Page 14 of Pride and Pursuit
CHAPTER 14
Nearing the Target
T he air in Mr Bingley’s carriage was, if anything, growing tenser by the minute. Jane had never been so uncomfortable in society in all her life. Every time Colonel Fitzwilliam paid her attention or offered to assist her with any matter, large or small, Mr Bingley became agitated and surly, and strove to outdo the colonel.
If the colonel complimented Jane’s frock, Mr Bingley showered praise upon her shoes. If the colonel offered a hand over a muddy patch or an uneven bit of path, Mr Bingley offered to carry her across it.
What had, at first, seemed to be gallantries borne of good breeding and excellent manners, had become something of a competition. The colonel could not have missed Mr Bingley’s jealousy—for jealousy it must surely be—and was playing to his opposition, whilst Mr Bingley seemed oblivious to the amusement he was engendering and proceeded to act the green-eyed lover, with or without cause.
All the while, her father sat by, watching with more than his usual sardonic expression, seeming most highly entertained. He said not a word, other than what was required, and kept his nose in one of the several books he had brought on the journey, but Jane knew that he saw all and was as much amused as she, herself, was not.
It was vexatious.
As much as her younger sisters rattled on about the romance of being fought over by two handsome and eligible men, the reality was quite different to what was set forth in novels. There was no heady rush of excitement, no thrill at being so admired. It was uncomfortable, awkward, and put plainly, most unpleasant.
For they were both, when properly behaved, fine gentlemen, so different from one another as to make a judgement all but impossible. How could one possibly set Mr Bingley’s sweet and good-natured charm against the colonel’s sophisticated confidence? It was like trying to decide whether one preferred fresh strawberries or a beautiful painting. They were not comparable.
Further, Jane liked them both, but wished to give encouragement to neither. They were both new acquaintances and they were not pushed together in the best of circumstances; it was far too soon to really take a measure of each man’s character. Nor did she wish to respond to the colonel’s elegant gestures or assuage Mr Bingley’s jealousy, for what would bring pleasure to one must surely bring pain to the other.
Oh, how troublesome this was. She wished, for a moment, to be as plain as their friend Charlotte or as insipid as her sister Kitty, so as to occasion no desire on the part of either man to engage her attention.
Consequently, she gnawed at her bottom lip and stared out the window, occasionally asking meaningless questions about types of wheat and breeds of sheep, troubled all the while.
They were, at this point, almost at their destination. After spending the previous night at a fine coaching inn in Wolverhampton, they now were approaching the town of Oswestry. There, Colonel Fitzwilliam informed them, they must stay an extra night, for he had business to attend to with the local colonel, which was the condition of him being permitted to take the time to search for his cousin. They would complete their journey the following morning, a full week after Elizabeth had disappeared.
“Our final journey should not require more than a morning’s drive,” the colonel had offered. “I would prefer to get there sooner still, as would you all, but needs must. The local militia might be of assistance to us, and arrangements must be made. I shall also send a message to the staff at Coed-y-Glyn, informing them of our arrival.”
Jane hoped that these staff, whom she imagined to be an older lady and her daughter who lived in the village and who dusted the house once a week, would be able to find her a bed in some area of the lodge separate from the main room where the men would most likely sleep. She voiced her concerns to the colonel, who smiled and assured her that she would have some privacy. Mr Bingley, in turn, opined once again that should he ever purchase a hunting lodge, it would have at least three guest bedrooms for his sisters’ friends, but that Netherfield, which he had just now let in Hertfordshire, had good enough hunting that he need not look elsewhere for his manly entertainments. To this, the colonel gave an enigmatic grin and said nothing, and that same tense silence reasserted its reign.
It seemed hours later when the carriage at last stopped at the inn they were seeking and the four passengers alit, spilling into the courtyard to gulp in the early evening air. The day’s rain had ceased for the time being, and Jane was thankful to take a minute to stand outside whilst the colonel went to speak to the proprietor. They were expected once more, and within minutes, the inn’s menservants were busy carrying up their trunks, allowing the coachman to walk the team to the stables and carriage house.
“May I command a private dining room and order some tea, Miss Bennet?” Colonel Fitzwilliam strolled back towards them, all solicitude and sincerity. He seemed, once more, a master in control of his demesne. “This inn makes a very nice lemon tart, if such is to your tastes.”
“Or, perhaps, I can request a meal sent to your room,” Mr Bingley blurted. He thrust out his arm to allow Jane to lean upon it as they walked the few feet to the main doors to the establishment. Still stiff and aching from the long and jolting journey, Jane stumbled and let her weight settle upon his offered hand for a moment, which brought a triumphant smile to his lips.
“I think, rather,” she mused, “that I would like to take a short stroll. I am not so great a walker as Lizzy, who loves being out in the sunshine, but I am also accustomed to walking into Meryton several times a week. It is only a mile’s distance, but these long days of travel have reminded me how much I rely on that exercise. And this seems a rather pretty town. Papa,” she turned to her father, grinning his amusement beside them, “have you any objections?”
Once more, Colonel Fitzwilliam puffed out his chest, a knight gallant come to rescue the damsel. “I can vouch for the safety of this town, sir,” he declared, “and would be most honoured to accompany Miss Bennet on her wanders. I can show her the little church, which is most worth a visit, and some of the nicer shops, should she wish to look into any tomorrow.”
“A walk sounds the very thing!” Mr Bingley interjected. “With both of us at her side, Miss Bennet will be perfectly safe. If you wish to take my arm again, Miss Bennet, I will provide my strength should you tire.”
Her father gazed at them all over the tops of his spectacles. “Yes, yes, off with you all. Call by my room when you return for dinner. Off you go.” He turned and entered the inn, leaving Jane and the two men at the door in the courtyard.
She accepted Mr Bingley’s offered arm and they set off. The colonel did not seem at all put out by his rival’s transitory victory, but spoke a bit about the town and gave something of the history of the church of St. Oswald, which had been on the spot, in some form or another, for nigh on a thousand years.
“The church was damaged during the Civil Wars,” he explained as they walked around the building, “and was rebuilt in the 1670s. It has some fine windows inside. I recommend a visit tomorrow to view them whilst I am at my business.”
“Good afternoon, Colonel Fitzwilliam.” A voice sounded from a doorway.
Jane looked up to see the parson, who had noticed them and who clearly knew the colonel by name. Introductions were made and the proposed outing mentioned. The parson beamed. “Friends of the colonel, you say? Charming. Delightful. Yes, indeed, do come tomorrow, Miss Bennet and Mr Bingley. Lovely windows, lovely. I shall expect your visit.”
This familiar welcome was repeated as they walked along the high street, with townsfolk calling out their greetings and inquiring after his health, to which he responded with his accustomed good-natured friendliness and regards to the other’s kinfolk.
The more the colonel grinned, the more Mr Bingley grimaced. The momentary camaraderie they had enjoyed when first they set out had evaporated. By the time they returned to the inn to wash and rest before dinner, the younger man was in a rather foul mood, quite unlike the happy creature Jane had known on their stroll the previous day. He excused himself the moment they entered the building and stomped off to his room, leaving Jane and the colonel in the small vestibule by the stairs.
“Oh dear. I fear I have gone a bit too far.” The colonel’s words were contrite, but his eyes sparkled, and Jane wondered what, exactly, he meant by that, what his playful expression suggested. He seemed almost gleeful, and yet his words intimated regret. It made little sense. But she, too, was tired and eager for a rest before dinner, and could not exert herself adequately to think about it at the moment. She mumbled something inarticulate, excused herself and made for the room the innkeeper now offered to show her.
They met for dinner half an hour later. For the first time, Major Hawarden joined them, and Jane was able to get a sense of the man. He was tall, about thirty, and with a serious manner and few unnecessary words. His presence, however, seemed to have a salutary effect on the small party of travellers.
Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed a different person now. He refrained from his excessive attentions to Jane and his gentle provocation, and Mr Bingley seemed, if not entirely content, then in better spirits than earlier. It must, Jane considered, have been as much the exhaustion of the journey as anything else; in the little time they had spent together, their new neighbour seemed naturally of a cheerful disposition and uninclined to excesses of unhappy emotions. Yes, it must be the tedium of travel. And yet… something nagged her, and she began to put some thoughts together, which she dared not contemplate too much at the moment.
The food that was set before them was excellent, which Jane’s father remarked upon, for it was more common than not to manage with poor quality meals whilst travelling.
“They know me and my family here,” was all the colonel replied, “and almost certainly put some effort into the meal.”
Not for the first time did Jane wonder just what sort of position the Fitzwilliam family had, that an inn some twenty miles from their hunting lodge would cook a special meal for him. It seemed impolite to ask, but in time, perhaps, she would learn the answer.
Mr Bennet did have a serious question, which he asked as they were taking their tea after the fine meal was cleared away. The brew was hot and fragrant, unlike the watery concoction Jane had expected, and the lemon tarts were, as promised, quite fine. She was contemplating a second of these when her father raised his concerns.
“I understand that this man who is chasing your friend might be in the vicinity.”
The colonel nodded. “Wickham. Yes, that is true. I fear he is close. Too close.”
“Are we not, then, putting ourselves into some danger in approaching the area?”
Mr Bingley leaned forward, forearms resting upon the table, eyes as large as the saucers before them. “I must protest this plan, then. I would not have Miss Bennet placed in any peril.” Across from him, Jane’s father concurred with a single, slow nod.
How vexing to be spoken about as if she were an ornament on a wall, or not even present. Jane raised her voice. “Do not forget, gentlemen, that I insisted upon joining you. Lizzy is my sister and I would do anything to help. She will want me to be there, and I will not be put off.”
“But Miss Bennet…” Mr Bingley protested. “Surely you do not mean it. Can you not remain here? I am certain there is a respectable lady in the area who would offer you accommodation until we return with your sister.”
She levelled a glare at him from beneath lowered lids.
“Miss Bennet has other ideas,” the colonel opined. Mr Bingley swallowed.
“Well, there you have it, young man,” her father quipped. “My daughter is not to be gainsaid. But are you certain, Jane? This might not be entirely safe.”
Now the colonel cleared his voice and spoke on. “Major Hawarden and I have been putting some thought into this. I believe we can achieve the lodge with minimal danger. Wickham will be expecting Darcy, and if he has some brains in his head, me as well. But he will not be expecting Mr Bingley’s carriage, and certainly not a country squire and his daughter inside it. I had considered riding beside the coachman, but now I have a better idea. I shall procure some livery from an acquaintance in the neighbourhood and shall ride on the rumble like a servant. No one will imagine it is I, and when we pass through the village, the three of you can alight and all will see that I am not there. When I speak to the colonel of the local militia tomorrow, I shall request a handful of good men who, along with Hawarden, will dress as outriders beside us for the final approach. We will be well protected. Wickham is a coward at heart, and will not come near a guarded carriage in broad daylight, especially if he has no reason to believe you involved in this matter. If you are asked, you are my guests, whom I invited some months ago.”
“And if he recognises you?” Mr Bingley asked.
“Then, if he has any wits about him, he will flee for his life. My cousin Darcy is a peaceful man who wishes to see justice done at the end of the pen. I am a military man. My sword takes over where the pen leaves off.”
There was little to say in contradiction to this statement, and the scheme was agreed to by all, after which they soon retired for the night.
It was by the last rays of the setting sun that Darcy finally drove the cart into the stable yard he sought in Llandrillo. They were only ten miles by road from their destination, but he did not wish to approach the lodge by night. The paths they must take were tricky and uneven, and it was long enough since he had taken them that he did not wish to submit Elizabeth to the vagaries of his recollection in the pitch of night.
Furthermore, those were not paths for a horse and cart, no matter how small or agile, and he must stable Dobbin somewhere. He knew the people here; they would take good care of the beast. It was also a town where his name was known, if not his face. If necessary, he would be able to procure supplies with an appeal to present the bill to the Fitzwilliam family’s hunting lodge. Still, he fingered the few remaining coins in his pocket and hoped he had enough, so he would not need to mention his name. The fewer people who knew he was here, the better.
He went first to the stables to arrange matters with regard to the horse and wagon, and then he and Elizabeth stowed their few supplies in their bags and headed for the inn. They would be brother and sister here, his final coins paying for the two rooms and a bit of food for the next morning.
But he had not walked more than two feet into the establishment when some voices from the public caught his attention. These were English voices, not Welsh as he had expected, and what he heard sent bolts of alarm through him.
“...watching all the roads. ‘E said we’ll get more if we prove ‘e’s dead. The bugger wants ‘is head, believe it!”
Ice encased him, and his feet turned to lead. Beside him, Elizabeth stopped perfectly still, not even breathing, as the next man asked a question.
“And the girl? What of her?”
“That one, we bring to ‘is nibs, for ‘is amusement! That’s what ‘e said. Can’t think but that ‘e’ll off ‘er after, but that’s ‘is business, not ours.”
“And you know what he looks like? That one will want the right man.”
“Never saw ‘im. But they all look the same, don’t they? We’ll hear ‘im before we see ‘im, more’n likely. Them toffs with their fancy talk, heh? Oy, barkeep, another beer!”
Something brushed his hand and he jerked back in alarm. He almost sagged in relief when he saw it was only Elizabeth, reaching out in concern.
“We must leave now…” he began, but at that moment a matron, likely the innkeeper’s wife, entered the space from a side door and asked if they needed a room.
Darcy opened his mouth to speak again, then froze. Just as he had been drawn to the uncultured English words in the tavern, so those men would likely hear his polished tones, exactly the ones they were seeking. It would spell his doom as surely as walking up to them with a noose around his neck and stating his name. And so, he did the only thing he could think of.
He replied to the lady in Welsh.
He did not speak the language with any sort of fluency, having learned bits here and there from some of the staff at Coed-y-Glyn and the surrounding areas on his tramps with his cousin. The short conversation he had endured with the Welsh farmer in the barn had all but exhausted his meagre knowledge of the language. But it was enough, now, to conduct the business he needed with this woman, and he just prayed that she did not switch to English. Could he put on a convincing enough accent to avoid the attention of Wickham’s stooges? He drew a deep breath and hoped beyond hope.
For once, fortune was on his side, and he managed to request some bread and cheese without tripping over his tongue. “ Gawn ni fara a chaws os gwelwch yn dda. ”
“Will you not stay the night? Or stay to eat?” the proprietress asked in Welsh.
He released his tense breath. Elizabeth stood beside him, jaw tight. Heaven forbid the woman tried to speak to Elizabeth.
“No, diolch , we have some distance to travel still tonight. We cannot linger.”
This brief conversation, he was sure, would fade from her memory almost at once, more so than had they entered and then left at once. Two wandering strangers looking for a bit of food was nothing unusual. She would almost certainly not mention it at all.
Still, they had to flee, and soon.
The woman returned with a package in a few moments, in exchange for which Darcy handed her the appropriate amount of coin, and then they were out once more in the night air.
“What do we do now?” Elizabeth whispered, although they were far from the men’s earshot. “I hardly believed it until I heard them speak. I know we saw Mr Wickham at the inn that first day, but I almost wished to think it some sort of game. But it most assuredly is not, is it?”
He grabbed her hand. “No. It is no game. Here, this lane leads from the town to the woods. Once we are among the trees, we will be safer. It is a shorter distance than by the lanes, but it is not an easy walk. I believe some of the hills have shallow depressions, not quite caves, but somewhere that will provide shelter of sorts. It will not be a comfortable night, I am afraid.”
He walked quickly as he spoke and was gratified that she was able to match his long stride without complaint.
“An uncomfortable night with you is far preferable to anything those men could promise.” Her voice was grim.
They walked for about an hour, at first skirting the line of trees that stood near the town, then plunging into them. The land rose on either side, foretelling of the mountains that rose to the west, the little stream they followed leading them on a somewhat level path through the woods, but one strewn with rocks and tree roots that made the route challenging. There was almost no light left now, and even if he had a torch or lamp, Darcy would not dare to use it. The moon was a sliver in the sky and provided no illumination through the trees. They would have to stop soon.
There! He knew these paths. There was the tree he and Richard had marked as youths, the unusual shape calling to mind the prow of a ship. If memory served, it was just through there, and over that low rise…
They found it at last, more a fold in the side of a hill than anything that could be called a cave, but it would have to do. They were protected from the back and sides, and the clump of trees through which they had to slither provided some barrier from the winds to the front. More importantly, unless one knew where to look, they were safe from casual eyes.
Elizabeth spoke before he could think of what to say.
“It will do. Here is a patch of moss that is almost soft, right against the hillside, for us to sleep on. It is good fortune, Will. We have our blankets, and it is not raining.” He could not see her expression, but she sounded resolute. “We will be well.”
What a remarkable young woman she was. Once more, she met adversity with a determination of spirit and calm sense. She was a lady, gently born and accustomed to the finer things, but here she was, having traipsed through rough woods after dark and looking at a bed of rock under the cold night sky not with wails and protestations, but with acceptance and the intention to make the best of it. “We will be well.”
Darcy pulled the blanket from his pack and arranged it on the moss and against the rocky wall before he and Elizabeth sank to the ground. She was correct. The moss made it, if not comfortable, at least tolerable. Then he helped her arrange her own blanket across them to help ward off the chill. His face brushed hers as he did so, her skin soft under his growing whiskers, and he hoped he hadn’t scratched her. Her response, however, was not one of complaint, but a soft sigh as she nestled closer to him and laid her head on his shoulder. She ought to hate him, he mused, but she clearly did not, and he thanked the heavens for that small mercy. He extended an arm to wrap about her shoulders, and with the blankets around them, out of the wind and pressed side to side, they were tolerably warm.
“Are you comfortable?” He hardly heard his own voice in the deepening darkness. He dared not speak louder, loath to disturb the silence of the woods. A movement on his shoulder was her reply, yes. There was no need for words for a moment, between these two desperate souls hoping to keep the chaos at bay for one last night.
Darcy tried to imagine his friend Bingley’s sisters in such a situation, miles from home, out in the forest with no real shelter, and sleeping in the same clothing they had worn for a week. No! He could not picture it at all. Even a straw-filled mattress under a rough wooden roof would be too far below them to contemplate. His admiration for Elizabeth grew, and he realised that his goal now was not to convince her to marry him—for this she must—but to somehow learn to love him. The love of such a strong lady would be a prize well worth winning.
He felt her shift against him to make herself more comfortable, if such was possible, and he did likewise. But before they slept, he must speak.
“Elizabeth…” His quiet voice sounded strange to his ears.
“Yes, Will…” Was that resignation in her voice? She must know what he had to say. Should he refrain from his offer? But that would not do. He had an obligation.
How was he to begin? What sort of speech ought he to make? This was hardly how he had envisioned this momentous event in his life, when he offered himself and his future to the lady he hoped to make his wife. More pragmatic than romantic, he nonetheless had imagined a suitable scene for such a proposal. Perhaps in a manicured garden by silvery moonlight, as the orchestra played for the dance in the ballroom, or in the shade of a beautiful bower near the manor house. Or in the lady’s family’s parlour, having requested permission to speak to her alone, the event to be celebrated immediately thereafter with sherry and sweets.
Nor was she the lady he had imagined himself proposing to. She was not the daughter of a baron or earl that he had imagined, not some elegant lady one step removed from the nobility as was he, but rather, the second daughter of a minor landholder of no consequence and little wealth, who climbed trees and slept on the ground with no complaints.
With every preconception denied to him, he decided to forgo protestations of passion or poetic words and speak plainly. She would, he hoped, appreciate this.
He took a deep breath. “You must be aware that after all this time we have spent alone, we will be expected to marry.”
Silence. Then a small noise that sounded like “ yes .”
Was this encouragement? It was not enthusiastic, but neither had she had not told him to stop speaking. He decided to press on.
“I would be most pleased if you would do me the honour of becoming my wife.”
There. He had said it. What should he expect now? A rush of gratitude? A sensible discussion of terms?
It certainly was not the quiet word that issued from Elizabeth’s lips.
“No.”
For the first time in nearly a week, Jane did not approach the day with that same leaden sense of dread. They were to remain in Oswestry for the day; she did not need to fold herself into the carriage and face a day of cramped discomfort and the increasing animosity between Mr Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam. She could take her breakfast at leisure, return to the church to enjoy the windows, and wander through some of the interesting shops they had walked past the previous evening. The skies were heavy, but there was no rain yet, and her umbrella would serve well if it grew wet. This was no holiday, but the thought of buying something for her mother and younger sisters felt almost normal and it lightened her spirits somewhat.
She dressed in suitable attire for such a day’s activity and descended the stairs to the private parlour where they had dined the night before, there to break her fast. Her father, Major Hawarden, and Colonel Fitzwilliam were already present, heads close together over what looked like a detailed map, their empty teacups suggesting that they had been discussing something for a while.
“Jane, my dear,” her father greeted her. “I thought we would be quite out of sorts not to spend another day in Mr Bingley’s fine carriage, and thus I have arranged for the driver to lead us in circles around the town for six or seven hours, before returning us here to the inn. Sip your tea quickly, my dear, for time is a-wasting.”
She shook her head at his yarn and kissed his cheek.
“We had best call him inside, then, Papa, for I have other thoughts. There is a milliner I wish to visit, and the bookshop had an interesting display in the window.”
“You make your own plans, my dear. I have some business to attend to with the colonel here. If he is asking his fellow officer for the loan of some men, I must accompany him, for Elizabeth is my daughter, and I would know the people charged with retrieving her.”
“Perhaps your friend Bingley will keep you company, Miss Bennet.” Colonel Fitzwilliam gestured to the teapot, and at Jane’s nod, poured her a cup. “Sugar? Toast? Some eggs?” He handed her a plate of food. “I was up early, and spoke to the parson’s wife, who has offered her company for the day, whilst your excellent father and I are at our business. She and Mr Bingley will, I am certain, keep you entertained and safe whilst you explore this town.”
The thoughts that had teased the edges of Jane’s mind last night surfaced again. What was the colonel about, first vying with Mr Bingley for her approbation, and now all but thrusting her into that other gentleman’s arms for the day? What had he been playing at? More ideas tumbled unordered through her brain until she began to think she had some small grasp of things.
How odd. How decidedly odd!
Nevertheless, thus it was arranged.
Jane was not entirely certain how she felt. It would be a great relief not to have this peculiar silent duel being fought between the two men, but instead of spending the day with her father, or alone with the company of one of the inn’s maids, she was to pass the time with a stranger and one of the men who was puzzling her so.
She allowed her thoughts to turn to Mr Bingley. She had been intrigued by him from the first, with his understanding eyes and eager willingness to help. Furthermore, she could not deny that he was handsome, as every rich young man should be if he can at all help it. His mood had soured when he thought the colonel was seeking Jane’s affections over his own, but he had been nothing but solicitous and polite to both her and her father. And she had enjoyed the short time they had spent together in Wolverhampton, laughing over those dreadful hats. Perhaps a day in his company, without the unhappy influence of the colonel, would show her more of the man he was in ordinary circumstances.
Thus, she smiled and said it would be lovely.
And she hoped with all her heart that it would, indeed, be so.