a youth at the time, served as stable hand. One evening he heard screams coming from the stillroom and discovered the landowner assaulting the woman. When he interrupted the scoundrel, Devereaux sliced his face with a sword and then lunged for his heart. Morgan defended himself with the only weapon he carried, a pitchfork.”
I gasped, cringing at the image, and I could not speak for several moments. Then a thought struck me. “It reminds one of his mother’s plight.”
“His mother?”
“Yes, do you not remember how I told you Morgan’s father took advantage of his mother when she was but a maid in his house? There he was, witness
to the same horrible deed repeated upon his sister.”
“Perhaps that is how it played out in his mind. I cannot say. I do know that is when his life began as a fugitive. He and his sister fled before the authorities arrived, and from then on, he lived in the shadows as a petty criminal. ’Tis a shame he advanced into delusions of infamy, thinking he could act the highwayman.”
“Now he faces kidnapping and extortion charges as well,” I said softly.
“True. I cannot but feel somewhat responsible for that.”
“Responsible! You? But why?” I asked, shocked at his statement.
“Because I suggested he hold me for ransom. As I told Fitzwilliam, I doubt any of those villains could have imagined such an idea if I had not planted it in their minds.”
“Then I share in your guilt, Mr. Darcy, for if you had not sought to protect me, none of it would have transpired.”
We were silent once more, the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves the only sounds heard. Snatches of passing lights flickered through the sides of the shades.
“Why ever did you go in search of this information, sir? Why should you seek to aid Morgan?”
He did not answer for several moments, other than a deep sigh. “I know that you — well, that is, I have no wish to see the man hang. With the background we have uncovered, perhaps the murder charge can be dismissed. And besides, I wanted to do what I could for the woman Gert. After all, she let us go.”
“Gert? What has she to do with this?”
“She is Morgan’s sister, Elizabeth. I thought you knew that by now.”
“His sister!”
“Evidently, she led a rough life after leaving the Frenchman’s house. Morgan retrieved her more than once until finally he installed her at that cabin in the woods. There he could afford her some measure of protection.”
“Then there is some good in him, is there not?”
“There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to good and evil.”
I grew quiet, recalling the scenes between Gert and Morgan. Those memories led to reliving the days Mr. Darcy and I had spent confined together in that small room . . . and the nights.