by Meg Osborne
“I see now you are lapsing into self-pity and will point you once more to what Fordyce has to say on such behaviour. You are almost well - in fact, quite well enough to accompany me on a turn about Hyde Park...” her eyes narrowed as she shot her husband a sly smile. “That is if you can possibly raise yourself from the depths of despair you are otherwise so eager to wallow in.”
The words were a panacea and instantly Colonel Fitzwilliam was on his feet, throwing aside both the letter and the effect of ill-health.
“We must leave immediately, wife, for I am inexpressibly tired of being cooped up. I wager some fresh air is all that is needed to blow these wretched cobwebs from my head: and if it may be had with such a perfect angel by my side, rather than on horseback racing my cousin northwards, so much the better.”
Mary smiled, pleased to see her husband so cheered, and still gladder that his health was so improved. Indeed, he was not healthy enough to go haring off to Scotland, but he was more himself than he’d been in days, and her natural worries for his well-being were a little eased. They were still newlyweds, and though Richard had told her some of his exploits in the regiment, and alluded to some ill-health and injury obtained in battle, he had been scant in detail, and she worried, on those occasions she lay awake in the depths of night, that despite his hale and hearty appearance all might not be entirely well for the Colonel. Seeing her tall husband animated with the happy task of preparing for a walk, rather than irritable and anxious over the fate of his cousin, put her mind at rest, and she hurried upstairs to retrieve her bonnet: a gift from the gentleman himself, who had yet to see it adorn his pretty wife’s head. She permitted herself one moment to glance in the glass and admire its effect herself, before returning to her receive the compliment she knew would be on his lips at first glance, but as she descended the stairs there was a knock at the door. A small flurry of activity, and before Mary could enquire of their staff as to the latest arrival, she heard the unmistakable voice of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Her heart sank, along with her smile, as Richard’s aunt bustled into the house.
“Richard! At least tell me that you are at home. I came to London expecting everyone in their proper places and yet everywhere seems abandoned. Pray, where has my wayward daughter got to?”
Chapter Five
“Won’t you take tea with us, Aunt Catherine?”
Richard stood to greet his aunt, before encouraging her to take a seat near the fire, where she might be warm, and easily able to converse with both he and Mary.
“You look dreadfully pale, Richard. I do hope you are not sickening for something.” Lady Catherine’s words were not offered without sympathy, but Mary detected a trace of self-interest in the older woman’s hesitation to draw closer to greet her nephew.
“Nothing but my old war wounds acting up,” Richard said, with a droll smile.
“And he is very much better now, after taking some much-needed rest,” Mary put in, stepping forward to greet the older lady.
“Very well,” Lady Catherine said, surveying the pair with caution. “And where is your brother? I had hoped I might see dear Philip once more.”
Richard flinched almost imperceptibly at the mention of his brother, and Mary laid a gentle hand on his arm, which seemed instantly to settle his mood and temper his reaction. His voice was light, his smile easy when he explained Philip and Louisa’s absence.
“They are visiting friends at present, Aunt,” he said. “Although I am sure they will be disappointed to miss you.”
“Anne is with them, I expect?”
Neither Mary nor Richard answered straight away, exchanging a look of mild panic that Lady Catherine mercifully misunderstood.
“I know she has several acquaintances in town, so I could hardly expect her to sit at home waiting out the festive season with her cousins.” She lifted her watery eyes from Richard to Mary and back again. “No offence intended towards you, of course. How do you like London, Mary?”
“Very well.” Mary slid her chair a little closer to Lady Catherine, seeking desperately for a subject that might interest the older lady and serve a worthy distraction from the mention of Anne de Bourgh. She was ignorant at present of Anne’s true location, and Mary strove to keep her so. It was not in her nature to deceive, but it was also not in her nature to seek out conflict: and having witnessed Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s piques of temper when anything she did not personally approve of took place, she thought it wise to delay informing her of her daughter’s activities. In any case, it may yet be undone... It was a fleeting hope, but Mary clung to it, her eyes scanning the room for some glimmer of inspiration. Her gaze lit on the piano, and she seized upon music as a most opportune topic of conversation, remembering how fondly Lady Catherine had spoken of her delight in music during Mary’s stay at Rosings.
“We have very much been enjoying the music, have not we, Richard?”
“Very much,” he agreed. “That is, I have enjoyed some very jolly tunes. I am sure your own enjoyment has been rather more deep and affecting than my own. Perhaps, Mary, dear, you might play a little for Aunt Catherine? She is so recently arrived I have no doubt she would appreciate the chance of a rest, and you play so well the new pieces we have been introduced to. You would like to hear them, I am sure, Aunt?”
Although Richard’s voice lifted at the end, suggesting a question, he was already ushering Mary to her feet, leaving little opportunity for Lady Catherine to do anything other than acquiesce to the suggestion and agree that yes, she would dearly love to hear Mary play again.
“Rosings is so quiet, now that you have all departed...” she mused, as Mary settled herself at the piano. She bit her lip, wishing she possessed the courage of her sister, to inform the lady that, had she been more welcoming to the young people while they were at Kent, they might not have been in such a hurry to depart. But I am not Elizabeth, Mary reasoned and placed her hands on the keys, playing the first few bars a little hesitantly, but gaining in confidence as the newly-learned piece flew from her fingertips. It was a lively jig of a piece, and she was pleased to see Lady Catherine’s eyes dancing along to the tune, her lips stilled at last as she appreciated the music.
“Bravo!” Richard applauded with vigour as she reached the conclusion of the piece, and before either lady could speak, demanded another, mentioning a particular performance he had enjoyed and imploring Mary to play the piece for his aunt’s hearing, for she would do it far greater justice than he in recalling it. Mary’s lips quirked, recalling that Richard’s previously professed opinion of this particular piece of music had in fact been rather less than complimentary upon his first hearing it. Sensing that he sought only to occupy his aunt with thoughts of anything that was not Anne, or, for that matter, Mr Darcy or Elizabeth, she happily played on, lengthening the piece as much as she dared, and only winding it to its end when she saw Lady Catherine stifle a yawn.
“Dear me, where can my daughter have got to?” she asked, casting a cross glance towards the clock on the mantel.
Richard and Mary exchanged a glance, and Mary’s heart sank as she saw her husband’s features settle into unhappy acceptance of the task at hand. It would fall to him, then, to inform Lady Catherine of the news they had hoped to keep quiet.
“You need not tarry, so, Richard, or seek to spare my feelings.”
Their exchange of glances had not gone unnoticed by Lady Catherine, but it was not until she spoke that Mary recognised the resignation and hint of regret in the older lady’s voice.
“She is spending time with Fitzwilliam, I expect, and that woman.” Her eyes flew, almost unconsciously, to Mary, and she had the grace to look a little chastened to speak so cruelly of Mary’s sister before her face. “They are happy, then?”
“They are.” Mary lifted her chin, determined she would not be cowed by the lady before her, and striving to project some measure of the confidence that Elizabeth seemed to so easily inhabit. “Very much so.”
There was a snort, and Lady Catherine turned to Ric
hard with an imperious toss of her head.
“I am sure you make a fine set, roving all over town.”
“Roving? Aunt, I understand your disappointment -”
“No, Richard, I do not believe you do understand my disappointment.” Lady Catherine let out an expansive sigh. “Still, I am sure I have learnt to live with disappointment, in my long years. I will learn to live with this too. If Anne is quick to forgive Fitzwilliam’s betrayal, I must seek to do the same.” She sniffed. “You will send a note, Richard, and invite Mr and Mrs Darcy to accompany you and Mary to my house for dinner in a few days. I will not seek to disturb Anne’s plans before then: but perhaps you will inform her of my arrival in town, and suggest that she may prefer to enjoy the comforts of her own home, rather than imposing any longer upon her cousins.”
With that, she turned her attention purely to the wider London society Richard and Mary had been keeping and questioned them relentlessly on gossip concerning their shared connections, which Richard answered as fully as he dared, although not enough to satisfy Lady Catherine’s inquisitive nature. Mary’s eyes caught her husbands’ and they shared a look of pure relief. They had somehow evaded Lady Catherine discovering the truth, for now. Mary’s heart pounded. Yet a few short days were all the respite she had offered them. How would they explain not only Anne’s absence but also Mr and Mrs Darcy’s, so soon?
“NOW, LADIES, IF YOU will settle yourself here for a moment, we can have something to eat and I will make enquiries...”
Once Charles Bingley had assured himself of his companions’ relative comfort, sitting around a table in a quiet corner of an inn they had stopped at for an hour’s rest and refreshment, he hurried off to find the landlord and begin his usual round of enquiries. Lizzy let out a sigh of relief. She was not sure she had ever been more grateful for Mr Bingley’s presence, for his tireless efforts in ensuring their flight to Scotland, whilst perhaps not as comfortable as if they had been travelling at their leisure, was not at all as arduous as it might have been.
I was foolish to ever consider making such a journey alone! she thought, watching the friendly interaction between the two gentlemen. She would never have made it north of Hertfordshire, surely, had she not Mr Bingley’s calm figure beside her. He continually kept their conversations light and sought to point out areas of interest as they travelled northwards. Lizzy felt a little chastened for all the cruel thoughts she had ever had about Mr Darcy’s close friend, for the gentleman was kind, far kinder than she had any right to expect him to be, and educated and interesting in addition. She could easily see why Jane cared for him so, and she wagered his own feelings were not as vanished as she had previously thought. The key figure in separating the pair, then, was not Mr Bingley himself, but his sister.
That lady, sitting in a chair not three feet from Lizzy at that moment, sighed extravagantly and massaged her head.
“Are you unwell, Miss Bingley?” Lizzy asked, out of obligation rather than real interest, and already half aware of the response her question was likely to elicit.
“How anyone can be well, haring about the countryside as we are at present is beyond me!” Caroline said, crossly. “My head aches so, and it seems to me that the world still races by around us, though we are still just now.” She shuddered. “I long to stop and sit still for more than an hour altogether, and not be forced to dwell in cramped quarters!” her voice lowered. “Why my brother conceded to such a scheme is far beyond my understanding. We might have been enjoying London, still, instead of -”
Mr Bingley reappeared, and his presence was enough to silence his sister’s complaints, for which Lizzy was grateful. Ordinarily, Caroline’s self-serving litany of woes would have done little but irritate Elizabeth, but there was some grain of truth to them that even she could not deny. Both Mr and Miss Bingley were here purely to aid Elizabeth, at a great personal cost to themselves in terms of time and comfort. Even Caroline deserved gratitude for accompanying her, although Lizzy privately suspected that, were she and Mr Bingley permitted to make the journey without her, it might be undertaken with more haste than Caroline’s frequent pauses permitted.
“Good news!” Mr Bingley said, his eyebrows waggling with comic effect. “Our landlord believes he has seen and even spoken to Mr Darcy as he passed through this way.”
“Truly?” Tears pricked at the corners of Elizabeth’s eyes. It had been the first piece of good news they had had in their interminable journey. More than one night, she had lain awake wondering if she was dragging her friends on a wild goose chase. Oh, they would reach Scotland safely and swiftly, she did not doubt Mr Bingley on that. But how would they find Darcy once they got there? Scotland was not a small country, Lizzy feared, and their quarry might be in any part of it. It was supposition only that, once Wickham had crossed the border, he would not continue to travel north. Even so, it would be like struggling to find a needle in a haystack. Her relief was contagious, and she saw her tentative smile reflected in Mr Bingley’s jolly face.
“Very truly! He did not recall it at first when I merely referred to my friend, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy. It was not until I employed my formidable ability of description that the recollection dawned.” He chuckled. “Mention of the gentleman’s dark brow and fierce scowl, as well as the fact that he would be seeking information on a young woman who, we suspected, had likewise travelled north soon jogged the man’s memory, and he told me any number of useful details.”
“Such as?” Lizzy clamoured to know more. Was Darcy well? Were his hopes of finding his cousin undaunted, or had he succumbed to the hopelessness she herself had felt more than once on their journey?
“Mere details of the journey,” Bingley waved off her concern, then, seeing her features fall, hurried to supply some detail, in order to reassure his travelling companion. “He was able to offer him some word of Wickham, too, which was met with gratitude. It seems they are not far from here, perhaps another hour or two’s journey. A small town, by the name of Broughton.” He cleared his throat. “The fellow could not say for sure they were settled there, of course, but assured me that this was the self-same intelligence he had offered to Darcy, who had intimated his intention to call next at the place and see if he might trace his friends there.”
At this news, Lizzy’s feet began to tap with nervous excitement underneath the table. Darcy was just another hour or two’s distance! Why, then, must they tarry here? They might press on, and be reunited all the sooner. She was about to open her mouth to make such a suggestion, when Caroline sighed once more, loudly, and Lizzy’s excitement hardened into annoyance.
“Must we still travel on? We have come such a long way already.” She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand, and Elizabeth and Mr Bingley exchanged glances.
“I did suggest you might prefer to leave us in the Cotswolds, Caro, dear. It is not like you do not have friends thereabouts. We might even have detoured to Lattimer Place and dropped you with the Hursts, yet you insisted on accompanying us.”
Lizzy focused her eyes on the table in front of her, feeling a little awkward at the recollection of the discussion that had become an argument between brother and sister over this very matter. Caroline had been complaining, almost without cease, since their leaving London, and yet when Mr Bingley made the very sensible suggestion that she leave them at several points - naming friends and family with estates nearby that she might be quite comfortable for a few days, while he saw Elizabeth to Scotland, did anything that was needed of him by Darcy and returned to collect her - she was outraged, accusing them of casting her off.
“I wanted to be of some assistance!” Caroline insisted. “Dear Eliza is as much my friend as yours!”
This was such a blatant untruth that Lizzy stifled the urge to laugh, disguising it unsuccessfully in clearing her throat. Mr Bingley glanced at her, desperately, and she realised that of the two of them she might be better equipped, in this instance, at smoothing his sister’s ruffled feathers. Taking a deep breath, she spok
e.
“I am so very grateful to you, Miss Bingley.” She lifted her eyes to Mr Bingley’s. “To both of you. I know that it has been a great upheaval for you to travel so far and so quickly at my behest, and I cannot begin to thank you.” Swallowing her desire for progress, she continued. “I think perhaps we might rest here for a short while and take a meal, before continuing on. At least we have some indication of Mr Darcy’s whereabouts, or a suggestion of where he travelled to next, at least. We might delay our progress for an hour or so and allow Miss Bingley some respite.” Turning to her, she forced a gentle smile. “I am so sorry to hear about your headache, Miss Bingley. Jane is likewise often afflicted by such a malady. Might I suggest a warming cup of tea and some food, for surely that, and some stillness, might have the desired effect?”
Lizzy had mentioned Jane quite naturally, despite contriving to keep her sister’s name off her lips for the majority of their journey. She had intended the comment purely for Caroline Bingley’s ears, yet her brother heard it, his features folding in on themselves.
“I hope Miss Bennet’s ill-health was not the reason behind her departing London so soon after arriving,” he said, in a low voice. Lizzy turned to look at him and saw such concern etched on his face that she felt the first flare of hope she had in some time.
Once I have seen Darcy again, once this terrible circumstance with Anne is resolved, I shall set my mind to reunited you both, she promised him silently. Just a short time ago she had been willing her sister to meet another, and spurn the man who had so callously thrown her aside. How quickly matters changed! Mr Bingley loved Jane still and would marry her, if Lizzy had a single word to say about it. Her lips pulled into the slightest of smiles. Caroline Bingley may have contrived to separate them, but she would not succeed in keeping them apart. She had contrived to learn of gossip and had been rewarded with an uncomfortable and difficult journey north. When the tea service arrived, Lizzy took a rejuvenating sip of her own and angled her chair away from Caroline and towards her brother, wishing to hear again every word the landlord had offered of Darcy’s manner.