At last the dressmaker left, promising Elizabeth that at least one of the dresses would be ready by the following morning and that the rest would follow soon afterwards.
Darcy too needed clothes, and he had a visit from the local tailor, who fitted him out for a new wardrobe.
As they were finishing their luncheon, which they had taken in a private parlour, there was a most welcome occurrence. The innkeeper entered the room and spoke to Darcy in a torrent of Italian. Darcy replied and the innkeeper, saying, ‘Si, Signor,’ left the room.
Elizabeth looked questioningly at Darcy.
‘A messenger has just arrived. He wishes to speak to me.’
‘Has he come from the castle?’ asked Elizabeth.
‘We will soon find out,’ said Darcy, throwing down his napkin.
He left the table and walked over to the fireplace, where he stood with his hands clasped behind his back.
The innkeeper returned and behind him was the messenger, a dishevelled young man of vigorous aspect who turned his hat in his hand.
‘Ah, Signor Darcy!’ he said, as he entered the room, adding something which Elizabeth could not understand.
He handed a letter to Darcy.
‘It is from the Count,’ said Darcy to Elizabeth as he broke the seal and tore the letter open. ‘The messenger has travelled night and day over the mountains, accompanied by two of the Count’s mercenaries, to bring it to us.’
Elizabeth went over to him and stood at his shoulder, eager to see what the letter had to say, but when Darcy unfolded it she saw that it was written in Italian. The handwriting was thin and spidery, and covered many pages.
‘Well?’ she asked impatiently as Darcy’s eyes scanned the first page.
‘The castle is safe,’ said Darcy, still reading.
‘Thank goodness!’ said Elizabeth with a sigh of relief.
She had feared the worst, and the message was a great comfort to her.
‘There was a brief skirmish when some of the locals managed to swarm through the postern gate and started setting fire to the flags and carts in the courtyard,’ Darcy continued, ‘but the mercenaries dealt with the situation quickly and the danger was soon past. The fires were doused and no lasting damage was sustained.’ He put the first page to the back of the sheaf and continued to read the second page. ‘Several of the mercenaries were injured, as well as one of the Count’s footmen, similarly some of the villagers took hurt, but there were no deaths and no serious injuries.’
‘And Annie?’ asked Elizabeth, looking over his shoulder and trying to see Annie’s name somewhere on the page.
He turned to the third page, and Elizabeth pointed to her maid’s name.
‘Annie is safe,’ said Darcy. ‘She begs the Count to inform you that she will pack your dresses carefully and give your letter to the messenger to post.’ He stopped talking, the better to read, and then when he had finished the letter, he folded it and gave his full attention to Elizabeth. He smiled. ‘They will all be with us soon, I think. The Count has already made arrangements for our retinue to be escorted over the mountains.’
‘The coach will not be able to follow us,’ said Elizabeth, remembering the precipitous paths and the narrow bridges across the ravines.
‘No, the coach will have to be sent round by sea, as will some of the larger and heavier items, but the Count’s men will carry most of our things across the mountains.’
‘Will we wait for them here?’ asked Elizabeth.
‘I think not,’ said Darcy. ‘They will travel more slowly than we have done because there are more of them and also because they will be carrying baggage, which will slow them down. I do not want to delay our journey. We can hire outriders here to accompany us. I will tell the Count what route we will be taking so that our entourage will be able to find us more easily when they cross the mountains. Perhaps they might even find us before we embark for Venice.’
He said something to the messenger and then went over to the side of the room where there was a writing desk. He sat down and, dipping the quill into the ink, he pulled a piece of paper towards him and wrote a note in a flowing hand.
‘How even your writing is, Mr Darcy, and how fast you write!’ Elizabeth teased him.
He smiled.
‘On the contrary, my writing is uncommonly slow!’ he replied.
‘It is a world away from Netherfield, is it not?’ asked Elizabeth, as she looked around the inn, with its homely pine table and pine benches, and to the view of the mountains beyond.
‘Yes, it is,’ said Darcy, pausing to look around him before continuing to sand his letter. ‘But not an unwelcome change, I hope.’
‘No, not at all. I am enjoying seeing more of the world.’
Darcy folded the letter as soon as the ink was dry and then he sealed it, pressing his ring into the wax to leave the Darcy imprint. He gave it to the messenger, who tucked it into a pocket inside his tailcoat, then he said something to the man in Italian, to which the messenger replied before bowing and departing.
‘There is no reason for us to stay in Susa,’ said Darcy. ‘Once our clothes are ready, we will travel on. I am longing to show you Venice and the palazzo.’
‘Palazzo?’ asked Elizabeth. ‘Do you mean a palace?’ she asked in astonishment. ‘We stayed with a count in the Alps, are we now going to stay with a prince?’
‘No, we are not going to stay with anyone. We are going to stay in one of my Italian properties, the Palazzo Darcy.’
‘Do you mean to tell me you have a palace?’ asked Elizabeth.
‘No, I mean to tell you that we have a palace,’ said Darcy, laughing. ‘It is on the Grand Canal, and I think, indeed I know, you will adore it.’
***
After the splendours of the mountains, Elizabeth took pleasure in the quieter beauties of the lowlands as they travelled through northern Italy towards Padua, where they intended to take the barge to Venice. They stayed overnight at an inn and the following morning Elizabeth was delighted to find that their retinue had caught up with them. Annie was amongst them, looking none the worse for her adventure, and Elizabeth soon heard an account of the fateful night, with all its alarms and violence, and then at last its peaceful conclusion.
‘I am so glad you are safe,’ said Elizabeth. ‘When the castle was attacked I feared the worst.’
‘It was nothing really,’ said Annie, with all the bravery of one whose ordeal was over. ‘It was a nasty moment when the mob broke through the postern gate, I don’t mind telling you, and when they ran into the courtyard setting fire to things as they went I was frightened, but the Count’s mercenaries soon took care of things. I must say, when we arrived at the castle, I didn’t like the look of them, but I was grateful for them that night and it was all over very quickly in the end.’
It had left its mark, however, for two of the Darcy footmen had left for England, saying they could take no more. The Count had tried to persuade them to remain by offering them more money, but when it became clear that no amount of money would make them stay, he had made up for their absence by sending two of his own men in their place.
From Padua they travelled on by river, taking the barge along the Brenta. Now that she knew that everyone was safe, Elizabeth’s spirits were in a state for enjoyment and she saw much to be pleased with. The villas of the Venetian nobles slid past in an ever-changing view of splendour, overhung with poplars and cypresses, and with willows dipping their branches into the river. And then the miraculous city of Venice came into view, rising from the waters like a dream.
‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ said Elizabeth as they drew near. ‘I had no idea anything could be so wonderful and yet somehow it seems unreal. How are the buildings supported? Why don’t they sink?’
Darcy’s education had fortunately been wider than her own and he said, ‘Their foundations are built on great timbers driven into the water and embedded in the mud.’
‘Could they not find anywhere more hospitable
to build?’
‘They could, and did, but they were driven out of the southern lands many centuries ago. They fled north and settled on the outskirts of the lagoon where the marshland kept them safe. When danger threatened them again, this time from the sea, they took refuge in the middle of the lagoon where the waters were shallow and where their attackers’ boats would run aground. There they found themselves to be secure and so they set about creating their city.’
They floated into Venice, travelling always by water, for there were no roads and no broad boulevards echoing with the whirr of carriage wheels and the clop of horses’ hooves. Instead there were canals running through the city, changing colour with the play of the wind and the movement of the clouds and the reflections of the buildings on either side of them.
They came at length to the Grand Canal, which snaked its way through the heart of the city. There they left the barge to travel on by gondola. The narrow waterways were full of the slim vessels, their raised prows slicing through the waters. On a platform at the back of the boat stood a gondolier, his long oar clasped firmly in both hands. Darcy helped Elizabeth to step down into the gondola and take her place on the cushions that were scattered inside. She lay back, reclining as she saw other people doing, and gradually accustomed herself to the rocking motion of the boat.
Gone was the snow of the mountains, gone was the cold. Here was warmth and colour and light. And what colour! The blue of the sky reflected in the water, the pinks and greens of the silken clothes, all made it a dazzling sight. They floated past palazzos of glorious beauty, adorned with balconies that hung suspended over the waters, decorated with Gothic arches and surmounted with a delicate lacework of stone. The facades were of varying colours, rising up from the dark green waters in a marvel of strength and pride.
They came to rest outside the Darcy palazzo. Elizabeth looked up at the impressive building, with its dusky pink frontage. Its piercings of elaborate arches led onto a shady terrace where dark shadows contrasted starkly with the brilliant patches of light. As she let her eyes travel upwards, she saw that it had three storeys, each one with its own colonnade.
The gondolier tied the gondola to one of the brightly coloured poles that rose from the water next to the steps and then Darcy disembarked, stepping out of the vessel and mounting to the landing platform with the sure-footedness of one used to such activity. He held out his hand to Elizabeth. She stood up cautiously and, lifting the hem of her skirt, she stepped out of the gondola, feeling it rock beneath her. She ascended the steps and then took Darcy’s arm and together they walked under the Gothic arches.
Elizabeth felt the coolness close around her as she went from sunlight to shadow, and walked through into a shady courtyard before climbing a flight of stone steps to the palazzo’s door.
They were met by the housekeeper who greeted Darcy respectfully and with warmth. Elizabeth was reminded of Mrs Reynolds, the Pemberley housekeeper, as both women clearly had a great deal of admiration for Darcy.
After welcoming them, the housekeeper showed them to a vast apartment. It was cool and softly lit by the ribbons of light drifting in from the cracks around the closed shutters. When the housekeeper opened the shutters, sunlight flooded in.
‘Well? Do you like it?’ Darcy asked.
He watched Elizabeth joyfully as she spun round in the centre of the room, her head titled back to admire the magnificent paintings on the ceiling. She had seen many grand houses in England but nothing had prepared her for the sheer size and magnificence of the drawing room, with its historical and allegorical paintings on the ceiling. Even Rosings had not been so grand.
‘It’s breathtaking,’ she said.
She wandered out onto the balcony and looked at the teeming life below: the gondolas going up and down the Grand Canal, the people going to and fro.
‘I could look at this view for ever and never grow bored,’ she said. ‘How long have the Darcys owned the palazzo?’
‘For a hundred years,’ he said, coming up behind her. ‘Venice is still beautiful but she is not what she once was. You should have seen her, Elizabeth, in all her glory, when she was at the height of her powers.’
His voice was hypnotic and as he spoke she could see it all in her mind’s eye: the early settlers taking refuge on the myriad tiny islands in the middle of the salt lagoon, taming the tidal waters to form a thoroughfare of canals; the city that grew up around it; the pride of the Doge and the splendour of the Doge’s palace; the building of the basilica of St Mark; the travelling Venetians who explored the seas, bringing back treasures for the front of the basilica; the great explorers who discovered new lands. He spoke of the clearing of the buildings around St Mark’s and the paving over of the great square; he told her of the Campanile, with its great bell; of the building of ships to send out into the world for exploration and trade; the rise of the Rialto, with its varied shops selling goods from all over the world; and the merchant princes who grew rich on the profits of trade. And he spoke of all the wealth and pride and love for their city being poured into their art, of the great artists, Titian and Bellini and Canaletto, and he spoke of the masked balls and the Carnivale.
She saw it all before her eyes, so vivid did he make it, and as he spoke she felt the soft whisper of his breath on her neck. It hovered there, delicately caressing her.
‘You don’t know how good you smell, or how ravishingly appetising you are,’ he said as his mouth moved closer, his breath trailing seductive and tantalising pathways across her skin. ‘Your neck is so delicate, so precious, so fragile. You are so tempting, Lizzy.’ He brushed away the tendrils of hair that curled in the nape of her neck and kissed it reverently. ‘So white, so pure, so alluring. You are ambrosia to me. I have tried to resist you, but it is so hard… so hard…’
She was almost swooning with rapture.
He kissed her again, his lips brushing with exquisite sensitivity over her skin.
Her heart began to quicken, sending the blood pulsing ecstatically through her veins and making her dizzy with pleasure. There was a change in him, too, as her rapture enticed him beyond endurance. She felt his heart leaping in his breast, growing louder and stronger as he held her close, catching her to him as his lips touched her neck. His kiss was full of fervent desire and something more, something dangerous and deadly. She was held by some great power, suspended in a moment of exquisite anticipation, poised between safety and danger, the known and the unknown, the natural and the supernatural.
‘Darcy!’ she breathed…
… and with a sudden roar of frustration he let her go, wrenching himself savagely away from her, his face livid with emotion, and walking to the other side of the room where he stood with his back to her so that she could not see his face.
The strange power that had gripped her began to dissipate and she felt her pulse begin to slow and her senses return to normal. She watched him uncomprehendingly until at last he turned towards her and with a tortured semblance of a smile he said, ‘I will give you an hour to rest and then I will take you to see the sights for yourself.’
When he had gone, Elizabeth retired to her room, feeling exhausted. It had been confusing but exhilarating, frightening and yet blissful, to be held by him.
At last she grew tired of trying to understand the perplexing feelings flowing through her and instead she changed her clothes, removing her travelling clothes and putting on one of the new gowns she had bought in Susa. Then she went downstairs, where she found Darcy waiting for her. He made no mention of what had just happened and, still feeling shaken by it, she made no mention of it either. Instead she smiled at him and told him she was ready, and together they went outside. Light was everywhere. It poured from the sky and it danced from the water. It leapt from the gilding and twirled from the stones.
They explored the city like lovers, riding in gondolas or walking arm in arm through the narrow streets and crossing the humped bridges which spanned the canals. They emerged into brightly-lit squares whe
re fountains played. Darcy seemed light-hearted and carefree. He was attentive and affectionate, showing her all his favourite corners of the city.
At last, Elizabeth thought with a happy sigh, this is what I always expected my honeymoon would be.
Chapter 9
The Darcys were not the only English people in Venice. Many of their compatriots, tempted by the easier travel occasioned by the break in hostilities with France, had chosen to travel to Italy too. Elizabeth’s table was soon full of cards left by English men and women known and unknown to them, for, when travelling, all English people became entitled to friendship. It was as Elizabeth examined the new cards one morning when she and Darcy had just returned from seeing the Campanile that she gave an exclamation of pleasure.
‘What is it?’ asked Darcy.
‘This card is from the Sothertons.’
‘I don’t believe I know them,’ he said.
‘But you have a reason to be grateful to them, all the same, and so do I, for they are the owners of Netherfield Park. It was Mr Sotherton’s debts that forced them to leave Netherfield and rent it out to Mr Bingley. I had heard they were travelling abroad, but I never expected to find them here.’
‘Everyone comes to Venice in the end,’ said Darcy. ‘We must invite them to our conversazione, and I must try not to thank Mr Sotherton for managing his affairs so badly that he had to leave his home, though I will be tempted to do so, for it he had been a more capable man of affairs, I would have never met you!’
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