Mr. Darcy, Vampyre

by Amanda Grange

She turned away, momentarily overcome, and he continued to read the goodwill messages whilst Elizabeth waved at the young Lucases who were laughing and cheering as the coach drove past. But she could not keep her eyes away from him for long, and they strayed to his reflection, longing to see his face again… and then her heart missed a beat, for the look of love on his face had been replaced by a look of torment.

  She felt suddenly frightened. What can it mean? she wondered.

  For one horrible moment, she wondered if he regretted their marriage. But no, surely not. He had given her so many proofs of his feelings, loving her constantly through her blind prejudice, her angry rejection of him at Rosings, and her sad and uncomfortable awkwardness when they had met unexpectedly at Pemberley, that she was sure he could not regret it. And yet, there had been a look of torment on his face.

  She had to know what it meant. Bracing herself for the worst, she turned towards him, only to find that the look had gone and that he was calmly reading through the messages.

  She was startled, but then wondered if the glass had distorted his features. It was not a mirror, only a window. It was not meant to give reflections, and the light could play strange tricks even on the smoothest surface. Certainly there was no trace of any anguish on his face now.

  The coach turned into the drive of Longbourn House, and seeing the crowd waiting to welcome her, she dismissed the matter. Neighbours who had hurried ahead were waiting to greet her, full of smiles.

  The mood was infectious. Darcy helped her out of the coach and then shook hands with all the guests as both he and Elizabeth were showered with rose petals and good wishes.

  Jane’s carriage, which had been behind Elizabeth’s, now arrived, and to the cries of ‘Congratulations, Mr and Mrs Darcy!’ were added cries of ‘Long life and happiness, Mr and Mrs Bingley!’

  Elizabeth, banishing the last of her uncertainties, seized a handful of rose petals and threw them joyfully over her sister.

  Mrs Bennet cried and said, ‘Three daughters married!’ and Mr Bennet cleared his throat more than was necessary for a man without a cough.

  The whole party went inside. The hall had been decked out with flowers, and the guests passed through with much talk and laughter. They went into the dining room, where the wedding breakfast was laid out. The tables were spread with snowy white cloths and the crystal sparkled whilst the silverware shone. As the guests took their places down either side of the table, Mrs Bennet fussed in and out of the room, until Mr Bennet told her that Hill had taken care of everything.

  ‘Sit down, my dear, and leave everything to Hill,’ he said as Mrs Bennet bobbed up from her chair for the dozenth time.

  In the centre of the table, a variety of food was arranged on china plates decorated with crystallised flowers. Cold chicken, snipe, woodcocks, pheasant, ham, oysters, and beef vied with colourful salads, the last of the year, and by their side were fruit tarts, syllabubs, and cheeses. In the very centre of the table were two wedding cakes iced with the initials E and F, and J and C.

  The voices faded away as people began to eat, with only the clink of glasses and the chink of knives on plates to break the silence.

  When at last the guests had eaten their fill, Sir William Lucas rose to his feet.

  ‘And now,’ he said, ‘I would like to propose a toast: To the fairest jewels of the country, Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth Bennet—’

  ‘Hear, hear!’ came the cries.

  ‘—who are now to be carried away by their fortunate husbands as Mrs Bingley and Mrs Darcy.’

  There were more cries and cheers, and Mrs Bennet could be heard to say, ‘I am sure it will not be long before my other girls are married. Kitty is very obliging and quite as pretty as Lizzy, and Mary is the most accomplished girl in the neighbourhood.’

  The wedding breakfast eaten and the speeches made, it was time to cut the cake. Elizabeth and Jane rose to their feet, standing side by side with their husbands behind them. The cakes were the pride of the Longbourn kitchen. The rich fruit cake had been steeped in brandy before being topped with marzipan and covered with smooth, white icing. Elizabeth and Darcy, and Jane and Bingley, each put one hand on their respective knives and cut into their cakes. As they did so, Kitty called out, ‘Make a wish!’

  And suddenly, a cold draught whipped its way around Elizabeth as, with a sudden frisson of some nameless dread, she knew she must have an answer to her forebodings. She turned to Darcy and said in an undertone, ‘I wish you would tell me truly, do you regret our marriage?’

  His smile was gone in an instant and she saw some great emotion pass over his face. His hand closed convulsively over her own, squeezing it tight. And then she saw a look of resolution on his face and he said fervently, ‘No. Never.’ He applied pressure to her hand, forcing it downwards with disturbing speed and strength, and together they cut down to the bottom of the cake.

  But despite his words, he was ill at ease, and as soon as the last cheer had faded away, he said to Elizabeth, ‘It is time for us to go.’

  He took her hand and held it firmly in his own. He thanked the assembled company for their attendance and their good wishes, then said that he and his wife must be leaving as they had a long way to travel.

  There were more good wishes as he led Elizabeth to the coach and handed her in. Just as Elizabeth was taking her seat, she heard him call up to the coachman, ‘There has been a change of plan. I want you to take us to Dover.’

  ‘Dover?’ asked Elizabeth in surprise as Darcy climbed into the coach and sat down opposite her. ‘But I thought we were going north, to the Lake District. Dover is in the opposite direction.’

  ‘We can go to the Lake District at any time. You cannot have a very strong attachment to the idea; the plan has been of short duration, and I would like to take you to the Continent instead. I want to show you Paris.’

  ‘But isn’t it dangerous?’ she asked.

  He looked at her in some perturbation and leant forward in his seat.

  ‘What have you heard?’ he asked her.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, startled by his change of mood. ‘Only that the war with France could break out again at any time, and that when that happens, the English will no longer be safe there.’

  ‘Ah, so that is all,’ he said, sinking back into his seat. ‘You have nothing to worry about. It is perfectly safe. The Peace will last awhile yet. I have friends and family in Paris, though, people I would like to see again and people I would like you to meet.’

  ‘You have never spoken of them before,’ she said curiously.

  ‘There was never any need. But you will like them, I am sure, and they will like you.’

  ‘I have never been to Paris,’ she said musingly. ‘I have never been out of England.’

  ‘Paris is changing, but it is still a city of great elegance and the Parisians are charming. Sometimes too charming,’ he said, and a shadow crossed his face. Then his mood lightened and he said, ‘I will have to guard you well.’

  Chapter 2

  The Darcy entourage was a large one. Behind Darcy and Elizabeth’s coach was a second carriage which contained Darcy’s valet, Elizabeth’s maid, and trunks of clothes. There were footmen to guard the party from attack and outriders to go ahead of them and pay the tolls, so that when the Darcys arrived, the turnpike was open and the coach could pass straight through.

  It was all very different from the journeys Elizabeth had taken with her family in the past. Then, she had been subjected to all the delays and discomforts which accompanied a less luxurious style of travel. She had been packed in with six other people who had laughed and squabbled, exclaimed or complained all the way.

  The coach soon left Hertfordshire behind and they began to travel in a south-easterly direction. To begin with the road was familiar to Elizabeth. She had taken the same road the previous Easter when she had visited Charlotte at Rosings Parsonage. This time, however, she did not break her journey in London but continued straight on to Kent. The coach passed
through towns and villages, but for the most part, it rolled through the countryside, which was rich with autumn fruitfulness. Blackberries glistened in the hedgerows, and apple trees, laden down with fruit, grew in the fields.

  Darcy said little on the journey. He appeared to be thinking about something and Elizabeth did not like to disturb him. His look, at least, was not tormented, merely abstracted, and she found herself wondering if he were prey to strange moods.

  She asked herself how much she knew of him, really. She had seen him at Netherfield and Rosings, and at his home in Derbyshire, but there had always been other people present and she knew that, in company, men were not always what they were alone. She had been alone with him as they had walked through the country lanes around Longbourn after their engagement, and yet even then they had not been truly alone: there had always been a neighbour going shopping, a farmer going to market, or a servant on an errand. But now it was just the two of them and Elizabeth found herself both excited and disturbed at the prospect of learning more about him. She wondered what other new facets of his character would be revealed over the coming weeks; she also wondered what further changes of plan there might be before the end of her wedding tour.

  This thought led to another and she smiled.

  Darcy looked at her enquiringly.

  ‘I was just thinking that I seem destined never to visit the Lake District,’ she said. ‘I was meant to be going there last year with my aunt and uncle, until my uncle’s business concerns made us change our plans. And now, the plans have been changed again. I wonder if I will ever see the lakes?’

  ‘I promise you we will go there, but if we don’t take the chance to visit the Continent now, then it might be years before we have the chance again. Napoleon might talk of peace but I have seen men like him before, and whatever they say, they think only of war. There is a small break in the hostilities. We must make the most of it.’

  The light soon began to fade. Although the day had been warm, it was October and the days ended early. Darcy pulled down the blinds in the carriage but Elizabeth, eager to see the sunset, moved to stay his hand. He continued with his work, saying that they would be warmer when the blinds were drawn. There was something in the way he said it, some unusual quality in his voice, that made her unwilling to go against him.

  They travelled on in silence and Elizabeth thought, with a vague sense of unease, that this was not what she had expected. She had been looking forward to the journey, thinking it would be full of conversation and laughter, and perhaps the kind of love that marriage brought with it, but her husband seemed preoccupied. He sat with his face turned away from her and she watched him, examining his profile. It was strong, with handsome features, yet there was an air of something she could not quite place. He was the man she had married and yet different, more reserved, and she wondered if it was just because of the tiring nature of the journey or whether he were reverting to his former aloof ways.

  Although she could see nothing outside the coach, Elizabeth caught the changing sounds and scents of the world beyond them as they neared the coast. The soft song of blackbirds, robins, and thrushes was replaced by the raucous cry of the gulls, and the smell of grass and flowers was replaced by the sharp tang of salt. It permeated the carriage, finding its way into Elizabeth’s nostrils and onto her lips and tongue.

  The carriage, which had been rolling smoothly over muddy roads, began to jerk and jolt as it travelled over cobbles, and the clattering of the wheels added itself to the harsh sound of the seabirds. Impatient to see where they were, Elizabeth released one of the blinds, and her husband made no move to stop her.

  The first thing she saw was the black bulk of Dover castle rising over the landscape. She gave a shudder because, in the darkness, it seemed like something huge and malignant, a massive guardian standing watch, but whether it was protecting or imprisoning the town she could not tell. And then she saw the cliffs. They were as white as the bone of a cuttlefish and, in the pale moonlight, they had a pulsating glow. Outlined against them were the skeletons of tall-masted ships which rose and fell with the tide. Their mooring ropes groaned and sighed as they moved, like the whisper of unquiet souls.

  Then the carriage turned a corner and everything took on a more cheerful aspect. Ahead of her, Elizabeth could see an inn. There were lights blazing out from the windows and a brightly-painted sign was hanging outside. The coach rolled into the yard, where the lighted torches made it almost as bright as day. There was noise and bustle, and warmth and colour, and Elizabeth laughed at herself for the nameless fear that had gripped her as they drove into the port.

  The coachman pulled the horses up and the coach rolled to a smooth halt. There were no delays or frustrations, as there were when she travelled with her family, no time wasted in trying to attract someone’s attention. Instead, as soon as the coach stopped, the horses were attended to, the door was opened, the step was let down, and the Darcys were welcomed obsequiously by the innkeeper. He escorted them into the inn, bowing repeatedly whilst enquiring after their journey and assuring them that they had stopped at the best inn in Dover.

  ‘There is a fire in the parlour when you are ready to dine,’ he said, ‘and I will have fires lit directly in your rooms. You may rest assured that your every comfort will be attended to.’

  Darcy stopped just inside the inn.

  ‘You go ahead,’ he said to Elizabeth. ‘I have to go down to the harbour and arrange for our passage to France.’

  ‘Cannot one of the outriders make the arrangements?’ she asked.

  ‘I would rather do it myself,’ he said.

  He made her a bow and went outside, and Elizabeth, wondering again at her husband’s unexpected actions, was shown upstairs by the innkeeper’s wife. The woman threw open the door of a well-appointed apartment and then stood aside deferentially as Elizabeth went inside. The room was bright, with sprigged curtains at the windows and a matching counterpane on the four-poster bed. There was a fireplace in the corner where one of the chambermaids was already lighting the fire, coaxing the wood into life.

  The innkeeper’s wife then threw open an interconnecting door to another bedroom. The room was slightly larger and the colours were darker than in the previous room. It had obviously been fitted out for a gentleman, with solid oak furniture and paintings of ships on the walls.

  ‘Thank you, these will do very well,’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘Thank you, Ma’am.’ The innkeeper’s wife dropped a curtsey. ‘When would you like to dine?’

  ‘As soon as my husband returns,’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘Very good,’ said the woman, and with another curtsey, she withdrew.

  Elizabeth lingered in what was to be Darcy’s room. The counterpane had been turned down and she imagined his head on the pillow, with his dark hair showing up against the white bed linen. She was filled with a sudden longing to touch his hair, to feel its texture beneath her fingers, and to inhale the scent of it.

  She returned to her own room to find that the chamber maid had already placed a jug of hot water on the washstand. She stripped off her clothes, feeling suddenly travel-stained, and standing in a pretty porcelain bowl, she washed all over, squeezing her sponge so that the water trickled down her soapy body, leaving clear channels in its wake. As the water began to cool, she rinsed herself more efficiently and then she went over to the bed where her maid had laid out her new blue dress, which had been bought especially for her trousseau.

  Annie, her lady’s maid, emerged from the dressing room and helped her to dress, dropping her lace-trimmed chemise over her head and then lacing her stays. As Annie pulled the strings tighter, Elizabeth thought how strange it was to be dressed by someone she didn’t know. At Longbourn there had always been her sister Jane to help her, and they had laughed and talked whilst they had dressed for balls; and there had always been Hill to give them more help if needed, to scold and worry them into getting ready more quickly, and to stand back and admire them when they had finis
hed. There had been her mother, too, and Kitty and Mary and Lydia, but here there was no one except Annie, who was new to her, because at home she had had no need of a lady’s maid.

  As she finished dressing, pulling on her long white evening gloves, Annie opened her mouth and then closed it again. Then she opened it and wiped her clean hands on her apron in a nervous fashion.

  ‘Yes, Annie?’ asked Elizabeth.

  ‘Well, Miss—Ma’am—I was just wondering, Ma’am, if it’s true, that’s all, like the others are saying, are we going out of England, Ma’am? Are we really going to France?’

  ‘Yes, we are,’ said Elizabeth, stopping in the middle of fastening the button on her glove and looking at Annie. ‘Does that worry you?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ said Annie uncertainly. ‘But some of them aren’t so sure. There’s bad things happen in France, so they say, very bad things.’

  ‘Some terrible things have happened in France over the last few years, but they’re are over now,’ said Elizabeth, wishing she could feel as certain as she sounded. ‘If there is any danger, we will not stay.’

  Annie nodded, looking as though she only half believed her, then Elizabeth gave her one last reassuring smile and went down to the private parlour where a fire was blazing. The window gave a view of the front of the inn as well as the road beyond and she looked out, hoping to see Mr Darcy when he returned. At last, she grew tired of watching for him and she turned away from the window, only to see that he was already in the room. She felt a frisson of surprise as she wondered how he could have opened the door without her hearing him.

  And then all else was forgotten as she saw his appreciative glance and he said, ‘You look beautiful.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He stepped forward and took her hand and kissed it.

  ‘Elizabeth, if I seem—preoccupied—it is only because I have a lot to think about at the moment. I will make you happy, I swear.’

  ‘I know you will,’ she said.

  He stroked her cheek, then his hand stilled as the innkeeper entered the room. A look of frustration crossed his face but he dropped her hand and took his place at the table, as she took hers.