Page 30 of Secrets Across the Sea

Staffordshire, England – 1812 – Day 15

At the insistence of her sisters, late in the afternoon Elizabeth dressed in her warmest outfit, her fur lined gloves, hat, and red shawl finishing her ensemble. In the night the temperature had plummeted, the draft in her room prompting her to nestle deeper into the covers; the warmth of the fire hardly reaching the bed. That they had chosen this particular day to journey to the rectory seemed foolish indeed.

If fortunate, it would be called off and she could remain in her room a little longer.

“Elizabeth, it is time,” Jane said from outside her door, Elizabeth releasing an unhappy sigh in reply.

No such luck.

Joining her sisters in the hall, the trio made their way downstairs, the rest of their party waiting; amongst them, Mr. Darcy, his eyes seeking hers even as she sought to avoid his.

Two carriages at least. She simply had to find herself in the one without him.

Keeping close to her sisters as they braved the cold, Elizabeth smiled as they piled into one carriage, the final of the four seats taken by Mr. Bingley.

She would be safe.

The shawl she had brought pulled over her lap as a gust of wind filled the carriage before the door could be closed, she amended her thoughts, Safe from Darcy.

Perhaps not the cold.

The drive smooth for some fifteen minutes, Elizabeth’s hands clenched as the wind began to cause the carriage to dance wildly; her sisters and even Mr. Bingley grasping at the straps above.

“It is snowing,” Mary remarked as much to herself as any of them, the thick blanket obscuring the world outside.

“Ought we turn back?” Jane wondered as the carriage rocked again.

“The church was but a quarter hour’s drive in fine weather… Mr. Moore’s parish and rectory should see us safe. Even with this turn in the weather, we ought to be nearly there.”

Three minutes later the carriages came to a halt before the quaint rectory, the snow piling up by its stone foundation at an alarming rate.

“I suspect we shall take shelter inside, but let me check with the others,” Bingley hurried as he buttoned his coat higher before upturning his collar. “The Reverend may have a better idea. I apologize for the chill my exit shall bring, but stay here and stay warm until I return.”

Forcing the door open against the wind, Bingley rushed from the carriage, Jane moving to the bench beside her sisters; the breath stealing cold whipping in before Bingley could heave the door shut.

Studying the surrounding area through the carriage window, Elizabeth squinted as she sought to make out any details. Everything from bushes, to a large stack of firewood all but obscured, the snow racing sideways past the windows, faster than when they had first arrived.

At Mr. Bingley’s return, he tugged the door open, Elizabeth and her sisters’ breath freezing as the cold met their lungs.

“Come,” Bingley urged as he held out his hand. “Let us get you inside.”

Accepting his help, Elizabeth paused to see her sisters safely down, the arm of Mr. Darcy directing her indoors before she could protest.

“Miss Umbridge, Miss Bennets,” he said as the ladies were shown into a cold, unlit room. “The drivers, Reverend, and the rest of us men need to see to the horses and string some ropes between the buildings. Between the six of us it shall not take long.”

Scowling as he opened the door, the snow swirling into the space, Elizabeth’s ire died as memories of her Aunt’s death poured in.

The day Aunt had been lost to the snow had not been very different from this. Shaking her head, Elizabeth’s thoughts turned to Darcy. She wanted to be angry at him. Nay, her pride required her to be unyielding in her anger… but love and concern warred within. She loved him still, worried that he had to be out in the weather, and very much understood why he had been angry–even if he was wrong in every way.

Oh, Darcy, she frowned to herself, why did you have to let your pride win last night?

“Elizabeth,” Jane worried, her arm pulling her sister toward the settee. “Miss Umbridge has not stopped shaking since we entered and there is no wood for a fire. I fear for her and for the men when they return–the rectory is better than staying outside by far, but the wind rushes in still. Aside from raiding the house for bedding or burning the furniture, I am at a loss for what we might do.”

Lips curling, Elizabeth laid a hand on her sister. “All will be well. A great pile of firewood was stacked at the end of the house; I can get an armful big enough to start a fine fire, then once the men are warmed, perhaps they can gather more. Here, you and Mary do as you said and gather blankets; bundle Miss Umbridge well and I shall be back in a minute.”

“Elizabeth,” Jane pleaded, “wait until the men return; it is too dangerous!”

“The men will be cold through when they return, and Miss Umbridge could use the heat as much as they,” Elizabeth argued as she moved to the door, wrapping her shawl around her neck and face as she went. “I know exactly where it is.”

The door ripping open with little prompting, Elizabeth fought to close it as her sisters’ voices were stolen by the wind. Turning into the snowstorm, her breath stilled as the wind ripped through her lungs, the red shawl she wore quickly pulled higher as she squinted into the biting snow.

No matter how hard she sought to keep her glove upon the wall as she made her way down the side of the house, the wind and drifts of snow kept her always to the right of it. Her world little more than a swirl of white.

Ten steps. Twenty. And still no sign of the woodpile. Too far right?

Turning around so the wind was at her back, she sought to compensate for the trajectory she had taken before, her arms spread in front of her as she felt uselessly for the woodpile.

Halting, she looked this way and that, her chest tightening as panic fought for purchase. No. No. How? No. Breathe. It is not a time for fear.

Reaching as far as she might in either direction, her hands met with nothing.

Inching her way forward, she continued to search for something. Anything which would allow her to orient herself.

Heart sinking as the wind changed course, her last remembrance of direction was stolen away.